14814	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 14814-h.htm or 14814-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/8/1/14814/14814-h/14814-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/4/8/1/14814/14814-h.zip) THE TALE OF JEMIMA PUDDLE-DUCK by BEATRIX POTTER Author of "The Tale of Peter Rabbit," &c Frederick Warne & Co., Inc. New York 1908 [Illustration] [Illustration] A FARMYARD TALE FOR RALPH AND BETSY [Illustration] What a funny sight it is to see a brood of ducklings with a hen! --Listen to the story of Jemima Puddle-duck, who was annoyed because the farmer's wife would not let her hatch her own eggs. [Illustration] Her sister-in-law, Mrs. Rebeccah Puddle-duck, was perfectly willing to leave the hatching to some one else--"I have not the patience to sit on a nest for twenty-eight days; and no more have you, Jemima. You would let them go cold; you know you would!" "I wish to hatch my own eggs; I will hatch them all by myself," quacked Jemima Puddle-duck. [Illustration] She tried to hide her eggs; but they were always found and carried off. Jemima Puddle-duck became quite desperate. She determined to make a nest right away from the farm. [Illustration] She set off on a fine spring afternoon along the cart-road that leads over the hill. She was wearing a shawl and a poke bonnet. [Illustration] When she reached the top of the hill, she saw a wood in the distance. She thought that it looked a safe quiet spot. [Illustration] Jemima Puddle-duck was not much in the habit of flying. She ran downhill a few yards flapping her shawl, and then she jumped off into the air. [Illustration] She flew beautifully when she had got a good start. She skimmed along over the tree-tops until she saw an open place in the middle of the wood, where the trees and brushwood had been cleared. [Illustration] Jemima alighted rather heavily, and began to waddle about in search of a convenient dry nesting-place. She rather fancied a tree-stump amongst some tall fox-gloves. But--seated upon the stump, she was startled to find an elegantly dressed gentleman reading a newspaper. He had black prick ears and sandy coloured whiskers. "Quack?" said Jemima Puddle-duck, with her head and her bonnet on one side--"Quack?" [Illustration] The gentleman raised his eyes above his newspaper and looked curiously at Jemima-- "Madam, have you lost your way?" said he. He had a long bushy tail which he was sitting upon, as the stump was somewhat damp. Jemima thought him mighty civil and handsome. She explained that she had not lost her way, but that she was trying to find a convenient dry nesting-place. [Illustration] "Ah! is that so? indeed!" said the gentleman with sandy whiskers, looking curiously at Jemima. He folded up the newspaper, and put it in his coat-tail pocket. Jemima complained of the superfluous hen. "Indeed! how interesting! I wish I could meet with that fowl. I would teach it to mind its own business!" [Illustration] "But as to a nest--there is no difficulty: I have a sackful of feathers in my wood-shed. No, my dear madam, you will be in nobody's way. You may sit there as long as you like," said the bushy long-tailed gentleman. He led the way to a very retired, dismal-looking house amongst the fox-gloves. It was built of faggots and turf, and there were two broken pails, one on top of another, by way of a chimney. [Illustration] "This is my summer residence; you would not find my earth--my winter house--so convenient," said the hospitable gentleman. There was a tumble-down shed at the back of the house, made of old soap-boxes. The gentleman opened the door, and showed Jemima in. [Illustration] The shed was almost quite full of feathers--it was almost suffocating; but it was comfortable and very soft. Jemima Puddle-duck was rather surprised to find such a vast quantity of feathers. But it was very comfortable; and she made a nest without any trouble at all. [Illustration] When she came out, the sandy whiskered gentleman was sitting on a log reading the newspaper--at least he had it spread out, but he was looking over the top of it. He was so polite, that he seemed almost sorry to let Jemima go home for the night. He promised to take great care of her nest until she came back again next day. He said he loved eggs and ducklings; he should be proud to see a fine nestful in his wood-shed. [Illustration] Jemima Puddle-duck came every afternoon; she laid nine eggs in the nest. They were greeny white and very large. The foxy gentleman admired them immensely. He used to turn them over and count them when Jemima was not there. At last Jemima told him that she intended to begin to sit next day--"and I will bring a bag of corn with me, so that I need never leave my nest until the eggs are hatched. They might catch cold," said the conscientious Jemima. [Illustration] "Madam, I beg you not to trouble yourself with a bag; I will provide oats. But before you commence your tedious sitting, I intend to give you a treat. Let us have a dinner-party all to ourselves! "May I ask you to bring up some herbs from the farm-garden to make a savoury omelette? Sage and thyme, and mint and two onions, and some parsley. I will provide lard for the stuff--lard for the omelette," said the hospitable gentleman with sandy whiskers. [Illustration] Jemima Puddle-duck was a simpleton: not even the mention of sage and onions made her suspicious. She went round the farm-garden, nibbling off snippets of all the different sorts of herbs that are used for stuffing roast duck. [Illustration] And she waddled into the kitchen, and got two onions out of a basket. The collie-dog Kep met her coming out, "What are you doing with those onions? Where do you go every afternoon by yourself, Jemima Puddle-duck?" Jemima was rather in awe of the collie; she told him the whole story. The collie listened, with his wise head on one side; he grinned when she described the polite gentleman with sandy whiskers. [Illustration] He asked several questions about the wood, and about the exact position of the house and shed. Then he went out, and trotted down the village. He went to look for two fox-hound puppies who were out at walk with the butcher. [Illustration] Jemima Puddle-duck went up the cart-road for the last time, on a sunny afternoon. She was rather burdened with bunches of herbs and two onions in a bag. She flew over the wood, and alighted opposite the house of the bushy long-tailed gentleman. [Illustration] He was sitting on a log; he sniffed the air, and kept glancing uneasily round the wood. When Jemima alighted he quite jumped. "Come into the house as soon as you have looked at your eggs. Give me the herbs for the omelette. Be sharp!" He was rather abrupt. Jemima Puddle-duck had never heard him speak like that. She felt surprised, and uncomfortable. [Illustration] While she was inside she heard pattering feet round the back of the shed. Some one with a black nose sniffed at the bottom of the door, and then locked it. Jemima became much alarmed. [Illustration] A moment afterwards there were most awful noises--barking, baying, growls and howls, squealing and groans. And nothing more was ever seen of that foxy-whiskered gentleman. Presently Kep opened the door of the shed, and let out Jemima Puddle-duck. [Illustration] Unfortunately the puppies rushed in and gobbled up all the eggs before he could stop them. He had a bite on his ear and both the puppies were limping. [Illustration] Jemima Puddle-duck was escorted home in tears on account of those eggs. [Illustration] She laid some more in June, and she was permitted to keep them herself: but only four of them hatched. Jemima Puddle-duck said that it was because of her nerves; but she had always been a bad sitter. 
22561	----	TAME ANIMALS GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LONDON AND NEW YORK. Kronheim & Co., London TAME ANIMALS. [Illustration] THE HARE. I suppose you have all seen a Hare, and perhaps many of you have helped to eat one. The Hare is a very timid animal, running away on the least alarm; but, poor fellow, he is too often caught by the dogs and killed, notwithstanding his swift running. It is rather difficult to tame Hares, but there is a very amusing account of three, named Puss, Tiney, and Bess, written by the poet Cowper, who kept them for some time, and one day you shall read about them. The colour of the Hare in this country is usually brown, but white Hares are found in very cold countries. The Hare does not burrow like the rabbit, but makes a kind of nest called its form. [Illustration] THE GOAT. The Goat ranks in general usefulness next to the sheep, and as a domestic animal is very valuable. His chief pleasure seems to consist in climbing from one rock to another, for which amusement his hoofs are well adapted. The milk of the Goat is sweet and nourishing, and is made into cheese by the mountaineers, who also eat his flesh, which is rather tough. His skin is made into the materials called morocco leather, and vellum; and that of the young animals, the kids, is used to make the best kinds of gloves. The hair of some species of Goats is soft and fine, and is woven into shawls of beautiful texture. [Illustration] THE COW. Cows are very useful to mankind, in supplying them with milk from which both butter and cheese are made. Their young ones are called calves, and the flesh of calves is veal. A good Cow will give about fifteen or more quarts of milk a day, but much depends upon the quality of the pasture she feeds upon. Her age is told by her horns; after she is three years old a ring is formed every year at the root of the horn, so that by counting the number of circles, her age may be exactly known. Cows are sometimes prettily marked with black, brown, and yellow spots, and, as they lie scattered about a green meadow, add much to the charms of a landscape. [Illustration] THE SHEEP. The Sheep is found in every quarter of the globe, and is one of the most profitable animals that mankind possesses. His flesh is eaten by the inhabitants of all nations, and, as you know, is called mutton. The wool of the Sheep is very valuable, and most of our clothing is made from it: that produced by the breed called Merino sheep is particularly fine, and fetches a high price. The skin is also of service, and forms covers for many of your school-books. Sheep-washing and shearing are busy times for the farmer, and are very interesting sights. Young sheep are called lambs--you have often seen the gentle little things skipping about in the meadows. [Illustration] THE DORMOUSE. In some places people call this little animal "the Sleeper," because he lies in a torpid state through the long winter and spring, until the weather becomes quite warm. He builds his nest in an old hollow tree, or beneath the bushes, and during the summer lays up a great quantity of nuts or acorns for his winter provender. Dormice rarely come out, except at night, passing the day in a solitary manner in their cells, which they manage to make very comfortable by linings of moss. Dormice are about the size of the common mice, only more bulky, and of a reddish brown colour. The American Dormouse is a more beautiful animal, striped down the back, and much resembling the squirrel in his habits. [Illustration] THE ASS. Is the most patient of all quadrupeds, and, although thought by many to be the most stubborn, he is not really so, but is both active and willing if well treated. Donkeys are generally badly used by their masters, and you cannot go far without seeing one with his skin bruised by hard blows. Poor beasts! I hope you pity them when you see them looking half-starved, with no flesh on their aching bones, dragging with slow and weary steps some heavy load of sand or wood. The milk of Asses is greatly esteemed for the use of invalids: in some diseases it forms the only nourishment that can be safely given. The foal of the Ass is a pretty, lively little fellow, and jumps about, very unlike his quiet mother. ROUTLEDGE'S THREEPENNY TOY-BOOKS, WITH SIX COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS, PRINTED BY KRONHEIM. * * * * * 5. MY FIRST ALPHABET 6. ER GOOSE 7. THE BABES IN THE WOOD 8. THIS LITTLE PIG 9. THE OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE 10. LITTLE BO-PEEP 11. NURSERY RHYMES 12. FARM-YARD ALPHABET 13. JACK AND THE BEANSTALK 14. JOHN GILPIN 15. OLD MOTHER HUBBARD 16. THE THREE BEARS 17. THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT 18. THE DOGS' DINNER PARTY 19. MY MOTHER 20. THE CATS' TEA PARTY 21. MORE NURSERY RHYMES 22. ROBIN REDBREAST 23. A, APPLE PIE 24. THE RAILWAY ALPHABET 25. NURSERY SONGS 26. NURSERY DITTIES 27. PUNCH AND JUDY 28. OUR PETS 29. Cinderella 30. PUSS-IN-BOOTS 31. LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD 32. WILD ANIMALS 33. TAME ANIMALS 34. BIRDS * * * * * GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
15684	----	THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS: A STORY FOR CHILDREN. BY AMEREL. NEW-YORK: D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY 1851. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. [Illustration: DADDY HALL'S DONKEY.] CONTENTS CHAPTER I. Uncle Harvey's Parlor CHAPTER II. The Evening Walk CHAPTER III. A Visit to Daddy Hall CHAPTER IV. The Walk through the Woods CHAPTER V. What Uncle Harvey said about Rain CHAPTER VI. How Thomas killed a Hawk CHAPTER VII. About Bats CHAPTER VIII. The Walk to the Creek CHAPTER IX. The Hard Battle CHAPTER X. About Corn and the uses of Animals CHAPTER XI Alice Gray CHAPTER XII. Locusts CHAPTER XIII. The Return Home THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS. CHAPTER I. UNCLE HARVEY'S PARLOR. Mr. Harvey's two sons, Thomas and John, were very anxious for their cousin, Samuel Reed, to spend the August holidays with them. His father said that he might; and when school was closed for the season, Samuel bade his father good bye, and was soon in the carriage, driving toward Uncle Harvey's country seat. The boys had not seen each other since New Year's day. It was a happy meeting when Samuel jumped out of the carriage, by the gate leading from the main road up to Mr. Harvey's house; for there his uncle, and two cousins, were waiting for him. Thomas and John, each grasped a hand, while their father led the way to the house. "We were afraid you were not coming," said John. "How tall you have grown since Christmas," exclaimed Thomas. "Were you not tired of being in the hot city such weather as this?" Samuel said that he was; and then they all entered the house, while the driver brought in Samuel's baggage. It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when Samuel reached his uncle's house. He was taken into a small parlor, which opened upon a garden where many flowers were in bloom. It was a warm day, but this room was cool and fragrant; and on the table were several plates of fruit, and some cakes, which his uncle caused to be placed there, so that he might eat some as soon as he arrived, While Samuel was eating some of them John said: "We are so glad you have come, Samuel. Last winter you could see nothing but snow." "What became of the snow-man we made last winter?" asked Samuel. "It froze very hard for more than a week after you left," replied Thomas; "but John and I broke its head a great deal, with snow balls, and afterwards a warm rain fell, and washed it away." "Is it warm in the city now?" asked John. "Yes," answered his cousin. "In the middle of the day the pavements seem to be about on fire, and people are afraid to walk far, lest they may be sunstruck. Yesterday two men died with the heat. There seems to be no air stirring from morning till night. Besides, there is much sickness in town, and many persons have left their houses, and gone into the country. "Father," said Thomas, "how miserable we should be if we had no water to drink this weather, like those poor Arabs that you told us of the other day." "Yes," answered Mr. Harvey, "the sun must be burning hot in Arabia now." "How can they live in such a place?" asked John. "They are not all so miserable as the party I told you of the other day," replied his father. "Besides, you know it is their country, and God has taught them to love it. If an Arab were brought here, he would, probably, think it a most dreary land, except in summer." "But what do you do in town, Samuel," asked John, "when it is too warm to go out?" "It is very hot only in the middle of the day," replied his cousin, "and then, you know, we are at school. In the afternoons, I sometimes rode out with father, or went on the steamboat. Last week a balloon went up, from the other side of the river. We had a fine view of it from the roof of our house. Two men were in it, and when they had risen so high that the balloon appeared quite small, they threw out a little machine, called a parachute. It looked something like an umbrella, and had a dog to it. The balloon sailed a great distance through the air, and came down safely." It was now six o'clock, and Mr. Harvey told the boys that they might go to supper, which he had ordered to be ready earlier than usual. [Illustration] CHAPTER II. THE EVENING WALK. After supper, Samuel and his cousins took a walk in the meadow, toward the mill pond. The air was now cool and pleasant, and as the boys moved through the narrow path, among the low grass, thousands of grasshoppers, and other insects, filled the air with their cheerful hum. Thomas, with his companions, passed round the mill, and then climbed a fence which led through a field of corn. The corn was not very high, so that they had to be careful not to tread upon it. When they reached the other side, Samuel saw that the fence was covered with raspberry vines, from one end to the other. He asked what they did with so many. "All that father wishes to use, or to eat," replied Thomas, "he gathers out of the garden; but these he leaves for two or three poor families, who live not far off, and who take them to town to sell. It helps them to pay their rent." "And does he give away blackberries, too?" asked Samuel. "Yes, and many other kinds of fruit," replied his cousin. "He has such large fields and orchards, that he can afford to give away great quantities of apples, peaches, currants, grain, and vegetables." [Illustration: THE OLD SOLDIER'S HOUSE.] The boys roamed about the fields, talking in this manner, until after sunset, when Thomas said it was time to return. They crossed into a bye path, and walked toward the house through a field in which wheat had been growing. Among the short straw, left by the reapers, Samuel saw many birds' nests, and deep holes that had been dug by rabbits, field mice, and other small animals. In a short time they passed a very old house, whose sides appeared as if they would fall every moment. The roof was covered with moss and grass, and the boards had crumbled and separated from each other; a number of bats and swallows were flying about it, and Thomas said that dozens of these little animals, beside rats and mice, lived inside. Samuel asked him if any body lived there. "No," said his cousin; "but father remembers very well when an old soldier, that the farmers called Jack, did live in this house. His leg had been shot off in battles with the Indians. After it healed he moved to this place, and lived on the vegetables he could raise in a little garden, besides what people gave him. Every night he came out and sat on the log by the door, playing on an old fiddle. Then the school children would collect around him, and give him pennies, or fruit, and such things. Sometimes he told them stories; for he had travelled in many lands, and knew a great deal about them. In the summer nights, father says, he often heard poor old Jack singing the songs that he had learned when he was a boy; and sometimes he could be seen hobbling down this lane, on his crutches, or sitting by the water catching some fish for his supper. One day he was missed, and folks thought he was sick; but they waited till the next morning, and then a great crowd collected round the house, and called him. No one answered; so some one lifted the latch and went in. Old Jack was not there, and the people began to get frightened. They hunted for him all that day, and many days afterward; but he was never found. Some think that he was drowned; others that he went away with strangers, and a few are foolish enough to believe, that he is still living, and will one day come back. Since that time, no one has ever lived in his house, and in a few years it will tumble down with old age." While Thomas had been giving this account of Poor Jack, the Soldier, John was very busy moving round the old house, and peeping through the cracks in the boards. At last he motioned Thomas and Samuel, to come to him, and then whispered: "Stoop down--don't make a bit of noise--and peep through this crack. You'll see the biggest owl that ever you did see, in all your life." Both of them looked through. It was very dark, but Samuel saw two great eyes, like balls of fire, and in a little while he could perceive the body of an owl, which, as John had said, was the largest he had ever seen. "Let us go in and catch him," said John. But Thomas answered, that as it was now dark the owl could easily fly away; and besides, as they did not wish to kill it, it could be of no use to them, if they should catch it. "It might do for cousin to look at," replied John; but he did not insist upon entering the house. As they were going away, Samuel asked his cousin if he did not think owls were ugly. "No, indeed," answered John. "I would rather see an owl any time than these little birds that can do nothing but sing. See how soft his feathers are--all barred and spotted with black and brown, which is more handsome than to be all over red or yellow. I know he can't sing; but he's got nice, long ears, and that no other bird has. And how nice and round his head is. Then he sits on a tree, and looks wise, as father says. The Canary, and the mocking bird, are good enough to keep in cages, but of all birds, give me an owl." Thomas and Samuel laughed at this notion, but John continued: "Thomas, did not some people, who lived a long while ago, call the owl the 'bird of wisdom?'" "Yes," replied Thomas. "I have heard father say that it was the Athenians." "That shows how wise they were," said John. "I seems to me as though that owl, which we saw, was keeping house for poor old soldier Jack." "Do hush about owls," said his brother, laughing; and they ran together through the gate, and into the yard. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. A VISIT TO DADDY HALL. Next morning, Mr. Harvey told his sons that they might go to see an old man, who lived in a small house, about two miles off, and who was so sickly that he could not work. This old man's name was Hall, and the boys of the school called him Daddy Hall. He had once been rich; but sickness and misfortune had reduced him to poverty, so that he now lived with his little son, in a small hut, near a hill. Every week he sent fruit and vegetables to market, in a cart, drawn by a donkey, which some of the neighbors had given to him. Every week Mr. Harvey sent either a servant, or one of the boys, to see how he was getting along, and to carry him something nice. The two boys, with their cousin, were soon off, carrying with them a basket full of things for the old man. They went by the road across the meadows, and through a small gate in the hedge. Samuel observed, that the hawthorn of the hedge grew very thick and close, so that a bird could scarcely get through it. The roots and branches were twisted into each other, appearing like strong, thick chains woven together; and on the vines grew sharp thorns, longer than a needle. Mr. Harvey's boys told their cousin, that neither man nor beast could get through such a hedge; and that if a man were placed on the top, he could walk on the vines without sinking down, they were so strong and close. "It would be uneasy travelling, though," added John; "for his feet would be torn to pieces by these spiky thorns." They now left the hedge, and went on through two wide fields, until they reached some hills that stood by themselves, and were steep and bare. Three of them had deep pits dug in them, while piles of rock, stones, and sand, were lying around. Samuel asked his cousins what place it was. "It is an iron mine," said Thomas; but it is not worked any more, because there is not enough of iron found to pay for the trouble. All these stones lying about here are pieces of ore; but the quantity of iron in them is so small that it will not pay for the expense of taking it out from the ore." "How is iron taken from the ore?" asked Samuel. Thomas replied: "The ore is first crushed into coarse dust, and then washed. Afterwards this dust is melted in a hot furnace, and the iron is separated from the melted stone, or dross, in a manner which is very troublesome, and which father can explain to you better than I can. Sometimes the ore is almost all iron; John and I have some pieces in our cabinets, in which you cannot see any stone." "But did men go down this deep well?" asked Samuel. "Yes; they were lowered down in buckets. And the water was pumped out by a machine. The water was so cold, even in the middle of summer, that one could scarcely hold his hand in it." The boys began to throw stones down one of the wells, so that they might guess by hearing them strike the bottom, how deep it was. The first stones were too small to be heard; then they threw larger ones, and listened, but could hear no sound. At last, John took up a piece of rock as big as his head, and rolled it into the well. It fell with a hollow, rumbling noise, and all was then still. The boys thought it had reached the bottom; but all at once they heard it splash into water. Then the boys knew that the well was very deep, for the stone had been falling several seconds. They then hunted among the piles of ore for some handsome pieces to give to Samuel; after which, they picked up their basket, and hurried on toward Daddy Hall's. On reaching his house, they found the old man sitting at the door, while his son, a good boy, was preparing to take the donkey to market, with a cart load of turnips, radishes, peas, beans, and cabbage. Daddy Hall was pale and thin; but he arose to meet the boys, and seemed very glad to see Samuel. Although he was sick almost every day, and sometimes suffered great pain, yet no one ever heard him complain. He loved children, and was very fond of talking to them; and before he grew so weak and feeble, many of the farmers sent their little ones to him, to learn to read. After they had been seated a little while, John asked him if he did not get tired of staying in the house. "Sometimes," said the old man, "I wish I could go out, as I once could, and work for myself; but I do not feel tired. Besides, this is the best condition I can be placed in; and if you ask me why, I will tell you. God, my children, has placed me in it; and he knows what is best for each of us. He has given me many comforts, kind friends, plenty to eat and drink, and a son, who is one of the best of boys. There is nothing, John, more cheering to the heart of an old man than the kindness of a dutiful son; and let me ask each of you, to listen to the advice of one who owns such a blessing, and always to show honor and respect to your parents." [Illustration] CHAPTER IV. THE WALK THROUGH THE WOODS. The boys left their basket with Daddy Hall, and set out on their return to the house. "Let us go through the woods," said Thomas, and they all walked toward a thick wood which stood not far from the hill, near which Daddy Hall's house was built. They were glad to reach its cool shade; for the sun was now getting warm. Samuel saw a number of birds among the branches, that he did not know the names of; and many bright little flowers were growing in the shade, among the roots of oak and beech trees. A little distance in the wood, they reach a small rock, near which some large stones were lying, as if they had been thrown together. Thomas stopped, and said, "Samuel, this is the place where we killed a big snake last spring. You can see his hole under this rock. John and I tried hard to move these loose stones, but we could not. I dare say there are snake nests underneath." "Perhaps we three can move one of them," replied his cousin. They all caught hold, and at last pulled the stone from its place. There was nothing underneath, but some old nut shells; but John said he was sure they would find snakes if they could but move the other stones. After much pulling, they raised another one; and under it was a large land tortoise, with several little ones, no larger than a walnut. After examining these, they observed a hole running under another stone, into the ground. Samuel also found two or three snake skins, which his cousins told him the snakes threw off every spring, after which, a new and larger skin grew on them. They pulled hard at this third stone, but could not move it; but while they were going away, Thomas said that they could bring an iron bar some day, and easily root it up. In the middle of the wood was a fine spring of water, which gushed from a rock, and then spread out into a little pool, so clear and quiet, that the smallest stones could be seen at the bottom. Samuel tasted the water, and found it cold and refreshing. He asked his cousin how so much water could come out of the rock. "It does not come from the rock," replied Thomas; "but only runs through it. Father says, that spring water often comes from the hills and mountains, running under the ground through cracks and holes in the rocks, until it finds some outlet. I suppose this water runs down from the tops of the hills near the iron mine." "But this is not rain water," said his cousin. "It neither tastes nor looks like it." "It has become changed while passing under the ground," replied Thomas. "After a heavy shower the water soaks into the earth until it reaches the sand, or rock underneath, then it runs through every little crack down the hill, and under the ground to some place like this where it can escape. The sand and gravel, which it meets with, make it pure and the lime and other substances of the rocks, alter its taste." [Illustration] CHAPTER V WHAT UNCLE HARVEY SAID ABOUT RAIN. When the boys reached the house, Mr. Harvey was in his study. Samuel was anxious to ask him some questions about springs, but he would not go up stairs to disturb him. But after dinner his uncle came into the parlor where the boys were, and then Samuel asked him where all the water comes from that flows in the rivers and other streams. "From the ocean," answered Mr. Harvey. "I suppose you have seen water boiling, Samuel." "Yes, sir." "And have you seen the steam rise up from the water into the air?" Samuel said that he had. His uncle continued: "Whenever water is heated, it is turned into steam, or vapor, as it is sometimes called. If there is enough of heat to make water boil, the vapor passes off very fast, until the water is gone. Now the sun is continually changing the water of rivers, ponds, lakes, and of the ocean, into vapor. This vapor rises. The air about a mile above the earth, is much colder than it is on the earth; so when the hot vapor from the ocean meets the cold air, it again becomes water, and forms clouds. I see you are ready with a question, John." "Yes, sir," said John. "I cannot see, father, how the clouds can float in the air if they are nothing but water. Why do they not pour down?" His father answered: "I expected this would be your question. The clouds, my son, are water, but not in a close mass, like that in a bucket or in the mill pond. You have seen soap bubbles, and know that a great many of them may be joined together without breaking. It is supposed by learned men, that clouds are nothing but many thousands of bubbles, which, being lighter than air, would, you know, float on it." "But, father," said John, "what makes it rain?" "That is not certainly known," replied Mr. Harvey; "but, no doubt, lightning has much to do with it. I will show you, this evening, several pictures about clouds and springs of water, which will help you to understand what I have said." "Uncle," said Samuel, "there is one more question which I would like to ask." "Ask it, my boy," replied Mr. Harvey. "I have read, sir, that the water of the ocean is salt; why, then, is not rain water salt, too?" "Because," said Mr. Harvey, "salt cannot be changed to vapor, and it is too heavy to be raised, in any quantity, in the air with the water. Yet, I suppose, that a little salt is always mixed with the bubbles that form clouds." CHAPTER VI. HOW THOMAS KILLED A HAWK. This afternoon was very hot, and the boys spent it in their room, arranging their books and pictures, and in reading. At five o'clock, while Thomas was standing by the window, he suddenly exclaimed: "There's a hawk!" Both the boys ran to the window, and saw a large hawk, sailing slowly toward the barn. "He is the one that steals our chickens," said John. "And see, he's flying straight for the barn. Thomas, run and ask father for the gun." Mr. Harvey kept two guns in his house; but he used them only for shooting hawks, when they were flying about to steal the poultry. John and Thomas had learned to use them, and sometimes spent an afternoon in firing at a mark. But they never did so without their father's consent. [Illustration: THE HAWK.] Thomas soon joined the other boys, having the gun in his hand; and after Mr. Harvey had bidden them to be careful, they followed in the direction the hawk was flying. They kept close by the fence, so that it could not see them. In a short time it was over the barn yard, and sailing round and round, in order to make a sweep downwards. "Hurry, Thomas," said John; and Thomas ran stooping along some bushes, followed by John and Samuel, on their hands and feet. The hawk was now quite low, and the boys could hear the hens screaming and running about. At last Thomas reached the barn fence, and his brother told him to fire. But he could not take aim, because the hawk was partly hidden by the corner of the barn. "I am afraid he'll get that little chicken," said Samuel. "See if you can take aim now," whispered John. The hawk now made a sweep at one of the chickens; but it ran under the barn, and the hawk flew up a little higher. Just then, Thomas fired. The hawk came down head foremost, and Thomas threw away his gun, and sprang over the wall. John and Samuel jumped after him, shouting as loud as they could. In a few moments the hawk was dead. It was the largest one that either of them had ever seen. When they reached the house, Mr. Harvey was waiting for them; and on seeing so large a hawk, promised to have it stuffed for them. The gun was then hung up in its place. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. ABOUT BATS. This evening, while the boys were reading and talking to Mr. Harvey, several bats flew in at the window. John caught one of them in his hat, and placed it on the table for his cousin to examine. Samuel asked his uncle if it would not fly away. "No," said Mr. Harvey, "it cannot raise itself from the ground. What we call its wings, are, you see, nothing but two thin skins, or membranes, stretched from its hind legs to its fore ones, and fastened to its sides. When flying, it spreads out its toes, so as to unfold these membranes, and thus balances itself in the air." "Do not some people think that the bat is a bird?" asked Samuel. "Yes. But probably they never examined a bat closely. You see that it looks nothing at all like a bird." "Father," said John, "where did those great bats come from, which you have in your cabinet?" "From the island of Java," said Mr. Harvey. "They are called Java bats. I have seen some with bodies as large as hens, and wings like umbrellas. Hundreds of these animals fly about the gardens and orchards of that island, every night, destroying great quantities of fruit. The people there, spread nets over the trees, to protect the fruit, and shoot the bats with guns, as you did the hawk." "I have read, in a book of travels," said Samuel, "that while persons are asleep, these bats, or some other large kind, suck their blood. Is that true, sir?" "No," said Mr. Harvey. "Such tales were long believed, even by writers on natural history; and I have some where a picture of a monstrous bat sucking the blood from a man's veins. But all this is now known to be fabulous. No kind of bat will attack an animal as large as itself, nor enter a house when there is an abundance of fruit and insects in the field." "Shall we let this bat go now?" said John. Mr. Harvey said yes; and then John lifted it on a large sheet of paper, and threw it into the air. In a moment it spread out its thin wings, and after flying about the room two or three times, passed out of the window. Mr. Harvey told them, that although the bat was so feeble when on the ground, yet its strength of wing was greater than that of any bird. [Illustration] CHAPTER VIII. THE WALK TO THE CREEK. The next day there was a heavy thunder shower, in the morning, which compelled the boys to stay in the house; and in the afternoon the teacher of the academy paid Mr. Harvey a visit. During the time that he staid, Thomas, with his brother and cousin, were told to remain in the house. But the next day was cool and pleasant, and they started early on a ramble through the fields. As they passed close to a farm house, Samuel saw a large dog chained to a tree, in the yard. It looked very fierce at them as they passed, and then began to growl and bark. Thomas told his cousin, that this dog had bitten several persons in the neighborhood, and that some of the school boys had tried to poison it; but that the farmer was careful always to keep it chained, so that no body might get a chance to catch it in the road. About half a mile further onward was a fine stream of water. It began in the hills, and ran winding along, deeper and broader, to a great distance. Mr. Harvey owned several farms along this creek; and here Thomas and John often came, in summer evenings, to swim. The water was clear and pure, so that hundreds of fish could be seen sporting around the shores. When the boys reached this creek, they sat down under a shady tree, to watch the fishes, and listen to the songs of the birds, on the bushes that hung over the water. In a short time, a number of eels came from under a large stone, one after the other, and after swimming about for a little while, buried themselves in the mud. Samuel asked Thomas where so many came from. "They live in the water," replied his cousin. "On a pleasant evening you can see many more swimming among the stones, and the roots of trees, by the edge of the creek. But, do you know, that they sometimes come out of the water, and glide about the meadows." "No," said Samuel; "do they?" "Yes," replied Thomas. "At night you may sometimes see a great many among the grass. One evening last summer John and I met a whole company of them, going from the little creek, near Daddy Hall's house, toward the mill pond. We thought, at first, that they were snakes, and so moved out of their road; but by and by, we perceived that they were eels. The weather had been hot and dry for two weeks before, and these eels were travelling to find more water. So father told us afterwards." The boys now walked on, down the creek, until they came to a small bridge. On this a boy, about as large as Samuel, was standing, throwing stones into the water. When Thomas, and the other two, got near enough, they saw he was stoning frogs. Every time one of these little animals put its head above the water, the boy pelted it with a stone; and two or three had been mashed to death, as they sat on the broad stones, near the water's edge. [Illustration: STONING FROGS.] Now, all good boys and girls, who read this book, will say that this was a cruel boy--and so he was. As soon as John saw what he was about, he called to him to stop. The boy said he would not, and stoned harder than before. Then John began to grow angry. You remember, children, I told you, that though John was a noble hearted fellow, yet he was quick of temper; and when he saw boys doing wrong, he was apt to get angry very soon, if they did not stop when they were told. So, seeing that the boy still threw stones, he called to him again, louder than before. "What shall I stop for?" said the boy. "Because," said John, as he stepped on the bridge, "you have no business to stone frogs. What hurt do they do you?" "A good deal," said the boy; and he threw another stone. "I tell you to stop," replied John; "this is father's field, and they are his frogs, too; and you have no right here, if you can't behave yourself." The boy now threw off his cap, as if to fight, and said: "I don't care for you or your father either; I'll stone as long as I please, and no one shall hinder me," and as he spoke, he shook his fist in John's face. John was now very angry. "If you touch me," he said, "I'll throw you, head foremost, over the bridge. I tell you to quit stoning frogs, and you shall quit." Thomas and Samuel now came forward; for they were afraid that there would be some fighting. John and the boy stood looking at each other for a little while; but at last, the boy seeing that John was not afraid of him, picked up his hat and walked off, muttering that he did not care for any body. "He had better go," said John. When his brother began to grow calm, Thomas told him that he ought not to get so angry, for he could have driven off the boy just as well, by speaking quietly to him. "I have seen him once or twice before," added Thomas, "and I hear that he is a very bad boy." [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. THE HARD BATTLE. In coming home by some cherry trees that stood near the fence, Samuel saw a little animal, larger than a bat, fly swiftly from one branch to another. He asked his cousins if it was not a flying squirrel. Thomas answered, "Yes. Several nests of them are in these trees. If you could examine one of these squirrels closely, you would see that its wings, as they are called, are not like bird's wings." "They seem more like a bat's wings," said Samuel. "So they are," replied his cousin; "only thin skins, stretched along the sides from the fore legs to the hind ones. But these squirrels cannot fly far, nor stay long in the air, as bats can. They merely dart swiftly from one branch to another." "What other kinds of squirrels are there?" asked Samuel. "The grey squirrel," said Thomas, "much larger than this one. It is not often found about here. Then the ground squirrel, that lives in the ground, instead of on the trees. The common squirrel, such as you see running about the fences and woods; and two or three other kinds. Some people eat squirrels; but I have never tasted one." The boys now heard some one screaming, and stopped to listen. "It comes from that field," said John; "let us run and see what is the matter." They did so, and soon saw that the big dog they had passed in going to the creek, had got out, and was chasing a boy. This boy was screaming with fear; and John perceived that he was the boy who had been stoning frogs. But the boys ran with all their might to help him, picking up such stones and sticks as lay on the ground, in their way. When they reached the boy, he was pale with fear, for the dog was close to him. Samuel also felt a little afraid; but he joined his two cousins in trying to beat the dog back. The fierce animal got John's stick in his mouth, and wrenched it out of his hand; but he kicked it in the jaws, and so kept it off with his feet, while Thomas and Samuel struck it over the head with all their might. As to the boy, he ran as hard as he could, until he was out of sight. Thomas's stick now broke, but Samuel ran his down the dog's throat, and John ran to bring a great pole which was lying a little distance off. With this they kept the dog from biting them, until some men came running down a lane, and over into the field. They had seen the dog run out of the farmer's yard, and were anxious to kill it. So they threw a rope round its neck, and dragged it away. They said it should be shot. The boys were very warm, and could scarcely get their breath. They walked, therefore, to a tree which stood in the field, and sat down to get cool, and rest themselves. Thomas said he would be glad if the dog were killed, for such an animal was not fit to keep. "If we had each had a good stout club," replied his brother, "he would never have run after any of us again." They looked for the boy, but he could not be seen; and after resting themselves, they walked home. When Mr. Harvey heard of their battle with the dog, he said that it was a great blessing they had not been bitten; for that in summer the bite of a dog often caused madness, followed by certain death. [Illustration] CHAPTER X. ABOUT CORN AND THE USES OF ANIMALS. When Samuel had been at his uncle's about two weeks. Mr. Harvey told him one morning, that he might go with his cousins to a field where early corn was growing and pull some to cook, if it was ripe. They had a merry time among the high corn. As they came back to the house, carrying their basket of ears, Samuel asked his cousins, why corn was sometimes called Indian corn. "It is because it formed the chief food of the Indians, before white men came to this country," replied Thomas. "Father says its proper name is maize. It was first found in this country; and there are some parts of America where it is used altogether instead of wheat or rye. Did you ever taste cakes made from it?" "Yes," said Samuel; "they were sweeter than wheat bread; but I would not like to eat them every day." "Nor I either," said John; "but I like Indian meal with sugar, eggs, and milk in it, and then baked brown in the oven. Don't you, Samuel?" "I never tasted it that way. But I think corn is best boiled on the ear, and eaten with meat and vegetables." Mr. Harvey's library, as I have already told you, was very large. He spent much time in the room where it was, either reading or writing. In the afternoon, after the boys had gathered the corn, he called them into this room, and showed them some beautiful pictures of animals and countries. While looking at them, Samuel asked him if he thought every animal had been made for some useful purpose. "Yes, my boy," answered his uncle; "we have reason to believe that even things which appear to be entirely useless, such as gravel stones, or weeds, have been made by God for some good end. The more we learn about animals and plants, the more plainly this appears. I will show you the picture of a very curious animal, called a Sloth. It looks a little like a bear. Now listen, boys, to a few words about this animal. It lives in thick, gloomy forests, so that it can scarcely ever be taken. When placed on the ground it cannot walk, but drags itself forward, with its fore legs, crying all the time, as if in great pain. Its claws are long, and turn up under its feet. In the woods it lives all the time on the trees, hanging from a branch, with its back toward the ground. Tell me what you think of such an animal." "I think it must be miserable all day long," replied Samuel. "So every one thought, about fifty years ago," said Mr. Harvey; but men who have gone to the countries where sloths are, and seen them in the high trees, tell a very different story. They say that the sloth's home is in the branches, as much as a fish's is in the water; and he is there a strong and happy animal, although he looks so weak and miserable on the ground. He lives on fruit, and moves from one branch and one tree to another, with considerable swiftness. So you see that the sloth enjoys himself as well as any of us; and I have no doubt that he was created for some good purpose, although we may not be able to understand precisely what it is. "But do not some animals eat each other?" asked Thomas. "Yes," replied Mr. Harvey; "but this is of great use to man. What would the farmer do with all the insects that destroy his grain, if many of them were not eaten by little birds; and how much of his fruit would these very birds destroy, if they, too, were not eaten by hawks! If animals did not destroy each other, they would soon become so numerous as to crowd man from the earth." CHAPTER XI. ALICE GRAY. One morning, after the three boys had taken a pretty long walk, they came to a small cottage, standing by a garden, round which was a neat hedge. Part of this garden was planted with vegetables, and part with flowers, while many vines and sweet brier bushes stood before the cottage door. There were also large, white roses, which Samuel thought finer than any he had yet seen; and in a corner of the garden farthest from the house, stood two bee hives. As the boys passed by, a young woman came out on the piazza, and asked them in. John and Thomas had often been here; so they opened the gate and passed through with their cousin. The young woman, whose name was Alice, brought out chairs, and some new milk in bowls, for each of them to drink. Then she walked with them through the garden, showing them through the flowers, and telling their names. He was much pleased with the bee hives; they were made of wood, with glass tops, so that the bees might be seen at work. After watching them for some time, they returned through the garden to the cottage door. At this moment an old lady came to the door, and spoke to Mr. Harvey's boys. Samuel observed that she was very feeble, and that her voice could scarcely be heard. She looked like one who had been often sick. When they left the cottage, he asked who she was. [Illustration: ALICE GRAY.] "Her name is Gray," said Thomas. "Alice is her daughter. Mrs. Gray's husband was a sailor, and when Alice was about three years old, he went on a voyage to catch whales, but was lost, with all the crew. Mrs. Gray was poor, and had four children; and as no one in the town where she lived would help her, she opened a school for little boys and girls. The money she got by teaching, supported her family, until her two oldest children died. Soon after, the poor woman herself became sick, and the school was closed. Then she moved into this part of the country, and tried to make her living by weaving mats out of rushes. But in the fall, the child older than Alice, died; and Mrs. Gray again grew sick. Her landlord was a hard hearted man: he turned her out of doors, and the poor woman would have died, if some neighbors had not taken her in, and provided for her until she could work for herself. At last she went to live on one of the hills that you can see near the iron mine. She did pretty well that winter; but one day in the spring, a great freshet ruined every thing that she had, and almost carried away her house. Afraid to stay on the hill any longer, she was about to go to the city, and ask assistance from the societies which give help to poor people, when some persons, told her to move to the cottage she is in now, and that they would pay the rent. She did so. When Alice grew older, she worked hard to support her mother, and she it was who planted all the flowers and vegetables that you saw in the garden. Father made her a present of the bee hives. Every body loves her because she has so sweet a temper." "And is the old lady still sick?" asked Samuel. "Yes," said his cousin, "she will never be well again. Yet she is happy in having a good daughter and kind friends, and loves to see the young people, who sometimes stop to talk or read to her." At some distance from the cottage the boys met a bull in the road. It was standing still when they first saw it; but in a little while it began to strike the ground with its feet, and toss about its head. Samuel was afraid to go on; but his cousins told him to follow them, without attempting to run. As they passed, the bull looked fiercely at them, and began to roar; but they walked on, keeping their eyes steady on it, all the while. It continued to make a great noise, but did not follow them. After they had passed it, Thomas said they could then walk as fast as they chose, lest the bull might follow them. Samuel asked him, if bulls had not sometimes killed people. "Yes," he replied, "bulls are dangerous when any thing makes them angry. And at such times, if you run from them they are sure to follow. They often fight with each other; and farmer Smith had a bull killed by another one last spring. If you meet them in the road, it is best to face them, without showing any fear. It is not often that they will attack any one who has courage enough to look straight at them." [Illustration] CHAPTER XII. LOCUSTS. Mr. Harvey's boys had a very fine fig tree, which had been presented to them by a friend of their father, and of which they took great care. It was kept in a large box, so that it might be placed in the house during the winter. The boys expected it would bear fruit next year. One day John burst into the room where Thomas, Samuel, and his father were sitting, and exclaimed with a doleful voice: "Oh, father, it is dead--eaten by the locusts--I found a dozen on it." "What's the matter, John?" said Mr. Harvey. "What have the locusts eaten?" "Our fig tree," replied John. "It is gone past all remedy. Only come with me, and you'll see it." They followed him down the garden walk. On reaching the fig tree, Mr. Harvey saw that nearly all its leaves had been eaten off, with most of the bark and young branches. Thomas and Samuel were very sorry, and John said he would kill every locust he met, from that day forward. Mr. Harvey examined the tree, and found, that although much damage had been done to it, yet with proper care, it might be restored. "We ought to have covered it with a net," he said to the boys. While his father was talking with Thomas and his cousin, John was stooping on the ground, hammering something with a stone. At last Mr. Harvey turned round, and asked John what he was doing. "I am killing these fine locusts that I have caught," replied John. "Stop, my son," said Mr. Harvey, "that is foolish conduct, and very wicked. You are giving way to anger and revenge, two of the worst passions that a youth can indulge." "But, father, they will eat more trees." "The damage that a few locusts can do, is not much," answered his father; "and if we had taken proper care with the fig tree, they would not have reached it. Let those under your hat go, and when we go into the house, I will tell you about the locusts of the Eastern countries, of which you might kill as many as you chose, if you were there." John did as his father bade him, and said he was sorry for having acted so foolishly. Then Mr. Harvey trimmed the fig tree with his knife, and said he would send a servant to place a screen over it. When they came to the house, John reminded his father of his promise concerning the locusts. Mr. Harvey took from a shelf several large pictures of insects, and laying one on the table, asked his son what he thought it was. "It looks like a large grasshopper," said John. "It is the locust of the East," replied his father. "These locusts are shaped almost exactly like the long-winged grasshoppers that fly about our fields; but they are two or three times larger. What do you think this picture is?" "It seems to be a great cloud of dust." "It is a swarm of Eastern locusts. Hundreds of thousands fly thus together, darkening the air, and driving every thing before them. When alighting they cover the earth for more than a mile round, and eat every green thing to the very roots. The noise of their wings is like thunder. They leave the country like a desert, so that the terrified people look forward to misery and famine. Men, women, and children, turn out with guns and stones, to kill them; and sometimes large fires are kindled for the same purpose. The dead ones are taken by cart loads to markets, and sold for food." "To be eaten, sir!" said Samuel. "Yes," replied Mr. Harvey, "mixed with butter, and fried in a pan, they form almost all the meat that the poorer classes in those countries get." "Its a shocking meal" said John. "Not so bad as you suppose," said his father. "Perhaps, if it were not the custom in this country to eat lobsters or hogs, we would look upon them with as much disgust as you do upon locusts. What do you think of dining off of spiders?" "Horrible," said John. His father continued: "I have read of a man who ate nothing else, when he could get spiders. So you see that people's tastes differ. You know that John Baptist's food was locusts and wild honey." "Do the people kill all the locusts in a swarm?" asked Thomas. "No," said his father, "a swarm is so large that after hundreds of cart loads are taken from it, it seems no smaller. Generally, the wind drives them into the sea, where they perish. But their dead bodies, cast upon shore, become corrupt, and produce plagues." "I wish," said John, "that the wind would drive all we have into the sea, or else a good distance from our fig tree. Who would think that such little animals could do so much mischief." "Is it true that locusts return after every seventeen years?" asked Samuel. "Yes," said Mr. Harvey; "but not the common kind, such as ate the fig tree. All locusts come from eggs. In first coming from the egg, they are not winged, but look like grub worms. After a while these grubs cast off their skins, and become locusts. Now, there is a kind of locust which is seventeen years in changing from the egg to the full insect It is this kind which is so numerous every seventeen years. If you go into the field when they are coming from the ground, you will see the grass and plants covered with them." "Father," said John, "why did the locusts strip all the leaves from the fig tree, without touching any of the flowers or bushes around?" "I suppose," said Mr. Harvey, "it is because the fig tree is very tender. It comes, you know, from warm countries, and is there the proper food of the locust. Had there been figs on the tree, they would, no doubt, have been eaten also." CHAPTER XIII. THE RETURN HOME. A few days after this conversation, a large fox came, in the evening, into Mr. Harvey's barn yard; but as a dog belonging to one of the farmers was near, he was driven off before he could catch any of the chickens. The boys heard the noise, and ran down. They saw the fox running very fast away, while the dog, which could not follow through the hole under the fence, had gone round the barn, to get into the field. Samuel and his cousins chased the fox as far as they could see it, and then returned to the barn yard to hunt for more. But none could be found, and they walked up to the house. [Illustration: THE FOX.] At last the month of August rolled around, and the holidays drew toward a close. I have told you only about a few things that Samuel saw in his walks around the country with his cousins; but you perceive that he enjoyed himself very much. He also learned a great deal. I hope, children, that you have also learned something by reading this book. Samuel tried to remember all that his uncle and cousins told him, and often thought of it when he was by himself. It would be well if you would do the same. Have you a little brother, or sister? See if you can tell it what Mr. Harvey told Samuel about bats, locusts, rivers, the rain, and sloths. You may also tell the story of Alice Gray, and old Jack the Soldier. You remember that Samuel was to go home at the end of August. Thomas and John looked very sorrowful as the time drew near; for they loved their cousin very much, and wished that he could stay with them altogether. On the last evening, Mr. Harvey took all the boys to a branch of the river about seven miles off, to enjoy a sail in a boat, on the water. It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and they rode to the place in a carriage. Samuel thought that the sight of the water, sparkling in the moon-beams, and stretching away so wide and still, with the dark bushes on each side, was the finest thing he had yet seen. When they were in the middle of the stream, and gliding slowly down it, Mr. Harvey and his sons joined in singing some simple song; and as they had brought plenty of food with them, they staid on the water until midnight. Next morning, Samuel started for town, at nine o'clock. He had received many beautiful and useful things from his cousins, and as he pressed their hands, and again and again, bade them good bye, he felt how much he would miss their company when he would be in the city. But they promised to write to each other, and as often as they could, send presents from one to another. Then the horses trotted rapidly down the road, and Mr. Harvey, with his boys, returned to the house. [Illustration] 
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39656	----	THE SQUARE BOOK OF ANIMALS By William Nicholson. RHYMES BY ARTHUR WAUGH. [Illustration] Published by R. H. Russell. New York. 1900. _NOTE._ _The book of Animals was designed by Mr. Nicholson in 1896._ Copyright, 1899, by William Heinemann. All rights reserved. Entered at Stationers Hall, London, England. Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A. AN EXPLANATION Friend, seek not here (to feed the mind) Zoology's recondite feasts: Here you will find but common, kind, And unsophisticated beasts! Yet fresh the life of farm and grange As that which o'er the ocean roams: Take for a change a narrower range-- An English book for English homes! [Illustration] THE BRITISH BULL-DOG You swing the gate; and there he stands to greet you, With growl or grin, as you are strange or known: According to your merits will he treat you-- An Englishman who loves and guards his own. THE UN-COMMON CAT Nine lives they give the common cat? There's a rare one livelier yet than that! A cat that swings nine separate tails! And, when it's let out of the bag, it rails With so knotty a tongue that the culprit quails! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE FRIENDLY HEN Some birds lay eggs in towering trees, And some in fens conceal them; The hen seeks friendlier haunts than these, Where every child can steal them. THE LEARNED PIG The farm's philosophy, our eyes assure us, Is simpler than in Aristotle's day: The youngest pigling follows Epicurus, And Bacon's Essays take the primrose way. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE BEAUTIFUL SWAN All day she rules the pond from edge to edge, Exerting Beauty's easy privilege; Her world a mirror spread in each direction, Where she reflects upon her own reflection. THE VERY TAME LAMB All men, said the poet, are struck at a mint, And some coins ring flat that the coiners embellish: But the lamb is so tame he will pardon the hint-- He'd be best with a little mint-<i>sauce</i> for a relish! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE TOILSOME GOAT "You're a lively kid!" is the schoolboy jest: But the kid is driven to work one day, And the hours of harness know little rest For the stiff goat-carriage round the bay. THE LUCKY DUCK There was a Drake, my Duck, at Plymouth Hoe Played bowls, with Spain's Armada clear of Dover! A gamesome spirit! But to him we owe The peace your farm and all our homesteads know: For, ere the Spaniard reached our wickets, lo! Drake bowled him over! [Illustration] [Illustration] COCK O' THE NORTH Cock o' the North! The dawn is young, Grey-glimmering the pane; Yet you, with your discordant tongue, Have woken me again! Good beasts are silent in their pens. Hush! Leave the boasting to the hens! THE SIMPLE SHEEP The sheep's like the man in the street. She will follow, and blunder, and bleat, In pursuit of her fate At the slaughter-house gate, And she learns it too late to retreat. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE SERVILE COW When the cow's in the farmyard, her sense Of servility's simply immense; But you meet her again In the highway or lane, And she tosses you over the fence. THE GROWING COLT Rough, shaggy colt: the world is all before you: Blithe be your life, secure of oats and hay; A little crowd of people to adore you, And some green resting-place at shut of day! [Illustration] The sun is low behind the grey-green trees. And all the farm grows quiet by degrees. Among their many lessons this is best: The animals know when and how to rest! A. W. 
51683	----	------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------- Illustration: FRONTISPIECE. ADVENTURES OF A HEN. THE SURPRISING AND SINGULAR _Adventures_ OF A HEN AS RELATED BY HERSELF TO HER FAMILY OF CHICKENS. Illustration: Printers Logo LONDON: PUBLISHED BY WHITTINGHAM AND ARLISS, _Juvenile Library_, PATER-NOSTER ROW. 1815. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ADVENTURES OF A HEN. In the beautiful vale of Ravensworth, is situated a commodious farm house: the proprietors treat all their domestic animals with humanity, and provide every possible convenience for them. The poultry yard is large and clean, at the bottom of it runs a clear brook, in which you may always see a number of ducks and geese sporting. One day, as an old speckled hen was scratching up some grubs for her numerous family, one of her chicks came running up to her. Oh, mother, pray do go and kill the young bantam cock! Why? replied the mother. Oh! he has behaved to me worse than ever any chicken behaved to another, and I will be revenged; I know I cannot fight him myself, but I hope you will. Not till I know how he has offended. Why, I had just scratched up a fine fat worm, and was cackling with delight, thinking what a nice feast I should have, when the nasty little bantum came, snatched it from me, ran away with it, and eat it, even before my face. Doubtless he has behaved very improperly, replied the old hen; but that is no reason you should; the best way of revenging yourself, is to take no notice of him, or ever play with him again; instead of wasting your time in quarrelling, search for another. What! and not punish him for so very unjust an action! did you ever hear of any thing so shameful before? Oh yes, many things. I should like to hear one of them. Well, my dear, I have no objection; but as it is so very hot, it would be better to go under the shade of the laburnum, and I will then relate to you the chief occurrences of my eventful life. The old hen then walked stately on, followed by her chickens; and having got upon a stone, to be a little higher than her audience, the young ones ranged themselves round her, and she began as follows: I was hatched with six more in a large nest, formed by my mother; as soon as we broke the shell, she carefully threw out every thing she thought would hurt our tender bodies, spread her warm wings over us, and prattled us to sleep: when we awoke, we complained of hunger; she immediately went forth in search of food, but, alas! we never saw her more. There chanced to be a large strange dog in the yard, my mother thinking he came to destroy us, flew at him, the contest was unequal, the dog provoked, seized my mother by the neck, and strangled her. We lay cold and comfortless, wondering what had become of our parent. Before night, two of my brothers died; and we should all soon have shared their fate, had not a little girl, the farmer's daughter, found us: she took us to the fire, and fed us with a little warm milk and bread, which revived us; she then wrapped us up in flannel, and put us in a little basket, which she put in the chimney corner. She fed us very regularly; but I suppose not with proper food, as all my poor sisters and brothers died, probably I was stronger than they. My little mistress grew very fond of me, as I would eat out of her hand, and when she called chickee, would run to her. As I grew large, I was very troublesome in flying upon the tables, and pecking at every thing; many severe blows I got from the farmer and his servants; who always ended by saying, if that troublesome fowl is not sent into the poultry yard, it shall certainly be killed; but my mistress always begged that I might stay a little longer, for she feared the other fowls would drive me away. And indeed I had not endeavoured to make friends of any of them; but when the door was open, and I could see them, I insulted them, with calling out, poor creatures! you are obliged to work hard all day, and can scarcely get enough to eat, while I am fed plentifully with the greatest dainties, and have nothing to do but amuse myself. An old hen who had been a friend of my mother's, offered to supply her place, in teaching me how to scratch for myself; but I rejected her kind advice with disdain. Illustration: _Nursing the chicken._ At last my young mistress could keep me no longer, her father insisted that I should either be killed, or go with the rest of my species, and setting open the door they fairly hunted me out. Now it was my turn to experience mortification: numbers had been witnesses of my disgraceful exit, and taunted me with, so her ladyship is obliged to come among the working people; I suppose food will come flying to her, as she is of too much consequence to work; I wonder if her claws are differently made to ours? In the evening, when the servant came to scatter corn, I was very hungry, and thought that would be a nice treat for me; but, alas! coarse as the food was, it was denied me; no one would suffer me to partake, but flew at, and pecked me whenever I attempted it, saying, no, no, mistress, you shall have none of this, we who have done our duty, may be rewarded; but what have you done? nothing. Thus was I driven from society, a thousand times did I wish that I had never known any other pleasure than the rest, and that my mistress had not nursed me so tenderly; but she did it from kindness, and I shall ever respect her memory. One morning I was rudely seized, and put with several more into a small wicker basket, to be taken to market: my sensations upon that occasion, no words can describe; to the market we came, and were exposed for sale. Illustration: _Putting the hen into the basket._ Numbers came to inquire our price, I was lifted up, and pricked, and pulled about, to see whether I was fat; but the distress I had of late been in, had made me very thin, I was therefore always thrown down again, with this observation, why, what a bag of bones this hussey is, I would not have her if you would give her to me. All my companions were sold, and I remained till night tired and hungry. Towards the close of the market, when the people were preparing to return home, a little girl passed by me with a piece of bread in her hand; urged by hunger I pecked at it, and when she patted me, though my poor sides were all over bruises, I would not appear as if she hurt me, but rubbed my head against her hand; she seemed much delighted with me, crying out, Oh! what a nice tame little creature, how I wish you were mine, but I fear I have not money enough to buy you. Why what can you give? (said the man who brought me from the farm.) I have but one shilling; but I will give you all that. Very well, you shall have it then, for I am sure there is not any use in taking it back. Little Ann, my new mistress, took me directly home; her mother lived in a thatched cottage, and was very poor: when she heard Ann had given all her money for me, she was very angry. Oh dear mother! you know it will soon lay eggs, which we can sell, and get chickens besides. You foolish girl, you cannot get both, what do you intend to feed it with? and we have no place to keep it in. Oh, we can keep it very well in the wood house, I will put up a perch for it, we will give it some crumbs to night, and to morrow it will provide for itself. Illustration: _Purchasing the hen._ I accordingly had a good supper and went to rest in a clay hovel, very different to what I had been accustomed to, but I thought how much worse my situation might have been; my fatigue and anxiety soon put me into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened, by being violently laid hold of. When I opened my eyes, I saw a great ugly man who held a sack and lanthorn in his hand. Oh! oh! mistress hen, I did not expect such luck, you will be a nice addition to my stock: he then threw me into the sack, which he flung over his shoulder, and walked a considerable way; this mode of carrying me, together with my sore bruises, produced such violent pain, that I grew quite insensible; when I recovered, I found myself confined with several of my fellow creatures in a large hen-coop, they told me they had all been stolen by the same man, some had been torn from their children, husbands, or parents. I asked for what purpose. What! can you be ignorant that he intends taking us to market to be killed, and eaten? At the thought of being exposed in my present miserable condition to be handled by the multitude, my blood froze in my veins. Illustration: _Stealing the hen._ I passed about a week in this coop; we were well fed, as our keeper wished to make us fat. One night we were alarmed with a tremendous noise, I turned to inquire the cause, when I saw the brave white cock trembling like a chick: oh! said he, give yourselves over now, nothing can save us from destruction, we shall all be devoured; no sooner had he said this, but a large fox entered; Oh! my children, how can I describe the horrors of the bloody scene which followed, even at this distance of time, the recollection draws tears from my eyes; I alone remained of all my companions; he was advancing to me, when some noise in the yard frightened him, and he ran away, leaving me more dead than alive with fright. After he had been gone some time, I considered that if I stayed where I was, in a few days I should be taken to market: the board which the fox had broken down, offered the way to escape; but where was I to go to, how should I know the way to the cottage of Ann? but the market was worse to my imagination than any other thing. I went through the opening, flew down, and found myself in the open road, I ran as fast as possible, only stopping to take breath, or a mouthful of food; many frights had I before night, from dogs, boys, &c. As the sun was setting, I came to a fine large garden, with a high wall round it; I flew to the top, and not seeing any person in it, I thought I would look out for some grubs, or worms, in a fine bed of newly turned up mould, and then go to rest upon one of the trees; I had scarcely began my search, when I found in the ground some very pleasant tasted seeds, which I began to devour, when I received a blow upon my wing from a stone, and looking up, I beheld the gardener coming forward in a furious passion. So I have now discovered who it is that scratches up all my seeds; but these are the last you shall ever taste, believe me; saying this, he seized me in the most brutal manner. I screamed violently; by this time, another man came up, and said, Why, Thomas, what will you do with it? if it had been a cock, you might have had fine sport with it, in throwing sticks at it. And why can't I at a hen, pray? Oh, why nobody ever does. Well then, I will be the first to throw; I will take her to the village, tie her to a stake, and the boys shall have a throw for a halfpenny a piece. While they were carrying me away, a lovely looking boy asked them what they were going to do with me. To make a cock-shye. Master, what is that? To throw sticks at it till it is killed. Oh, heavens! you surely are jesting, you cannot have so much barbarity? As to that, it has had the barbarity to eat up my seeds, to repay me for them, the nasty creature shall pay its life. The young gentleman, whose name was Augustus Manly, entreated that he might purchase me, and offered half a crown; but the man determined I should have a few blows, and tied me to the stake, when Augustus seeming to be inspired with more than ordinary courage, threw down his half crown, and lifting me from the ground, when the barbarous gardeners were not looking, ran off with me in his arms: the men could not overtake him by running, but were cowardly enough to throw a stone, which struck me on the breast; but by the care of this humane boy, I soon entirely recovered. Illustration: _Taking away the hen._ My master was a pupil in a very large school; the house in which he boarded, accommodated twelve more, but none so kind as himself; many slight injuries I received, but I considered how much worse my lot had been, and felicitated myself accordingly; but too soon I felt the most acute torments. My master was often laughed at by the other boys for his fondness for me: I loved him so much, that whenever he came into the yard, I ran to meet him, would feed out of his hand, or fly upon his shoulder, but this I would never do to any other boy, and by this I suppose it was which made them hate me. One day two of them came into the garden to read, the story they fixed upon was, unfortunately for me, that cruel one of Diogenes stripping a cock of all its feathers, and throwing it into the middle of the school where Plato was instructing his disciples; crying, 'there is Plato's man for you.' They laughed heartily at this, and one of them cried out, Oh! the most admirable thought has struck me! let us serve Manly's hen in the same way, and when he is in bed to night, we will open the door, and throw it at him, and cry out, 'there is Manly's lady for you.' This was highly approved of, and I was accordingly seized, and stripped of my feathers. Oh! Dickey, was not this far more unjust than the young bantum's taking your worm from you? that could give you no pain, but the tortures I endured, no one can possibly imagine; the blood flowed copiously, the skin was torn from the flesh, I wished for death to put an end to my torments, but that was denied. At night they fulfilled their intention, my benefactor was truly distressed to see my miserable condition, and taking me to the mistress of the house, and implored her assistance to cure me; she wished to have me killed instantly, but that he would not consent to. As she was a humane woman, she endeavoured to cure me; and got some oil, which she carefully rubbed over me, and I was kept in a place where these wicked boys could not come to me. I had the pleasure of hearing that these boys had been expelled from the school, the greatest disgrace that could befall them. It was long before I was entirely recovered; the next holidays Augustus determined to take me home with him, and leave me in charge of his amiable sister, whom he knew would nurse me tenderly. There I may say I was perfectly happy for some time. I became a mother, and had the delight of seeing my children beloved by Augustus and his sister. Once, owing to the carelessness of a servant, I hatched some duck eggs, I did not perceive the mistake, till taking my chickens (as I thought them) out, to teach them to scratch, they all ran towards the water; in vain I called after them to stop, that they would be drowned if they attempted to go in; deaf to my entreaties, they threw themselves in, I came to the pond in all the agonies of despair, expecting to see all my precious little ones dead; but, to my astonishment, they were all swimming merrily. A duck with whom I was intimate (for I made it a rule to treat all the domestic fowls with civility) came up and assured me she would take care of my young charge while they were on the water, and teach them to swim. Soon after, Augustus intended giving a supper to some of his friends, and it was proposed that each one should bring his favourite dish; Charles Mellish, Manly's cousin, was staying with him, he was a boy of an ardent temper, and would do any thing by way of frolic, or what he called fun; from the time this supper was proposed, he determined his dish should differ from every other persons, he accordingly procured from the cook a large pie dish and cover, and when the party assembled, he came into the poultry yard, seized me, and in spite of my peeking and scratching, forced me into it, covered me over with leaves, and placed the lid on; when he entered the parlour, I heard a number of little voices say, I wonder what Charles has got. He replied, something different to any one else I think; but before I let you see what it is, I must make an agreement that if it is different, every one of the ladies shall give me a kiss; but if any other person ever thought of bringing the same, every one in the room shall have the liberty to give me a slap on the face. This being agreed to, he set the dish upon the table, and took off the lid; I, who had been sadly cramped, immediately flew out, to the great astonishment of all present. I suppose master Charles received the reward from the ladies, but of that I did not wait to be witness; but ran out of the room as fast as possible. Illustration: _Charles's dish._ Not long after, I was again seized by the same gentleman, who having discovered that miss Manly, and a party of her friends were assembled round a small fire, telling terrible stories of ghosts and murders, resolved to frighten them; he placed a ladder by the side of the chimney, and mounting it, put me in at the top. I was glad to escape from him, so I flew down the chimney, carrying the soot with me, which suddenly put out the fire; and when I entered the room, the most terrible screams were heard from all quarters; the servants soon came in with lights, to know what misfortune had happened, to occasion such an uproar. I had hidden myself in a corner of the room; one of the young ladies said it must be a ghost, that they had been sitting very quietly, when suddenly they heard a tremendous noise, the fire was extinguished in an instant, that a thick cloud of smoke followed, and a great black thing, the shape of which she could not distinguish, knocked against her face, and threw her down. By this time, Charles had joined them, and hearing such exaggerated stories, burst into a hearty laugh. You may laugh, said one of the ladies, but had you been here when it happened, you would have been as frightened as we were, it could not be fancy, for see the fire is out, and what a strong smell of sulphur is in the room. Illustration: _The fright._ What would you think of me, if I discovered the cause of this wonderful affair? I should think you very clever indeed. Well then, give me a candle and I will soon find the ghost; he then took one off the table and by its assistance, soon discovered poor me sitting disconsolate under the table; at this the whole party joined in a hearty laugh; except myself, who had got some soot in my eyes, which made them very painful. Augustus took me in his arms, my poor hen, said he, you have had many strange adventures, and if you should ever take it into your head to write them (for all animals write their lives now-a-days), you shall make good mention of me, for I will now give you a good supper after your troubles. At the idea of a hen's writing her adventures, the party was highly diverted; no, said they, that can never be, as a domestic fowl can know nothing out of the poultry yard, and that would never be worth reading; but I think, my children, that some of the adventures I have gone through, are almost as wonderful as those of cats and dogs, which I hear are published in little books: talking of cats, I once had a severe combat with one of them, in which I nearly lost one of my eyes, and had many feathers torn off: as to dogs, I was always afraid of approaching them, remembering the melancholy fate of my poor mother. One time, when the family was paying a visit, orders were sent to the servant to fatten one of the fowls, then kill it, and send it to a poor neighbour who was sick; I was the one pitched upon, and was confined in a little coop, where I could scarcely turn round, much less take that exercise which is necessary to health, my confinement was still more distressing, when looking out, I could see all my companions enjoying themselves, how I longed to join in their sports. I loathed the quantities of food brought me, and would freely have given a saucer full of delicious white bread softened with cream, for the delight of scratching up a worm for myself; but though I had no appetite I ate, because I had nothing else to do; and that being such voluptuous food, soon made me excessively fat, which caused me much pain, as I could scarcely breathe. I look forward with joy to the time, when the murderer's knife would end my miseries; the day was fixed. On the morning of that day, to my astonishment, I saw Augustus enter the yard, he had returned from his visit much sooner than was expected: when I saw him, I thought of all his kindness, and wished to hear him speak once more before I died; for which purpose, I called as intelligibly as I could to him; at last I had the pleasure of hearing him say, what can be the matter with that poor hen which is confined, I never heard so pitiful a cry! Upon seeing it was his old favourite, Oh! my poor bird, said he, were you so near being killed; but I am very glad I have come in time to save you; saying this, he opened the door, and gave me liberty, that greatest of all blessings. I was expressing, in my language, my thanks, when Susan entered with her knife; Oh! Susan, how could you think of killing this my favourite? Pray sir, how should I know which you please to call your favourite? All hens are alike to me, I caught the one which was nearest to me, and as it is now fattened, we must have it, and you may take another favourite. No, this one you shall never kill; it is cruel to destroy any, but this which knows me so well, and is so tame, I never will have it killed; so saying, he carried me away, leaving Sue in a great passion. Soon after, my young master had to go to a boarding school, near London; his mamma accompanied him, and shut up her house; what was to be done with me, engaged much of his thoughts; at last he determined to place me here, with this worthy farmer, till his return. Illustration: _Saving the hen._ I must say I have experienced much kindness, but I never can like any mortal so well as my dear Augustus; he will, when he returns, be grown almost a man, but his kind heart must ever be the same. I anticipate the greatest pleasure from introducing my children to him, and I hope, when he comes, and I point him out to you, you will all behave with propriety to him. Yes, that we will, dear mother, how we long to see him; but I hope you have not finished your adventures, exclaimed Dickey (the little chicken who had been so angry about his worm) I should never be tired of hearing you. But I hope, my child, you have obtained more than entertainment; do you still think I should kill the bantum? Oh no! no, if I never meet with any greater troubles, I shall be a happy bird indeed; how trifling it must have appeared to you. I wish, said the mother, you could all be advised, to look upon the present evils as trifling, by considering that at this present moment, there are thousands of our species suffering the most dreadful tortures; it is our duty to contribute as much as possible to general happiness, by forbearance and patience. When I first came to this farm, I determined to make friends not only of my own species, but of the ducks, geese, and pigeons; and I have succeeded, by small acts of civility; and I am persuaded, there is not a fowl in the yard, but would oblige me, if it could; I shall now take you to the mother of the bantum, who is a modest young hen, whom I had once an opportunity of obliging, and I am sure when she hears of the improper behaviour of her son, she will punish him. As the good mother imagined the young bantum was punished, after which he made apology to Dickey, they were afterwards very great friends; the chickens, by adhering strictly to their mother's advice, passed through life with ease and comfort to themselves, and were respected by all who knew them. I hope a little history may not be quite unprofitable to children; who, by giving way a little to each other's caprices, will have more happiness themselves, and be more loved by their companions. Illustration: END OF THE ADVENTURES OF A HEN. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PITY. In the happy period of the golden age, when all the celestial inhabitants descended to the earth, and conversed familiarly with mortals, amongst the most cherished of the heavenly powers were twins, the offspring of Jupiter, Love and Joy. Wherever they appeared, the flowers sprung up beneath their feet, the sun shone with a brighter radiance, and all nature seemed embellished by their presence. They were inseparable companions, and their growing attachment was favoured by Jupiter, who had decreed that a lasting union should be solemnized between them as soon as they were arrived at maturer years. But in the mean time the sons of men deviated from their native innocence; Vice and Ruin overran the earth with giant strides; and Astrea, with her train of celestial visitants forsook their polluted abodes. Love alone remained, having been stolen away by Hope, who was his nurse, and conveyed by her to the forests of Arcadia, where he was brought up among the shepherds. But Jupiter assigned him a different partner, and commanded him to espouse Sorrow, the daughter of At�©. He complied with reluctance; for her features were harsh and disagreeable, her eyes sunk, her forehead contracted into perpetual wrinkles; and her temples were covered with a wreath of cypress and wormwood. From this union sprung a virgin, in whom might be traced a strong resemblance to both her parents; but the sullen and unamiable features of her mother were so mixed and blended with the sweetness of her father, that her countenance, though mournful, was highly pleasing. The maids and shepherds of the neighbouring plains gathered round, and called her Pity. A red-breast was observed to build in the cabin where she was born; and while she was yet an infant, a dove pursued by a hawk flew into her bosom. This nymph had a dejected appearance, but so soft and gentle a mien, that she was beloved to a degree of enthusiasm. Her voice was low and plaintive, but inexpressibly sweet; and she loved to lie for hours together on the banks of some wild and melancholy stream, singing to her lute.--She taught men to weep, for she took a strange delight in tears; and often, when the virgins of the hamlet were assembled at their evening sports, she would steal in amongst them, and captivate their hearts by her tales of charming sadness. She wore on her head a garland composed of her father's myrtles, twisted with her mother's cypress. Pity was commanded by Jupiter to follow the steps of her mother through the world, dropping balm into the wounds she made, and binding up the hearts she had broken. She goes with her hair loose, her bosom bare and throbbing, her garments torn by briars, and her feet bleeding with the roughness of the path. The nymph is mortal, for her mother is so; and when she has filled her destined course upon the earth, they shall both expire together, and Love be again united to Joy, his immortal and long-betrothed bride. Illustration: END OF PITY. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PRINCE ARTHUR AND HUBERT. Prince Arthur was nephew to John, King of England, and had a stronger title by his birthright to the crown, than his uncle, being the son of Geoffrey, John's elder brother. The power of innocence is strikingly displayed in the influence it had over the mind of Hubert, who had devoted himself to be the guilty instrument of John's injustice and cruelty, had not the feelings of humanity and nature wrought too powerfully to permit him to execute his wicked design. _A Prison._ HUBERT AND ATTENDANTS. _Hubert._ Heat me these irons, and be sure keep within call: when I stamp with my foot, come in, and bind the boy that will be with me, fast to the chair. Take heed, and listen to my call. _Attendant._ I hope you have authority for what you do. _Hub._ Obey my orders, and let me have none of your scruples; for the present retire! Young lad, come here, I have something to say to you. (_Prince Arthur comes in._ _Arthur._ Good morrow, Hubert. _Hub._ Good morrow, little prince. _Arth._ You look sad, good Hubert. _Hub._ To say truth, I am not very happy. _Arth._ Heaven take pity on me! I think nobody should be sad but I. Were I but out of prison, and a shepherd's boy, I could be cheerful all day long; nay, even here I could be happy, were I not afraid my uncle intends me harm. I fear him, and he fears me. Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son? Oh! that I were but your son, so you would but love me, Hubert. _Hub._ If I listen to his innocent prattle, I shall awaken that compassion I have taken so much pains to stifle; therefore I will lose no time. (_Aside._ _Arth._ Are you ill, Hubert? you look very pale; if you were ill, I would attend you night and day, would watch by you, and show how much I love you. _Hub._ How his words affect me! he shakes my resolution, but I will be firm, and smother these womanish feelings. Arthur, read that paper. _Arth._ (_Reads_). Alas! alas! and will you burn out both my eyes? _Hub._ I must and will. _Arth._ Can you be so cruel? I have always loved you tenderly, have behaved to you as if I had been your son, watched your very looks, obeyed your orders, attended you when you were sick, and rejoiced at every symptom of recovery. Can you have the heart to put my eyes out? which never did, nor never shall, frown upon you. _Hub._ I have sworn to do it, and must not break my oath. _Arth._ It is better to break a wicked promise than to keep it. Had you a child you fondly loved, think what you would suffer to have him treated thus? My innocence should plead for me. I could not have believed that Hubert had been so hard-hearted. _Hub._ Come in (_Stamps, the attendants come in with cords, irons, &c._), do as I bid you. _Arth._ Oh! save me, Hubert, save me. The fierce looks of these bloody men terrify me to death. _Hub._ Give me the irons, I say, and bind him here. _Arth._ Alas! you need not be so rough, there is no occasion to bind me. I will be as gentle as a lamb, if you will but send these men away. I will not stir nor make a noise, whatever pain you put me to. _Hub._ Withdraw, and leave me alone with him. _Atten._ I am glad to be rid of such a business. _Arth._ Alas! then I have driven away my friend, let him come back, that he may plead for me. _Hub._ Come, boy, prepare yourself. _Arth._ Will nothing avail me? _Hub._ Nothing; prepare. _Arth._ Oh! Hubert, that a gnat would fly in your eye, that you might feel the pain so small a thing would cause; perhaps that might move your sympathy, and lead you to consider what I must suffer. _Hub._ How ill you keep your promise, be silent. _Arth._ Forgive me, Hubert, if I try to move you; you once were tender and compassionate, and you will be happier from yielding to these gentle dispositions, than from all the wealth and honours my uncle can bestow. _Hub._ Well, your innocence has unnerved my firmest resolution. I am subdued, and will not touch your eyes for all the treasures of your uncle's crown. Yet have I sworn, and fully purposed to have performed----. _Arth._ O, now you look like Hubert! Before you were disguised. _Hub._ Hush, be quiet; I must conceal you from your uncle's vengeance till I have an opportunity of escaping with you to a foreign country, where we shall be secure from his resentment. For your sake I resign all my hopes of preferment, and incur the danger of my life, should I be taken whilst in your uncle's territories; but, poverty with innocence, is infinitely preferable to a crown with a guilty conscience. Fear nothing, but retire; not India's wealth should bribe me to injure you. END OF ARTHUR AND HUBERT. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE DRUNKARD. Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, taking a walk one evening at Bruges, found in the public square a man laying on the ground, where he was soundly asleep. He had him taken up, and carried to his palace, where, after they had stripped him of his rags, and put on him a fine shirt, and a nightcap, placed him in one of the prince's beds. This drunkard was much surprized, when he awoke, to find himself in a beautiful alcove, surrounded by officers more richly dressed the one than the other. They asked him, what suit his highness wished to put on that day? This demand completed his confusion; but after a thousand positive assurances he gave them, that he was but a poor cobbler, and not at all a prince, he resolved quietly to bear all the honours they loaded him with,--suffered them to dress him, appeared in public,--heard mass in the Ducal chapel, and kissed the mass-book,--in a word, they made him perform all the usual ceremonies: he went to a sumptuous table, then to cards, to the walk, and other entertainments. After supper they gave him a ball. The good man having never found himself at a like feast, took freely the wine they offered to him, and so abundantly that he got brave and drunk. It was then the catastrophe of the comedy was brought about. Whilst he was sleeping himself sober, the duke had him clothed again with his rags, and carried back to the place from whence he had been taken at first. After having passed there all night in a sound sleep, he awoke, and went home to relate to his wife, as a dream of his, what in effect had really happened to him. Illustration: THE END. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SUPERIOR BOOKS FOR YOUNG PERSONS, PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY Whittingham and Arliss, _Paternoster Row_. ARLISS' HIEROGLYPHICAL BIBLE. Embellished with four Hundred beautiful Engravings on Wood, Price 1_s._ 6_d._ This new Edition is, besides its Embellishments, executed in the first style, printed on a very beautiful type, and in short, infinitely superior to any similar Bible that has hitherto been submitted to the Public. ORPHAN HENRY; or, THE SURE ROAD to WEALTH and HAPPINESS. Embellished with fine Wood Engravings, Price 1_s._ THE CASKET; or, MEMOIRS of MISS SELWYN. Ornamented with beautiful Engravings, Price 1_s._ JUVENILE ANNALS; or, the PASTIME of EDWARD and EMMA. With beautiful Engravings on Wood, Price 1_s._ THE HISTORY OF PAMELA; or, VIRTUE REWARDED. Embellished with beautiful Engravings, Price 1_s._ MARY THE BEGGAR GIRL. With Engravings on Wood, Price 1_s._ THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND. Embellished with beautiful Engravings on Wood, Price 1_s._ TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE 1. Punctuation has been normalized. 2. Variations in spelling hyphenation and accentuation were maintained. 3. Italicized words and phrases are presented by surrounding the text with underscores. 
62315	----	No. 2. Domestic Animals. STORY BOOK FOR CHILDREN. [Illustration] PITTSFIELD MASS. E. WERDEN. 1848. DOMESTIC ANIMALS. A STORY BOOK FOR CHILDREN. [Illustration] PITTSFIELD, MASS. PUBLISHED BY E. WERDEN. 1848 [Illustration] The HORSE is one of the noblest, and most useful of the domestic animals. If properly managed, he is gentle, and sometimes manifests a strong attachment for his master. He is found in almost all climates. [Illustration] The DOG is a social animal, and is the companion of man in all civilized countries. He varies in size, from the little lap-dog, to the large mastiff, and hound. Some of them are used to guard property from thieves. [Illustration] The CAT is a useful animal, and there are very few little boys or girls that do not love the cat. In this country it is usually black, white, or grey; but in Asia it is red, and at the Cape of Good Hope blue. In Egypt cats were formerly worshiped, and severe laws were passed against those who ill-treated them. In China they have little beds of down made for them, while they have silver collars for their necks, and beautiful rings for their ears, made of jasper or sapphire. The Turks have little houses made for them, and servants to attend them. The finest species of domestic cats are those called Angora. It is said that the cats of Russia have their tails six times as long as their bodies. [Illustration] The PIG is not a very handsome animal, but makes excellent food. He never seems to be tired of eating, and if he has plenty of food only stops to sleep or wallow in the dirt. He makes a sharp squealing noise when hungry. [Illustration] The CAMEL is a native of Africa, and Arabia. It has two humps upon its back between which the natives lash their burdens. They have very long legs, and are thus able to travel through the deep sands, where no other animal can go. They have also an extra stomach where they can deposite water enough to last them two or three weeks. Thus the camel is able to travel across the long deserts where there is neither food nor water for hundreds of miles. The camel is very patient, and never complains if he is able to carry the load, but if not he sinks upon the ground, uttering the most piteous cries. The Arabs often eat their flesh, and make butter of their milk. [Illustration] [Illustration] 
58434	----	MINKIE BY LOUIS TRACY Author of "_The Wings of the Morning_," "_The Pillar of Light_," "_The Captain of the Kansas_," etc. Toronto McLeod & Allen Publishers 1907 COPYRIGHT, 1907 BY EDWARD J. CLODE. _Entered at Stationers' Hall_ _The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._ Illustration: _Minkie_ CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END 3 CHAPTER II PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY 41 CHAPTER III THE WHITE MAN'S WAY 73 CHAPTER IV THE BLACK MAN'S WAY 107 CHAPTER V THE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ 143 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "Minkie" _Frontispiece_ PAGE "Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?" 8 Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it seriously 69 But she stood there quite motionless 91 The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him 114 My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly 157 HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END CHAPTER I HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END _Told by Bobby, the Horse_ Minkie says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest and strongest. I don't see that at all, but she thinks I can't see much, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is just her irritating way of settling an argument--as if _I_ made the harness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side of my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that clever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don the rogue's badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how the clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled him. Yes, that is what they call us--her "gang"--although Dandy, the fox-terrier, won't admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he gets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced against Tibbie--I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word for a cat--but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of all the back-biting, screeching--Eh, what? Oh, don't worry, as I tell Dan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat--you'll be in the middle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly.... The fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red bicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the roots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was a parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie and Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she threatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam dropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv'nor had sent her; but Minkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan was close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie grabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other. And it was only a telegram. When Mam opened it, she said "Good gracious!" "What is it, mother?" inquired Dorothy. But Minkie had read it over Mam's shoulder and it was just this: "Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend Christmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom." Tom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn't really old, but Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv'nor, and we are all pretty free and easy in the stable, you know. "Good gracious!" said Mam again, "he will be here in half an hour. Evangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr. Grosvenor is bringing a friend home with him." Now, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always flustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about "bringing" Schwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be detained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are in a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was just enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into my harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and boots, pulled the victoria out of the shed. I was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying. "Don't stop," she said, and skipped inside. Jim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines anything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had heard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be good for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of the rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy's fur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one's being the wiser, except Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the escape of the telegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a tree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the drawing-room window, yelled "Yah!" at him. That settled it. He came after me and jumped up at my bit. "Race you to the station," he said, pretending he hadn't seen Minkie. "Right," said I; "but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to harness you to his little girl's toy pram." This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn't know then about the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor's poodle in the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper. When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes, which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim.... "Mr. Grosvenor hasn't come, miss," said Jim, when the crowd thinned. "Who said he was coming?" asked Minkie. "Well, Evangeline thought--" "Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her. No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man, with straw hair and white eyebrows." Nail my shoes, she wasn't far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut. "This is Mr. Grosvenor's carriage, sir," said the porter. "Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?" said the newcomer, grinning at Minkie. Illustration: "Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?" "Are you Mr. Schwartz?" she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because Minkie's tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at first sight. "Yes," he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to the porter, who was waiting for his tip. "Well, if you give the porter a shilling I'll drive you to our place. Mother is expecting you." "Are you particular as to the exact amount?" he inquired, still grinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you must laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz always guffawing--at least, not always, because he could scowl very unpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right before we were through with him. "No," said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. "As it is Christmas time, you might make it half a crown." Schwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought tuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it. "If you haven't another sixpence I can lend you one," she said sweetly, and I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way. "Don't trouble," said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the porter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to impress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize what a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up to a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn't make haste. Then Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too. "Is that dog yours?" he inquired. "Yes." "And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his carriage?" "Not often," said Minkie, looking at his boots. "Dandy, you wicked imp, get out at once." Dan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking for all he was worth. "Tell you what, Bob," he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, "this red-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the stable to-morrow. I'll keep you posted in affairs inside the house, and, when I give you the office, you'll let him have both heels in the right place, eh?" "I'll do my best," I coughed, and Jim wondered what was the matter, as there are no flies about in winter-time. Meanwhile, Minkie took Schwartz in hand, and my long ears were not given me for amusement. "We thought you were not coming until next week," she said, by way of being polite. "I finished some business in Paris sooner than I expected, and Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to ask me to spend Christmas and New Year at Dale End. I shall enjoy the visit immensely, I am sure. I have not had a Christmas at home for many years." "At home?" Minkie raised her large blue eyes so innocently. I knew exactly how she looked, and I rattled my harness to tell her I was listening. "Yes; in England, I mean." "Ah." "Don't you call England 'home,' too?" "Of course, but I live here." "So do I." "Sorry. I fancied you just said you had been in some other country for a long time." "Well, I'm a bit of a cosmopolitan, I admit. Do you know what a cosmopolitan is?" "It means anything but English." Mr. Schwartz roared. "Gad!" he cried, "that is not so far wrong." An old gentleman passed us in a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of fat cobs, your bellows-to-mend and step-short sort. They don't like me, because I always make a point of giving them the dust in summer, so one of them snorted, "Station hack!" "Going to have a shave?" I asked, quite civilly, he being all of a lather. Minkie gave the old gentleman a smile and a bow. He was rather surprised, which was reasonable enough, seeing that she usually sails along without seeing anybody; but he got his hat off in good time. "Who is that?" inquired Schwartz. "Jack's uncle," said Minkie. "Jack is a friend of yours, eh?" "Um, yes, but he--perhaps I shouldn't say anything about it. Jack is twenty-five, you see." "Oh, is he?" Schwartz was not smiling now. It was easy to guess that by his voice. "I suppose he is better acquainted with your sister than with you?" "Yes, heaps." "What is his other name?" "Percival Stanhope." "Mr. John Percival Stanhope, in fact? Odd that I should not have heard of him, if he is such a great friend of the family?" "Dolly doesn't say much about him. He's in India, and India is such a long way off." "Jolly good job, too, or you would be frizzling to-day." Mr. Schwartz was brightening up again. "I think you are mistaken," said Minkie, quietly. "Jack says it is ever so cold in the Punjab at Christmas-time." "Does he write to you, then?" demanded Schwartz. "No; that was in a letter to Dolly." "A recent letter?" "He was talking about Christmas two years ago. But please don't mention him to her. We have no right to discuss her affairs, have we?" "No, no; of course not. It was just by way of conversation, eh?" "That is the cemetery," said Minkie, pointing to a low tree-lined wall in the distance. "Some day, if you like, I shall take you there, and show you his mother's grave." "Thanks, but I am not fond of cemeteries, as a rule." "Perhaps you would prefer to be cremated?" "I haven't considered the matter." "But you ought to. You are quite old, nearly forty, and I saw in a pill advertisement the other day that forty is a dangerous age if your liver is out of order." "Here, young lady, not quite so fast, please. How do you know I am forty, and why do you think I have a diseased liver?" "It said so in the paper." "The deuce it did." "Yes; in one of those little spicy bits, telling you all about people, you know. It said: 'Mr. Montague Schwartz is one of the Chosen People.' You are Mr. Montague Schwartz, aren't you?" "Go on, do." "Oh, I remember every word '--one of the Chosen People--' that means you are a Jew, doesn't it?" "Of Jewish descent, certainly." "Well, it went on: 'His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted the paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was running a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is building a mansion in Mayfair.' There was a lot more, but now you see how I knew your age." "It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver." "I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs of congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I show it to you? Those pills might cure you." "Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares your knowledge of my career and state of health?" "Did I show her the paper, do you mean?" "Yes." "No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see it--" "Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I'll make a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the paragraph--which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to finish--and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns." "Done," said Minkie, coolly. "And here we are at Dale End. Mile End--Dale End. Funny, isn't it, how names run together that way occasionally." Before Jim led me around to the stable I heard Mam express her surprise that Mr. Schwartz had come alone. She had expected her husband by the same train. And she did not know Millicent had gone in the victoria. How on earth did the child recognise Mr. Schwartz, as she had never seen him? "I rather fancy your younger daughter would pick me out in the Strand if she were so minded," explained the visitor, cheerfully. "I hope she did not bore you by her chatter," said dear, innocent Mam. "Or perhaps she was in one of her silent moods?" "No. We got along famously; didn't we, Millicent?" "It was a nice drive," said Minkie, "not too cold, and the village is quite gay." "Well, I find the air rather chilly," said Mam. "Why are we all standing here? Come into the drawing-room, Mr. Schwartz. Dorothy is there, and we shall have tea brought a little earlier than usual. Evangeline, tell James to take Mr. Schwartz's portmanteaux to the Blue Room." Of course, I should not have heard what happened next if Tibbie had not looked in to see me that night. As a matter of fact, the gang does not miss much in the way of gossip. One or other of us is always on hand. And that parrot--though he is no friend of mine--is a terror for picking up news. Jim hangs his cage on a tree opposite my door every fine morning, and the things he tells me are surprising. He has hardly a good word for anybody, but then, what a dull world it would be if we only told the nice things about our friends. Why, we should all be dumb soon. Dan tried to sneak in behind Minkie, but Mam had her eye on him. "I do believe that naughty Dandy has been in the wars again," she said. "Millicent, did you see him fighting any other dog?" "No, mother. He met the doctor's poodle, but there was no fight." Minkie was always strictly accurate. "What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over with a damp cloth." Tibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being led off to the kitchen. "Gnar!" muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths, "wait till I catch you in the garden!" Tibbie just smiled. I must say that cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and do nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in the Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie's method is the only way to get on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought to be a bit of a philosopher. "Make other people work for you," he says. "That's the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell 'em you must have oats, an' snap their heads off if they don't move quick enough. Bless your hoof, they like it. You hear 'em say: 'There's blood for you, a born aristocrat, he is,' an' they'll do any mortal thing you want." Well, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we don't have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend--no, it's as true as I'm standing on four legs, but the very first place mentioned had an "end" in it--where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had been in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she was forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves. Eclipse wasn't in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz at Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted to marry her straight off. She wouldn't do that, even if Mam and the Guv'nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and Schwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich. Now, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills, so you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues call "a desirable acquisition." I have heard a lot of people in the village say that Dolly is so pretty she ought to make a good match. When she did a skirt dance at the Cottage Hospital Bazaar, the local paper spoke of her as "the beautiful Miss Grosvenor." She pretended to be very angry about that, but Tibbie says she bought a dozen papers and sent them to her girl friends, so the rest of the report must have been suitable. I suppose she is all right for a grownup. For my part, I prefer Minkie, who has a yellow mane, and blue eyes, and freckles. She is as straight as a soldier, and has small hands and feet, and the loveliest brown legs.... Eh, what? Well, say stockings, then, but when I took first prize and the cup for the best hackney in the show, everybody admired my legs; so why not Minkie's? Anyhow, by the time tea was served, Schwartz had further established himself in Mam's good graces. He was a clever chap in his way, and he could say the right thing to women occasionally, and he was wise enough not to bother Dorothy too much, though Tibbie saw, out of the tail of her eye, that the girl could not move from one side of the room to the other without Schwartz's watching her approvingly. Tibbie knew by his eyes that he was saying to himself: "She will look all right in Brook-street." Dan announced the postman while Dorothy was pouring out the tea, and Minkie brought in a heap of letters, mostly Christmas cards. Minkie had a baker's dozen to herself, and five of them were addressed to "Minkie and her Gang"; each of the five contained pictures of a girl, a horse, a dog, a cat, and a parrot. She soon made out by the postmark and the handwriting who had sent every card, even though the names were not given. One seemed to puzzle her at first, and she slipped it into her pocket. The others were handed round, before Dorothy arranged them on the mantel-piece with a number which had come by earlier deliveries, and Mr. Schwartz admired them immensely. "It is so interesting to come back to the old country and find these pleasant customs in full swing," he said. "I have neither sent nor received a Christmas card for years. I was telling Millicent on our way from the station that, by chance, I have been out of England at this season every year for ten years." "You did not mention the exact period, Mr. Schwartz," said Minkie. "I rather thought that ten years ago you were in Kimberley?" "Oh, one speaks in round numbers. By the way, have you received a card from your elderly friend--the man we met driving the pair?" "Driving a pair. Who was that, Millie?" asked her mother. "Mr. Stanhope, Jack's uncle." Dorothy dropped a piece of toast, and Mam bent over her letters, but she said quietly: "I fear my girls will not be honored by any such attention on his part, Mr. Schwartz. Indeed, I think he is the only enemy we possess in the neighborhood. How did you come to describe him as a friend of yours, Millie?" "I didn't." "Perhaps I was mistaken," put in Schwartz, who was beginning to hate Minkie, yet had no wish to quarrel with her. "I said Jack was my friend. Isn't that right, mother?" "Oh, yes. I understand now. By the way, dearie, are you going to meet your father? It is nearly time to start. And be careful to wrap up well." "The victoria will not be ready for another five minutes. I have time to bring you that paper if you would care to see it before dinner, Mr. Schwartz." "Thanks. I shall be delighted--you wretched little imp," he added under his breath, but Tibbie heard him. Minkie brought the paper. "That is the paragraph I told you of," said she, pointing very daintily to something on one of the pages. I have seen her point that way to a dead rat when she wished Jim or Mole to throw it away. "Much obliged. And here are the five sovereigns I promised you as a Christmas box." "Mr. Schwartz--" broke in Mam, but he turned to her with his best manner. "I beg of you to allow me to do this, Mrs. Grosvenor. It is really a harmless joke between Millicent and myself," he said. "But five pounds--" protested Mam. "That was in the bond. Pray let me explain. By chance, she mentioned some very useful information which this newspaper contained; I might not have heard of it otherwise. So I am adding a little to her Christmas present--that is all." "It seems a great deal of money," sighed Mam, who often wanted a fiver and had to do without it, "but you two appear to have the matter cut and dried, so I suppose it is all right. What are you going to do with your fabulous wealth, Millicent?" "Make a corner in toffee. Make every kid in Dale End pay a penny for a ha'penny-worth. That is the proper thing, isn't it, Mr. Schwartz?" "I don't think I can teach you much," he replied with his usual grin. "Oh yes, you can. Read the next paragraph, the one beginning: 'The unhappy natives of the Upper Niger.' It tells about gas-pipe guns and coal-dust powder. Yes, mother dear, going now." It was quite dark, of course, when I brought Minkie to the station a second time. The weather had changed, too, from what the farmers call "soft" to a touch of frost, which made both Jim and me pleased that my shoes had been sharped by the blacksmith that morning. The train was rather late, so Minkie went into the station and interviewed a porter. He told her something which seemed to interest her, so she asked the booking-clerk for change of a sovereign and gave the man a shilling. She picked out her father the instant the train drew up at the platform. He looked worried, she told me afterwards, but that passed when he saw her. He had the usual number of parcels which people carry at Christmas time, and Minkie grabbed all of them, but he stopped her with a laugh. "We can't rush off in the orthodox way to-night, Minkie," he said. "Mr. Schwartz's servant is on this train, and I promised to take him with us to the house. By the way, is Dandy with you in the carriage?" "No, father dear. Why do you ask?" "Because this valet of Schwartz's is a black man, and Dandy might not approve of him at first sight." "A black man." "Yes, polished ebony. Rather smart, too. Speaks English perfectly. He came to me at Waterloo and said--Oh, there he is. Hi, you. Just follow me, will you." Minkie thought that the negro was an extraordinarily fine fellow, and very well dressed. It was odd that Schwartz had not mentioned him, and she wondered where he would sleep. Perhaps he curled up on a mat outside his master's room. In that case, she must make Dan clearly understand that she rather approved of the Ethiopian than otherwise. His luggage appeared to be a small handbag. He almost made the mistake of entering the carriage with Minkie and her father, but he showed his teeth in a good-natured grin, and climbed to Jim's side on the box. I had a look at him as he passed the near lamp, and he certainly did startle me; I am quite sure I should have shifted him if Minkie had not said quietly: "All right, Bobby. Steady, old chap." On the way home I heard Minkie trying to cheer up her father by telling him little bits of village news, and he did his best to respond, but both of us felt there was something wrong, as the Guv'nor is likely enough most days. "Mr. Schwartz has arrived, of course?" he inquired, soon after we quitted the station. "I forgot to ask you sooner. I took it for granted when his servant turned up and told me he had missed the earlier train." "Yes. He came according to your telegram." "How has he got on at home?" "Oh, first rate. Mam and Dolly seemed quite pleased to see him." "What do _you_ think of him, Minkie?" "I hardly know yet, father dear. I shall tell you--let me see--on New Year's Eve." "You demand seven days' experience, eh? Wise child. I wish some one had taught me at your age to wait a bit before I formed my opinions." "One might form them quickly enough, but not express them." "Which means that you don't like Schwartz? Well, he is not exactly my sort, I admit, but he is wealthy, Minkie, and one must bow the knee before the golden calf occasionally. And his repute stands high in the city, so he might be a useful friend. We must make the best of him, eh?" "One always does that with one's guests, of course," said Minkie, who could feel a heavy assortment of gold and silver coins in her pocket. Minkie jumped out when I pulled up at the front entrance. Dan was standing on the top step and wondering what in the world was sitting beside Jim on the box. Before he could say a word, Minkie grabbed him and whispered in his ear. But he was very uneasy, because the black man sprang down almost as promptly as Minkie, and nearly frightened Evangeline into a fit when she met him in the hall. He took his hat off in quite an elegant way. "I am Mr. Schwartz's valet," he said. "Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to bring me with him from London. Is my master in his room now?" "N-no, sir," stuttered Evangeline. He gave her the queerest feeling, she told Cookie later. "Well, if you will kindly show me to his suite I will prepare his clothes for dinner," went on the negro, who appeared to be more anxious to get to work than any of our servants. Evangeline glanced at Minkie and the Guv'nor; she was sure it must be all right, as the negro had arrived in their company, but she dared not go upstairs with him. Wild horses would not drag her there, she said, though I would back myself to haul her to the top attic before she could say "knife." "It's the Blue Room," she said. "First on the left in that corridor," and she pointed to the side of the house where Mr. Schwartz was lodged. The big darky went up at once. Evangeline helped to carry in some of the parcels, and Minkie took her father's overcoat and hat, but kept an eye on Dan, who was looking at the stairs anxiously. Dolly came running to kiss the Old Man, and Mam appeared. "Where is Mr. Schwartz?" asked the Guv'nor. "Here I am," said Schwartz, appearing in the drawing-room doorway. "I am afraid you had a cold journey from town. It was exceedingly kind of you to send me on ahead. My only regret is that you could not come with me." "Business, my dear fellow. It pursues me to the last hour, even in holiday time." "But that is good. It argues success. Your idle man is rarely successful." "I fear it is possible for a busy man to score a loss occasionally. I expect you have finished tea long since? Can you squeeze the pot, Mam?" "It will be here in a minute, Tom," said Mam, smiling. "My husband hates to miss his tea, Mr. Schwartz. He would drink three cups now if I were to let him, though we dine at seven." "By the way, that reminds me," said the Old Man, dropping into his regular chair in the drawing-room. "I fell in with your servant at Waterloo, Schwartz." "My servant!" said Schwartz, blankly, and both Dan and Tibbie heard every word, as Minkie had collected Dan again before she took her usual perch on a hassock near her father. If the Guv'nor had said he came across Schwartz's balloon at the Southwestern terminus our visitor could not have put more bewilderment into his voice. "Yes, your black valet," explained the Guv'nor. "My black valet! I don't possess such an article. I left my man at Brook-street, and he is a Frenchman." Schwartz had risen to his feet. He looked strangely pale--Minkie told me his face was a flea-bitten grey. The Guv'nor jumped up, too. So did Minkie, and Dan, and Tibbie. You see, Mam and Dorothy knew nothing about the gentleman who had gone to Schwartz's bedroom to arrange his dress suit and put the studs in his shirt. "Then who the blazes is the nigger who is in your room upstairs at this moment?" said the Old Man, forgetting that there were ladies present. "Nigger! My room!" Schwartz's voice cracked. He gasped as though he had run a mile. He glared at the Guv'nor and then glared at Minkie. Stifle me, he thought it was some trick she had played on him. But if the head of our family was not much good at business he was in the front row where prompt action was needed. "Follow me, quick!" he shouted, and made for the door. He was just a second too late. The tall negro was coming downstairs three at a time. He bounded across the hall and had his hand on the latch just as the Guv'nor rushed at him. Out went the black, out went Mr. Grosvenor after him, with Minkie and Dan a dead heat half a length behind, and Schwartz whipping in. On the level the nigger drew away; but Dan overhauled him at the turn near the clump of rhododendrons, and Dan never makes the mistake of advertising his whereabouts when the matter is serious. So he nailed the make-believe valet by the ankle, and his teeth closed on bone and sinew without ever a sound. Down went the nigger with a crash and a yell. It was pitch dark among the shrubs, but the Old Man groped for him and got a knee in the small of his back, bending his head upwards at the same time by grabbing a handful of wool. That is a good trick. It simply paralyses the other fellow. "I've got him," he shouted, but Schwartz just roared "Help!" at the top of his voice, and kept to the open drive. Minkie heard Dan sawing away, and growling a bit, now; she closed in, clutched a loose leg that was kicking wildly, and said: "Are you all right, dad?" "Yes. Tell James to fetch a stable lantern and a rope." Minkie wasn't going to leave her father nor miss any of the fun. She sung out directions, and Jim came along at a gallop. The unfortunate nigger was screaming that the dog was eating him, but, when they had tied his hands behind his back, and Minkie pulled Dan off, he seemed to be more frightened than hurt. Polly told me next day that these black fellows are always weak below the knee joints, however gigantic they may be otherwise. But the previous excitement was a small affair compared with the row which sprang up when Jim held the lantern so that Schwartz could see the negro's face. "Gott in himmel!" he shrieked, in a kind of frenzy, "it's Prince John." "Yes--you thief!" said the prisoner, who seemed to regain his self-possession and his dignity when he set eyes on Schwartz. "Where is it? Where is it? Give it to me, or I'll tear your liver out!" squealed the other, dancing close up to him in an extraordinary passion, being one of those men who fly into a delirium when rage gets the better of them. "I have not got it," said Prince John, if that was his name. He turned to the Guv'nor. "If you will take me back to the house, Mr. Grosvenor," he continued, "and keep that dog off, I will explain everything, and trust to your sense of justice to clear me of any suspicion of wrong-doing. That man is the thief, not me," and he actually spat at Schwartz. Jim said that it gave him a turn to hear a buck nigger talking like that, but it took him and the Guv'nor all their time to keep Schwartz from using his nails on the man's eyes. Then the two began to shout at one another, and it appeared that all the trouble arose about a thing called a ju-ju, which the black man said Schwartz had stolen from his people, a tribe on the Upper Niger. Anyhow, the Guv'nor marched his captive back to the house, and Schwartz rushed upstairs. He tore down again, more like a lunatic than ever, as the ju-ju had gone from the dressing-case in which he had left it. He searched the negro, and was almost ready to cut him open in case he had swallowed it, but the ju-ju was not in the man's possession. Then he went out with Jim and the lantern, and hunted every inch of the drive and shrubbery, but could find nothing, though it was easy enough to discover the place where Dan had brought down his highness. The odd thing was that he refused to send for the police, and the more certain it became that the ju-ju was missing, the more jubilant grew Prince John's face as he sat in the hall. At last, there was nothing for it but the nigger must be set at liberty. Schwartz wanted the Guv'nor to lock him up all night. Of course, that could not be done, as Surrey isn't West Africa, and the Old Man had come to the conclusion that there was not much in the dispute between them, anyhow. So Prince John's bonds were untied, and the Guv'nor told him if he showed his black muzzle inside our gateway again he would be locked up. He was very polite and apologetic, especially to the ladies, and the house party went in to dinner greatly mystified by the whole affair. Schwartz did not say much, and his appetite was spoiled. After dinner he had another hunt in his bedroom and among the shrubs, but finally he gave up the search until daylight, and came in and asked for a whisky and soda. Meanwhile, Minkie brought Dan to the stable to see me. She came the back way, and climbed to the hay-loft with Jim's lantern. Dan began to look around for a rat, but she stopped him. "Are you awake, Bobby?" she asked. "Awake!" said I. "I should rather think I am, after such goings on in the house." "Well," said she, pulling a small black bag from among the hay, "if you are a good horse, and listen carefully, I will now tell you what a ju-ju is. Come here, Dan. If it is alive, I may want you to bite it." Skin me and sell my hide, what do you think it was? Just a small chunk of ivory, carved to represent a man with a monkey's head. It had a little coat of colored beads tied where its waist was meant to be, and its eyes were two shiny green stones. And that was all. "Well," cried Minkie, "this _is_ a surprise. At first sight, I don't think much of a ju-ju, but that may be only my beastly ignorance, as the man said when he tried to boil a china egg." PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY CHAPTER II PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY _Told by Dandy, the Terrier_ I made a mistake once, and nipped a tramp's wooden leg. Since then, I look before I take hold. But even a poodle could see that this thing was old bone, though its eyes glinted like Tibbie's in the dark, and there was a smell of grease about its beaded kilt. And, talking of kilts, there's a bare-legged fellow who comes here every summer and struts up and down the road, making the beastliest row with some sort of instrument all pipes and ribbons. Wow! don't I change his tune if I get out before anybody can catch me! "Why, it's a baby's toy," said I, seeing that Minkie was rather taken with it. "Let's have a look," said a voice I hated, and Tibbie walked up Bobby's neck, and perched between his ears. "Hello!" cried I, in my most sarcastic snarl, "are you there? And what is this acrobatic business? Is it a circus, or what?" "Speak when you're spoken to," spat Tibbie. "And let me give you fair warning that the next time you sneak any meat off my skewer I'll--" "Oh, shut up, both of you," commanded Minkie; so I just pretended to lick my lips, though I really care very little for the rather high stuff that cats make such a song about. I like mine underdone. "Have you ever before heard of a ju-ju, Bob?" went on Minkie. "No," said Bob. He didn't shake his head, because Tibbie was there, and she has a nasty habit of hanging on with her claws before you can say "Rats!" Why do cats have such sharp nails, anyhow? They used to scar my muzzle something awful before I learnt to jump on them feet first. But they can't bite for nuts. If they could, I must admit-- "I think _I_ might tell you something about it," broke in Tibbie, backing down Bob's mane and settling on his withers again. "Well, go on," said Minkie, bending a bit, so as to watch Tibbie's green eyes. "It's a long time ago since I had the story from a blue Persian." "Cookie has some liver in the larder." You see, Minkie knew her cat. "Has she? I was out when the butcher came." "Yes. It's liver and bacon for breakfast in the morning. And SOLES!" P-r-r-r, you could feel Tibbie's fur rising. "I'll try to remember," she said in a rather thick voice. "It seems that we cats used to be worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. The cat deity was named Elurus, and we were also venerated as a symbol of the moon--" I couldn't help it. Even Bob coughed, and then pretended to be chewing hay. But, because I laughed, Minkie clouted my ear. "The Romans always placed a cat at the feet of the Goddess of Liberty; they realized that no animal resists the loss of its freedom so furiously as a cat," continued Tibbie in her best purr. "That is why you never see a cat wearing a collar, the badge of servitude, like a dog." Wow! I'll give her "servitude" next time I have a chance. "Like a dog!" indeed. "What has all this got to do with a ju-ju?" asked Minkie. "I am coming to that. The Egyptians were a very wise people, obviously, and their ways were sure to be copied by the black men who lived near them. They thought so much of cats that whoever killed one, even accidentally, was punished by death. This cat-headed god, Elurus, had a human body, and his image brought luck and good fortune to those who carried it about with them. Now, there are no cats where the black men live, but there are plenty of monkeys, so I am just guessing." "I see," said Minkie, quite seriously. "Regarding that fish and liver?" cried Tibbie, trying to talk in an off-hand way. "I am going to interview Cookie now," was the reply. "Hold on! Where do _I_ come in?" I simply had to interfere. The thing was an outrage. Fancy getting fish and liver for a blue-mouldy yarn like that. "And me?" snorted Bob. "You're both too fat already," said Minkie calmly, but she kicked down another lot of hay before she blew the lantern out, and I got a snack of steak while Tibbie was filling up on fish heads and _foie de veau_. I lapped the best part of her milk, too, when she wasn't looking. There was a keen frost that night, and the scent of the nigger, not to mention some beery singers who call themselves "the waits," kept me awake for hours. Every man has a different smell, though some folk get mad if you tell them so, but the Upper Niger tang was new to me, and I couldn't help thinking what a place that must be for a hunt if even a well-washed black prince left such a _bouquet_ behind him. I suppose you are surprised to hear a fox-terrier using French words, but I learnt them from Mademoiselle, Minkie's governess, who went away last month. Next morning, at breakfast, all the talk was of Prince John and the ju-ju. Schwartz had hunted high and low for his doll, but, considering that it was in Minkie's pocket, he was not likely to find it. If only he had a nose like me he would soon have been on its track. I fancied the Guv'nor was not altogether pleased that such a rough-and-tumble performance should have taken place at Holly Lodge on a Christmas Eve, and Schwartz was so put out by the loss of the ju-ju that it cast rather a gloom over the household--excepting Minkie, Tibbie and me, of course. As for that fool of a parrot, he, or she--blessed if I can tell one parrot from another, but this one never lays an egg, though everyone calls him "Polly"--well, he was nearly delirious with excitement, because Christmas time brings nuts into his cage. Once the conversation came pretty close to our little secret. "By the way, Millicent, that negro had a black bag in his hand when he drove home with us last night, didn't he?" inquired the Old Man, tackling Minkie rather suddenly. "Oh, yes, father dear. I saw it quite plainly. Did he take it upstairs, Evangeline?" "I dunno, miss. He fair flummaxed me, he did, with his bowin' and scrapin' an, lah-di-dah manners. As I said to Cook--" "That will do, Evangeline," put in Mam. "Bring some more toast, please." Minkie had steered the question off smartly, but the Guv'nor stuck to his point. "There can be no doubt the rascal brought the bag into the house. I remember now seeing him carry it into the hall. Yet it was not in his possession when we caught him in the garden, and it must have been found if it were lying among the shrubs, or he had left it in the house. By Jove! Is it possible that he had an accomplice? Really, Schwartz, you ought to have called in the police if the matter is so serious." "This quarrel is between Prince John and myself," said Schwartz, sullenly. "He may have had others to help, though it is difficult to see how that could be, under the circumstances. But this is only the second round of a big fight. He and I will meet again, probably on a certain island in the Niger which we both know well. Then we shall settle the ownership of that small god, for keeps." "Oh!" cried Dolly, "is it an idol?" Then Schwartz tried to pull himself together. "No, Miss Dorothy, not an idol, but a fetish," he said, with his usual grin. "The fact is, I fear I have led you to believe that I attach an exaggerated value to it. It is only a bit of carved ivory, which the natives regard as a talisman. But it had a sentimental interest for me, much as a gambler at Monte Carlo might prize a champagne cork, or a piece of coal, or some equally ridiculous charm which he had carried in his pocket on the night of a big _coup_." "Me-ow!" said Tibbie, looking up at Minkie. "Yes, darling," said Minkie, "the dish is going out now, and I have told cook to save you the tit-bits. Dan, come back here! Who stole Tibbie's milk last night?" "_Misère de Dieu!_" as mademoiselle said when she was turning over the strawberry plants and grabbed a wasp--who split on me? Was it Evangeline? Wait till I catch her sliding down to the front gate to-night when her young man whistles "Annie Rooney." I'll raise the house. "I suppose you had some lively times occasionally in West Africa, Schwartz?" said the Old Man cheerfully, his idea being to swing the talk away from a topic which his guest seemed to avoid. "Y-yes, for a few minutes every now and then. But the excitement soon passed. For the rest, it was deadly dull, a sort of slow crescendo up to the boiling point of fever, and a gradual diminuendo back to flabby health again. It is no country for a white man, unless he wants his relations to collect his life insurance." "Yet you made money there?" "Oh, yes. Why else should one go to such a filthy swamp?" "Do you mean to say that the natives of a fever-laden district are physically up to the standard of the fellow we collared last night?" "No; he comes from the highlands, where the country is altogether different. But the money is made at the ports and trading stations." "Any sport?" "Very little, the bush is too dense." "Then why do the blacks want gas-pipe guns and coal-dust gunpowder?" asked Minkie, who was making a jam sandwich. "To shoot the whites," replied Schwartz. "So you see it would be bad for our health if the traders gave them good weapons and ammunition." "That explains it," said Minkie. "Explains what, dear?" inquired Mam, and Schwartz squirmed a bit until Minkie said: "Something I read in a paper, mother. These wicked negroes pay high prices for rifles, and of course it is best to let them believe they are buying the genuine article." Mam was puzzled, but the Guv'nor laughed. "Excellent!" he cried. "I am glad to hear that one member of the family has grasped the true principles of commercial success." "I'm sure I don't know where Millicent gets her ideas from," sighed Mam. "When I was her age I could no more have said such a thing than I could have flown." "And you certainly were never built for flying, less now than ever," smiled her husband. Of course, I paid little heed to all this chaff, because I was bolting half that jam sandwich, which Minkie had dropped. Evangeline saw what happened, and said nothing, so it will be "Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad," to-night. But I woke up to the sounds of battle when Mam wanted to know who was going to church. Everybody said "I," except Schwartz, who had letters to write. You ought to have watched his face when Minkie said quietly: "In that case you will miss seeing Jack Stanhope, the friend of whom I was telling you yesterday." "Jack! Is he at home?" Dolly blurted out, and then blushed right down her neck. "Yes. Didn't you know?" "How could I? If it comes to that, how do you know?" "He sent me a Christmas picture postcard last evening, one of the new ones, with the season's wishes and a lot of robins on one side and a ha-penny stamp with the address and a little bit of a letter on the other. Here it is. Shall I read it?" "Yes," said the Guv'nor rather grimly. Outside the gang, he understood Minkie better than anybody else, and he evidently wondered why she was making such a dead set against Schwartz. Minkie produced the card from the pocket which held the ju-ju. It was a deep pocket, lengthened by herself; she often needed it to hide a young rabbit when I had induced one to leave his home and friends, because keepers make a beastly fuss about these small matters if they hear of them. "It has the West Strand postmark, 9 A.M., December 24th," said she, "and this is what he writes: 'Dear Minkie: Just arrived from Marseilles, ex s.s. Persia. It was enough to freeze Dan's tail off crossing the Channel, but I am glad to be here early, as I can do a bit of shopping (being in need of decoration) before I run down to Dale End. I shall be strolling past the Lodge about six o'clock, and will be delighted if you are visible. Otherwise, we shall meet at Church to-morrow, and exchange winks if Grampus is there too. Yours ever, Jack. P.S. I have brought you a pet mongoose.' That is all." "Quite enough, too. May I ask who 'Grampus' is?" said her father. "His uncle. Jack depends on him for his allowance, so he has to humor him, but he never agreed with him about that shooting squabble, you know." "I know nothing about his views, and care less, and I do not wish you to exchange either postcards or winks with him or any of his name." "Tom," put in Mam, gently, "this is Christmas morning." "I have not forgotten that, my dear. Nor have I forgotten this day two years ago, when the other Stanhope ignored my proffered hand before a dozen of our mutual acquaintances. You hear, Millicent? I have spoken." "Yes, father dear, but it is such a pity about the mongoose. And I had a new word I wanted to surprise Jack with. Christmas picture postcard is such a mouthful, so I intended to call it a Chris-card. Don't you think that rather neat?" "I do, but it is not comparable to the neatness with which you draw a red herring across the scent. Of course, if he sends you the mongoose, you may keep it, and write a civil note of thanks, but we can hardly indulge in a close friendship with the nephew when the uncle cannot find a good word to say for us." I was that delighted that I scraped Minkie's leg to tell her I was underneath the table. A mongoose coming to join the family! What _is_ a mongoose, anyhow? Has it four legs, or two? Can it fight? I must have murmured my thoughts aloud, because the parrot gave a screech that made Schwartz jump. "Go and hide in the nearest rabbit burrow, little dog," he yelled. "Run away and bury yourself with a bone. When that mongoose turns up he'll chase you into the next parish. Oh, Christopher! Aren't we havin' a beano? Another rum 'ot, please, miss." I kept my temper. There is no use arguing with a parrot. You can't get at him, and he has an amazing variety of language at command; but I must state one small point in his favor; if you pay no heed to his vulgarity, and cut out of his talk the silly bits which seem to please people who wear clothes, he gives one a lot of useful information. He will not say a word in a friendly way, same as I give even Tibbie the nod if there's a mouse in the kitchen. The best plan is to sauce him, or sneer at him. Then he flies into a rage and talks like a book. So, "Polly," said I, "you shouldn't strain your voice in that fashion. It will make your feet ache." He knew what I meant well enough, because just then he was hanging head downwards from his perch. He reached out and took a grip of a steel bar in his beak, pretending he had hold of me by the neck. "If I were you I'd whitewash my face in the hope that the mongoose would not recognize me after the first round," he croaked. "I believe you are afraid of the thing yourself." "Say not so, whiskers. Kiss me, mother, kiss your darling. A full-grown mongoose will make you the sickest dog in the British Isles. Whoop at him, Boxer! Back to him, Bendigo! O my sainted aunt, I'll watch that snake-catcher chuck you into the lake. Nah, then, who'll tike odds. I'll back the fee-ald. The fee-ald a powney!" "Evangeline," said Mam, "put the green cloth over that bird. He grows worse daily, and I cannot make out where he learns so much cockney slang." Minkie kicked me under the table. She guessed I had been teasing him. At any rate, the parrot clearly expected to witness a first-rate set-to when the mongoose arrived. In his own mind he had already taken a ticket for the front row of the stalls, and I meant to oblige him with a star turn. A mongoose may be able to catch a snake, but he must not put on airs with a dog who killed thirty rats in one minute the last time Farmer Hodson threshed his barley stack. I heard Schwartz telling Dolly that he had changed his mind and would go to church, so at half-past ten they walked off to the village. It was quite warm in the sun, but the air was nippy, so I gave Tib a run across the lawn when I found her stalking a sparrow; then I went round to see Bob. He was busy eating. I suppose a horse has to get through a lot of hay before he fills up. Hay is dry stuff at the best. I like an odd snack between meals myself, but the only chew worth considering is something you can load in quickly before any other fellow has a chance of grabbing it. Anyhow, when I asked Bob what a mongoose was, he was rather short, and said he had no time for riddles, as he had been dreaming of niggers all night. "Tell you what," said I, "hay makes you nervous. It must be like tea. Cookie says--" Then Bob gave his horse laugh. "Cookie calls it 'tea,' does she?" he roared. "You give her my compliments and ask her to draw some of that tea for me in a jug. Tib knows where the barrel is." So I trotted back to Polly. "Look here!" I said, "tell me what a mongoose is, and I'll nick some grapes for you." He was singing "Hello, my baby," but he stopped. "It's an ichneumon," he answered. That nettled me. "Anything like a cockatoo?" I asked. "You're a low-bred cur," he screamed, "an ignorant mongrel. You shouldn't seek information. What you want is a ticket for the Dogs' Home. Help! Help!" "Why, you hook-nosed nut-cracker, what's the good of telling anybody that a mongoose is an ichneumon? How would you like it if I said you were a zygodactyl?" He nearly had a fit. His language brought Evangeline from the attic: she thought the house was on fire. The fact is, Minkie dug that word out of the dictionary, and I've been waiting for an opportunity to hand it on to Polly; now he has had it, fair between the eyes. I heard afterwards that if affairs were lively at Holly Lodge it was not all peace and goodwill to men at the parish church. Grampus had an attack of gout--a day earlier than usual--so Jack went to Christmas service alone. He winked twice at Minkie, but she gazed at him steadily with the only eye he could see. Dolly was entirely taken up with her prayer-book, so Jack took careful stock of the red-haired man with the map of Judea in his face. But a captain of hussars who has won the D. S. O. has no reason to be ashamed of being alive, so, when our people came through the lych gate, there was Captain Stanhope with his hat off, smiling quite pleasantly, and wishing them the compliments of the season. Of course, Mam and the Guv'nor, being gentlefolk, had to respond. Schwartz made to walk on with Dolly, but she stopped, too, and Minkie shook hands with Jack first of anybody. The old man was hardly comfortable; he nudged Mam's arm, and they would have joined Schwartz if Jack hadn't said: "By the way, Mr. Grosvenor, I want to have a chat with you on a matter of some importance. Can you spare me a few minutes now, or shall I call later in the day?" Dolly blushed, and her father saw it. He stiffened a bit, just as I do when my hair rises. "I am sorry, Captain Stanhope, but I fear that any exchange of confidences between us will not only be useless but open to misinterpretation," he said coldly. "Let me explain that I am running dead against my uncle's wishes in seeking this interview," protested Jack. "Believe me, I am actuated by the best of good feeling towards you and your family, sir." "I do credit that; but any discussion of the point must inflict unnecessary pain." "This is really a serious matter." "So is everything where your uncle and I are concerned. Come on, my dear. We cannot keep Mr. Schwartz waiting." The Guv'nor lifted his hat and marched away. Mam said nothing, Dolly didn't care tuppence how her skirt draped, Minkie said that if the frost continued there would soon be thick ice, and Schwartz grinned. Dolly thought she would like to slap Schwartz, so she joined Minkie on the high path above the road, where the hens have to fly when I get after them. "I think it's too bad of father to snub Jack in that way," she said, half sobbing. "Dad is making a mistake," agreed Minkie. "If you take my advice you will come with me this afternoon and find out what it is Jack wants to say." "How can I? Where can I see him? We can't go to the Manor House." "I have arranged to meet Jack at half-past two near the Four Lanes." "You have arranged!--" "Yes. While you were squinting up to find out if your hat was at the right tilt I was watching Jack drawing a cross and 2.30 on the gravel with his stick. I nodded, so that is all right. Are you coming?" Dolly was flurried. "I dunno," she murmured. "You don't understand things, Minkie. Dad is desperately anxious that we should not offend Mr. Schwartz, who can be either a very good friend or a dangerous enemy. Oh, sis! What a happy world it would be if we had all the money we want!" "P'raps. Schwartz is rich, and he looked happy last night, didn't he? Jack's uncle is rolling in coin, and to-day he is nursing a foot the size of an elephant's." "I am not thinking of myself, Minkie." "I know that. You are trying to help Dad, and he is fretting because he has to pay a lot of money on the 10th of January." Dolly opened her eyes widely. "Who told _you_?" she cried. "Sh-s-s-sh. There's Mam calling. She wants us to look in at nurse's cottage. What about Jack--quick!" "I'll see," whispered Dolly. People who play poker are a bit doubtful when they say that. If you add the recognized fact that the woman who hesitates is lost you will understand at once that when Minkie and I climbed over the orchard fence at 2.15, Miss Dorothy came running after us. "Mam has gone upstairs, and Mr. Schwartz and father are in the library, so I will join you in your stroll," she said, trying to keep up a pretence. "Step out, then," said Minkie. "Jack will be waiting." He was. He saw us coming long before we reached the cross roads, and his first words meant war. "Who is this fellow Schwartz?" he demanded. "A friend of--father's," said Dorothy. "Well, he is a rogue," said Jack. "I wanted to warn Mr. Grosvenor about him this morning, but he wouldn't listen to me." "Oh, was that it?" and Dorothy's nose went up in the air. "Partly. Not all. I say, Minkie, if you take Dan into the warren you will find a heap of rabbits. The keepers are a mile away. I told them you were coming." "Then Dan can go by himself. I am far more interested in Schwartz than Dot is. Do you know anything about ju-jus?" "By Jove, Minkie, you do come to the point. Why, that blessed nigger prince is at the Manor now, plotting all sorts of mischief with my uncle." "How did he get there? I suppose you met him last night?" "Yes. I was passing along the road when I heard Jim turn him out of the gate, and order him not to show his black mug inside the grounds again. I wondered what on earth a darky was doing at Dale End. Thinking he was a Hindu, one of the natives who come to England to read up law, I spoke to him, but as soon as we reached a lamp I saw he was a negro. He was in awful trouble, and appeared to have been badly handled. As soon as he discovered that I was a friend of yours--which I mean to remain, no matter how your father and my uncle disagree--he became very excited and appealed to me for assistance. The villagers spotted him and began to gather, so I took him to the Manor, unfortunately." "Why unfortunately?" demanded Minkie. "Because some of the servants told my uncle he was there, and the old boy made me bring him upstairs." "Well?" "I nearly lost my temper with both of them. It seems that Schwartz, who was a low-down trader on the Niger, stole some sort of ju-ju, or small fetish, belonging to the Kwantu bushmen, the most powerful tribe in the hinterland. That was three years ago. Since then he has become enormously wealthy, and the niggers say it is because he holds this ju-ju, which is the luckiest thing in Africa. They, at least, have had all sorts of plagues since they lost it, tsetse fly, smallpox, bad rubber years, and I don't know what besides. At any rate they are on the verge of rebellion. Their ju-ju men, or wizards, are preaching wholesale murder of the whites. Some German traders have supplied them with Mannlicher rifles and ammunition, and there is real danger of a terrific mutiny. Now, I am a British officer, and I have some experience of superstitious natives, if not of negroes, so I can quite realize what may happen out there if the cause of disaffection is not removed. You can hardly grasp the serious nature of the business, Minkie, but Dorothy, being older--" "Can appreciate it much better, of course," said Minkie. "Yet I am beginning to see things. Did Prince John say what would happen if the ju-ju were restored?" "That is a very sensible question for a kid," observed Jack, approvingly. "He vows that the whole affair will end the instant the Kwantu ju-ju men receive back their fetish. He, and a few leading bushmen, some of whom have been educated in England, remember, have restrained the mutiny by a solemn undertaking to bring the god home before the spring rains begin. They have offered Schwartz all the money they can scrape together if he will only give it up, but he laughs at them and defies them." "He didn't seem to laugh last night," put in Minkie. "Do you believe he has really lost it?" "Oh yes. I am quite sure of that?" and she felt in her pocket absent-mindedly. "Well, I am at my wits' end to decide how to act. Prince John is equally certain that Schwartz has recovered it. When Dan brought him down, a small bag in which he had placed the ju-ju was knocked out of his hand, and it must, therefore, be in Holly Lodge somewhere. The negro is a determined man, and there is a look in his eyes which I have seen in a Pathan's when--Well, no matter. If your father will not meet me he will at least read a letter. Now, Minkie, it will soon be too dark to find anything among the bushes--" "Rats!" cried Minkie, so sharply that I jumped, thinking she meant it. "You've got six months' furlough, so you'll meet Dot often enough. Please go on. What does Prince John intend to do next?" "He may endeavor to burgle your house. He will kill Schwartz if need be. He will certainly kill Dan." Oh, _in_deed! I pricked up my ears at this. What between the nigger and the mongoose I'm in for a lively time. Nobody is going to be happy until I am cold meat. "But they will put him in gaol if he tries burglary?" said Minkie, who was unmoved by the prospect of my early death. "He says that Schwartz simply dare not face him in a court of law." "It is our house, you know?" Captain Stanhope sighed perplexedly. He was a man, discussing hard things with two girls. Minkie gave me a look as much as to say "Don't miss a word of this," and went on: "Of course, one can't credit the absurd idea that a piece of wood, or brass, or whatever it is, can bring good luck to anyone who possesses it." "Our ebony acquaintance holds so strongly to the absurdity that he will stop short of nothing in the effort to secure it. And my old fool of an--I beg your pardon, I mean my respected uncle, is actually plotting with him as to ways and means. He is in favor of informing the Government, but the Kwantu gentleman says the Colonial office will scoff at the notion. He is right there. The officials in Whitehall always do scoff until a certain number of white men and women are murdered, and an army corps has to be sent to exact vengeance." "It seems to me that the killing will begin here, probably with a white dog--r-r-rip!" observed Minkie, stooping to dig me in the ribs. "Mongoose!" I yelled, but she didn't appear to take any notice. Illustration: Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it seriously. "I wouldn't write to dad if I were you," she continued. "He would simply take sides with Schwartz. But you can write to me, if you like, only you must not wink, nor send postcards." "What do you mean?" "Dorothy will tell you. Come on, Dan, let's have a look at the warren." When we were quite by ourselves Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it seriously. "Ju-ju," she said, "I hope you can really accomplish these wonders, because I'm going to do things, and there will be a fearful row if I don't succeed." I nearly killed twice in ten minutes, but a warren is the deuce and all if some of the holes are not stopped and you have no ferret. When we rejoined the others any dog could see that Dorothy had been crying. Yet she didn't exactly look miserable, like Jim's wife looked when her first baby died. Women are queer. Sometimes you can't tell whether they are glad or sorry, because they weep just the same. The girls were dressing for dinner when a man in livery came with a wooden box and a note for "Miss Millicent Grosvenor." Oh, wow and wag everlasting--it's the mongoose! THE WHITE MAN'S WAY CHAPTER III THE WHITE MAN'S WAY _Told by Tibbie, the Cat_ As this record of events at Dale End now enters on a phase demanding intelligence of a somewhat high order for its recital, I take up the tale at a point where Dan becomes incoherent. I admit I was greatly interested myself when Minkie, without waiting for Evangeline to do up her blouse, glissaded down the stair rail and rushed the cage into the morning-room. I had heard of mongooses from Tommy Willoughby, who lives in our road, as he had come across them when the Colonel commanded the Galway Blazers at Alexandria. He says they eat crocodiles' eggs, and are therefore held in high regard by the Egyptians, and the Egyptians, judged by their treatment of cats, are evidently a sensible race. Yet there are no crocodiles' eggs at Dale End, fresh ones, that is, so I pity this poor stranger if Jim or Mole catches him dining in the hen-house. I tried a young Dorking myself once, and Jim behaved very unfeelingly with a whip. Dan, of course, tore after Minkie with his mouth open, and his stump of a tail pointing north. I crept in noiselessly, and watched proceedings from beneath a wide and deep leather chair. I could see a thing like a big red rat behind some wooden bars which ran down one side of a soap box. The animal had a sharp muzzle, small paws with fairly useful claws, and a tail that was almost the size of the remainder of its body. "A mongoose can fight," I reasoned, "and its huge tail shows that it can turn quickly." Dan, naturally, took no stock of these essentials. He was nearly beside himself with excitement, and Minkie had to grab him with one hand while she held Captain Stanhope's letter in the other. "Do be quiet, Dan!" she cried, shaking him. "Tibbie, where are you?" "Here," I meow'd. "Then listen, the pair of you. Jack writes: 'Dear Minkie--I send the mongoose. He is very tame, quite a lovable little chap. You can let him run about the house at once if all the doors are closed. After a day or two he can go out into the garden safely, as he will always come back to his box if you leave it open. He is accustomed to my dogs, and there are terriers among them, so make Dan understand that the mongoose wants to play with him when he stands up as if he were going to box with his fore-paws. You may have more trouble with Tib, but she will soon learn to treat him as one of the family. For that matter, Rikki (that is his name) can keep either of them in order if he is not taken by surprise by reason of his friendliness with all my live stock. He will eat most things they eat. When the frost goes, and he can hunt in the garden, he will keep himself. Yours, Jack.' So there! Just try and behave decently when I introduce Rikki." Dan's growls died away in a sort of groan. "I'll have that buck nigger stroking me and saying 'Good dog' next," he muttered bitterly. And then it was all I could do to keep from smiling when I saw Minkie open the cage and take the mongoose out, gripping Dan tightly lest his feelings should overcome him. Will you believe it, that queer-looking beast seemed quite pleased to see Dan! It jumped up and licked his whiskers, and tickled his ears with its little hands, while all poor Dan could say was "Gnar-r!" and roll his eyes wildly to see what it was doing, Minkie's fingers being like bits of steel. At last, grief and curiosity conquered him. He sniffed it, and Minkie let go. The parrot, from the dining-room, guessed what was happening, and shouted "Hark to him, Boxer! Back to him, Bendigo! At him, boy! At him!" But it was no use. May I never have another night out if Dan and Rikki were not having a friendly wrestle on the hearth-rug in half a minute. The mongoose had quick eyes. When it rolled over in the game it saw me. I must say it had some sense, too; it seemed to know that I was not given to any dog-foolery, and it squared itself for battle. Dan, thinking to show off, charged full tilt for my chair, so I determined to take a rise out of him. I began to purr, walked straight up to him, with my tail well aloft and the tip twiddling, and began to rub myself against his ribs. You never saw a dog so taken aback. I'm sure he thought I was crazy, and even Minkie said softly: "Well, I never! Is the ju-ju beginning to work already?" Odd, isn't it? She attributed my little joke to that chunk of ivory in her pocket. Anyhow, the mongoose took no liberties with me. When all is said and done, Dan and I are in one camp, and every sort of rat in the other--but I am surprised at Dan. Now, parcels turn up so continuously at Christmas time that no one else was aware of Rikki's arrival until he sat up and begged from Mr. Schwartz while our visitor was drinking his soup. The parrot was watching, and made a horrid noise at the right moment, just as Schwartz looked down and saw a pair of fierce red eyes glaring at him. The mongoose put on his best grin, which made matters worse. Schwartz nearly overturned the dinner-table. I would never have credited six feet of man with being in such a funk. Everybody was glad he expressed his emotions in German--he himself more than the others when he calmed down. Minkie nearly came in for a scolding, but the Guv'nor, who is a real sport, was soon taken by Rikki's antics, and rather chaffed Schwartz about his alarm. "That is all very well Grosvenor," said Schwartz, "but you have not lived where poisonous spiders, centipedes, scorpions, and all sorts of snakes come prowling into the house. I have jumped for my life far too often to be ashamed of a momentary forgetfulness that I was in England. Moreover, I was not aware that Millicent was forming a menagerie." "I hope to have a monkey soon," observed Minkie. "I'll take jolly good care you don't," said her father. "Monkeys are most mischievous brutes, and they disagree with every other animal near them. By the way, has Dan seen your new pet?" "Yes. They had quite a romp in the morning-room. You see I had to read Jack's letter to both Tibbie and Dan before I introduced Rikki." "I wish you wouldn't allude to Captain Stanhope as 'Jack.' It argues a familiarity which does not exist." "If you are speaking of the young gentleman who hailed you after church to-day, I should say you were justified in that remark," put in Schwartz. That showed the man's bad taste; but it told me something more. Since the morning, his manner towards the Guv'nor had altered. People say I am cruel when I play with a mouse, forgetting that I must practice every tricky twist and sidelong spring or I shall not be able to kill mice at all. However that may be, I can recognize the trait when I see it in others, and Schwartz looked and talked like a man who has another man under his thumb. Although her father may speak sharply to Minkie at times, he very strongly resents such a liberty being taken by an outsider. Perhaps he thought Schwartz regarded the allusion to a monkey as a personal matter. At any rate, when the parrot told Evangeline to go and boil her head there was a laugh, and the incident passed. Of course, I knew Minkie far too well to believe that she meant to let Schwartz say what he liked, but I did not expect her to drop such a bombshell on the table as she produced after the pudding appeared. "Talking of monkeys, Mr. Schwartz," she said when there was a pause in the conversation, "are there many in West Africa?" "Swarms," he replied, rather snappy, because he noticed that Minkie gave his name the German sound, which is funnier than our English way of saying it. "Do they worship them?" "No, they eat them." "Then why should they make one of their most powerful ju-jus like a monkey?" I imagine that for a moment Schwartz really forgot where he was. His eyes bulged forward, his face grew red, and big veins stood out on his forehead. "What--do you--know about it?" he gasped, glaring at her as though he wanted to run round the table and wring her neck. "Nothing," she answered meekly. "That is why I am asking you." "But you have some motive. Such a question is impossible coming from a child. Who told you anything of a ju-ju resembling a monkey?" Schwartz was almost shouting now, and the Old Man gave Mam an imploring glance. Mam tried to press Minkie's toes under the table, but Minkie just tucked her legs beneath her chair out of harm's way, and not a soul could catch her eye, because she and Schwartz were looking straight at each other. "After the affair last night I read about ju-jus and fetishism in the Encyclopædia," she said. "That was very interesting, but I really had in my mind what Jack--I mean Captain Stanhope--told me to-day. Prince John assures him that if the ju-ju you took from his people is not sent back before the spring rains there will be a rebellion in that country. So I felt certain it must be a monkey-headed one, made of ivory, with a little beaded skirt, as that is the most powerful ju-ju known among the Kwantus." I wonder Schwartz did not leap at her there and then. His eyes positively glittered. He exercised all his powers to regain his self-control, but his hands shook, and there was a curious tremor in his voice. "This information is, indeed, valuable to me," he said, dropping his tone to the ordinary level again. "No, I beg of you, Grosvenor, let Millicent continue. Do I gather that Captain Stanhope is in league with the negro thief who made his way to my room last night?" "Did I say that?" inquired Minkie, smiling at Schwartz in a way that those who knew her dreaded. "You implied it. Evidently your military friend enjoys Prince John's confidence." "Oh, if you put it that way you are right. Prince John is staying at the Manor House and Captain Stanhope is using his influence to keep him quiet." "He told you that." "And I believe him." "Did he actually describe the ju-ju to you?" "No." "Then how are you able to hit off its appearance so exactly?" "Because I'm a good guesser. Isn't that so, father dear?" The Guv'nor didn't seem to realize that Minkie had deliberately pulled him into the conversation. He was dreadfully upset, and he tried to cover his confusion by tackling her on the question of disobedience. "I told you to have nothing further to do with the Manor House people," he said, and his voice was very harsh and stern, "yet it is evident you met and talked with young Stanhope to-day without my cognizance." "Yes. I met him near the Four Lanes. You said, father dear, that we were not to exchange postcards and winks, and that was all." "You knew quite well that I meant you to cut the acquaintance entirely. Millicent, what has come to you that you should disregard my wishes in this way?" "I am very sorry, dad. I did not think I was doing wrong. I promise now that I shall not speak to Captain Stanhope again until you give me permission. If I had really meant to disobey you I would hardly have told you so openly at table. My idea was that you would like to know all about this ju-ju which Mr. Schwartz has lost, and the queer effect it may have in causing a West African war." Poor Mam was nearly crying, and Dorothy's face was a study; she was terrified lest Minkie should blurt out the fact that she, too, was at the Four Lanes. As it happened, Minkie could not have mentioned a worse locality. It was the Four Lanes warren which first led to the quarrel between old Mr. Stanhope and the Guv'nor. There was a lawsuit about the shooting rights, which ought to have gone with our estate, but Mr. Stanhope's lawyers made out a flaw in a copyhold, whatever that may mean, and we lost. I wonder why men invented law. If they followed our example, and fought in the good old way, our Old Man would now own that warren. There might have been more unpleasant things said had not Polly yelled suddenly: "Fire! Murder! Per-lice! 'E dunno where 'e are!" The mongoose had just discovered that it was the parrot who was growling nasty remarks at Evangeline because she took the nuts from the sideboard without giving him any. Naturally, being a newcomer, Rikki was surprised, so he had jumped on to the window-sill to have a look at this queer bird. Minkie was told to put the mongoose in his box, as Evangeline declared she wouldn't touch such an awful objec', not for a million pounds. While Minkie was out of the room the Guv'nor tried to recover his good humor. "You must not pay heed to my little girl's way of expressing herself, Schwartz," he said. "We have rather encouraged her to be outspoken, and she has always been remarkably intelligent. Try that port. You will find it good, a '74, the last bottle, worse luck." "Here's to Holly Lodge and its owner, his wife and his charming daughters. May we all be sitting here this time next year!" cried Schwartz, lifting his glass and glancing at Dolly. It was a pleasant enough toast in its way, but again I had that feeling under the fur that the words meant a lot more than they expressed. Dan naturally said he saw nothing particular in them, but you will find I was right. I noticed, too, that Schwartz drank two glasses of the wine in quick succession, though he had declined a liqueur the previous evening. I mentioned this to Dan, but he only growled: "You see a sparrow behind every bush. Schwartz is a rotter, but he is behaving himself. Why, I have known Jim shift a quart of beer after he had said he wasn't thirsty, just because Mam told him to get some lemonade." "Have _you_ ever picked a bone after turning up your nose at a dog biscuit?" I asked. "Yes, but there might have been cat in the biscuit." I turned my back on him. He thinks that sort of low-down humor is clever, and he hurries away to tell Bob how he scored off me. Of course, he made tracks to the stable the moment dinner was ended, with the result that he missed quite a thrilling episode. Mam and Dorothy went to the drawing-room, but Schwartz, who was listening intently, heard Minkie go into the morning-room, whither I had followed her to study the mongoose at leisure. After a minute or two, he made the excuse that he wanted to show the Guv'nor a letter which he had left upstairs, and he came out, though I heard Poll warbling "Kiss me and call me your darling." He closed the door, walked across the hall to the foot of the stairs, and tip-toe'd back to the morning-room. Minkie looked at me, and I looked at Minkie. "Now for it!" she whispered. Schwartz entered. He had the glint in his eyes which I feel when I have a young thrush within range of a spring. He never turned his head, but kept glaring at Minkie while he fumbled with the lock till the door was shut. Then he crept, rather than walked, towards her. "Now, you young devil!" he hissed, "give it to me, or I'll strangle you." That was the right opening; I began to feel nervous, and when I say "nervous" I don't mean "frightened," like Evangeline is when the villain says something of the sort in the story she reads each week in the _Society Girl's Companion_; in fact, if she begins to wash up after finishing the instalment she is sure to smash something. No; that is the mistake Dan always makes. Had he been in the room during the next few minutes he would have alarmed the house by his stupid barking, because any one could see that Schwartz meant mischief. Certainly Dan would have bitten him first, whereas I hid under the leather chair. _Chacun à son gout_, as mademoiselle used to say when she saw Minkie kissing Bob's nose--my motto is "Defence, not defiance." But the species of nervousness I experienced was shared by Minkie. It was a kind of spiritual exaltation, a bracing of the muscles, a tuning of the heart-strings which carries one through a desperate crisis. For Schwartz was primed with wine, and maddened by the knowledge that he had been tricked by a girl, a girl who was able to survey his mean soul and appraise its miserable insufficiency. He thought to frighten her by letting the beast in him peep forth at her. Even if she screamed for protection, he counted on either securing the ju-ju or learning its whereabouts before her father could come to her rescue. Then he would explain that he was joking, while Minkie would receive scant sympathy when it became known that she had kept mum as to her possession of an article which he prized so greatly. Of course, he was sure she had the ju-ju, and Minkie did not commit the error of pretending she did not understand him. "Even if you were able to strangle me I could not give you what I have not got," said she, very quietly, standing straight, with her hands behind her back. I noticed that the fingers of her right hand were lightly resting in those of her left, with thumbs crossed, and that showed she was not going to struggle. I was somewhat surprised, because with those wiry hands of hers I have seen her bend a stout poker across her knee, and she could vault astride Bob's back from the ground by taking a twist of his mane in them. She has done that several times since she had an argument with Dolly one day last November, when she proved that Sir Walter Scott made young Lochinvar perform a remarkable gymnastic feat in the lines: So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! It was evident that young Lochinvar's right leg must have gone clean over the fair lady's picture hat, so _I_ think that the poet meant "clung"; but, anyhow, what I want to convey now is that Minkie could have landed on Schwartz's shoulders and tapped the bald spot on his head with one of the fire-irons at one and the same instant if she had meant to fight. Her attitude seemed to me to be rather foolhardy. No matter what you may say about the triumph of mind over matter I believe in having the brute force side of the thesis ready for action if necessary. Schwartz, however, thought she was afraid, which proves conclusively that he was a man of limited ideas, even if he were rich as Croesus. He did not believe her, though a gentleman should always pretend to believe a lady, even though he knows she is telling a fib. His mouth opened and he held his tongue between his teeth. He came nearer, carrying his hands up like a hawk's talons. This was partly pantomime and partly real. The pantomime was essential in Dale End; had Minkie been in the Kwantu bush she might have seen more of the reality; but then, under the latter conditions, she would have shown Schwartz a _savate_ kick which I taught her, and he must have bitten off the end of his tongue in learning it. One acquires a lot of capital dodges, I assure you, when defending the top of a wall on a dark night. Illustration: But she stood there quite motionless. But she stood there, quite motionless, a slight, elegant figure in white Surah silk, with black stockings and nice shiny shoes, on which were a pair of her Grandmother Faulkner's paste buckles, which Mam had just given her as a Christmas present. Her flaxen hair was tied with a ribbon of almost the same tint, and she wore a strip of the ribbon as a waist-belt. I wish somebody could have drawn her as she faced Schwartz, who was well dressed, of course, but whose leering face was like the satyr's in our garden. And he had called her a devil! Well, tastes differ, as I have remarked previously. Being only a cat, I don't know much about these things, but my money goes on Schwartz if there is a prize competition for a model of old Hoof and Horns. I have taken my time over this part of the story to enable you to realise the suspense, the wolfish aspect, the stealthy threatening of Schwartz's advance towards Minkie. Obviously, the mere clock ticking was short enough. "You lie!" he breathed again, so close that his wine-laden breath was offensive to her. Then he grasped her arms, and began to pass his coarse hands down her body. I am telling you the simple truth. He actually searched her clothes, pressing them to her limbs to make sure that his precious ju-ju was not secreted somewhere about her. I held my breath, and I really had it in my mind to jump up at his staring eyes, when I chanced to catch Minkie's contemptuous smile. Then I knew that she had fooled Schwartz again, had, in fact, expected him to adopt some such futile dodge, and had put the fetish in a secure hiding-place. Disappointment nearly drove the man off his balance. He was so enraged that he shook her violently. "You _must_ give it up," he said hoarsely. "I am determined to have it, now, this instant." Minkie remained quite passive. "If I call my father he will horsewhip you," she said coolly. "Give me that ju-ju," he almost whimpered, such was his fury. "You have satisfied yourself that I have not got it," she answered. "Take your hands off me, or it will be bad for you. If you ever dare to touch me again, you will never see it. If you try to behave as decently as you know how, I may, perhaps, discuss terms." It was ludicrous to watch his change of attitude. From a bold lion he became a cringing jackal. He almost wept with relief at the mention of the word "terms." "Anything you like," he cried eagerly. "What do you want--money, diamonds, anything?--but I must have it now." The man was crazy, talking that way to a girl just turned fourteen. Had she been ten years older she might have listened; twenty, and she might have closed the deal straight off. But Minkie was young enough to be chivalrous, and she meant to make Schwartz eat mud. "You cannot obtain it now," she said, speaking as calmly as she does to Mole when she wants the tennis net fixed. "You had better cool down rapidly, because you will not see your ju-ju until New Year's Day--" "What!" he yelled, forgetting himself and trying to grab her again. This time Minkie adopted tactics which I fully approved of. She sprang back and sideways, placing my chair between Schwartz and herself. Then she seized a heavy glass encrière. "One inch nearer and you receive this in the face," she said. "And I never miss," she added, seeing that Schwartz halted. Of course, I had to move quickly, too; as I passed Rikki's box I saw him gazing out with such a puzzled expression. It did not occur to me previously that he understands Hindustani better than English, which is a pity, as we never before have had any real excitement like this at Holly Lodge. It was as good as a play to see Schwartz glowering at Minkie, and estimating the effect of a two-pound inkpot if applied to his nose with a velocity of X miles per second. Talk about motor traps and policemen's stop watches--he made a lightning calculation I can assure you, and it was dead against any forward movement. "Suppose we abandon hostilities and discuss matters reasonably," he said, with another violent effort at self-control. "To begin with, I can compel you to hand over my property." "It is not your property. You stole it. It belongs to the Kwantu tribe. If I were to act with strict honesty, I should hand it to Prince John." Schwartz fell into the net like the silliest bunny that ever ran for a hedge. He assumed instantly that Minkie could be bribed. "You are too young to judge of such matters," he sneered. "Moreover, I have only to appeal to your father--" "You will find him in the dining-room." Poor Schwartz! I was beginning to pity him. Even the mongoose saw the joke, and grinned, because we hunting animals know all about bluff--we meet with lots of it down our way. He determined that it was advisable to deal with Minkie herself, which was precisely what she wanted. You see, these rich men think money will buy anything. "Why New Year's Day?" he asked anxiously, while I noticed that his collar was limp with perspiration. "Why not to-night? I have plenty of money in notes. And if more is needed, I would never dream of stopping a cheque once it is written." "I cannot give you the ju-ju before this day week," said Minkie. "I have my reasons, and I decline to state them. Nor can I tell you my terms until two or three days have passed. But I want £50 now for expenses. If you have not that sum with you, I can wait until to-morrow or the day after." Schwartz gazed at her with amazement. He was burning to ask her a dozen questions, but Dan came scratching and sniffing at the door, so they might be interrupted any moment. The man dared not forego the opportunity of clinching the bargain, yet his greed kept him back. "Fifty pounds!--expenses!" he protested. "Why, how much do you expect me to pay for the thing itself?" "No matter," said Minkie. "I can easily get the money elsewhere." He knew she meant the Manor House, and that frightened him. Dan kept scratching away, and saying: "Let me in! What's on? Bones and cleavers, open the door!" Schwartz produced a pocketbook, and pulled out a note. "There!" he cried, "will that suffice?" It was fifty pounds all right, but Minkie did not trouble to examine it. "Yes," she said. "I can change it at the bank if necessary." "And you promise--" "You shall have your ju-ju on New Year's Day." "But I insist on learning something further as to its safety. How can you be sure Prince John--" Just then Mam heard Dan damaging our best paint; she crossed the hall and flung the door wide. "This wretched dog--" she began, but stopped short on seeing Schwartz and Minkie. Schwartz swallowed something, and grinned like a death's head. "This mongoose is an extraordinary creature," he said. "I have taken quite a fancy to him...." He rejoined the Guv'nor, as he had the letter in his pocketbook all the time. Dolly was playing and singing "Du, du liegst mir im Herzen," so Mam thought she had a good chance of explaining matters to Minkie. "I hope you will be nice to Mr. Schwartz if he takes an interest in your pets," she said. "You annoyed your father considerably during dinner by your unwarrantable hostility to our guest. I am more than surprised at you." "Please forgive me, mother dear. And you might tell Dad that I have cleared away all misunderstandings between Mr. Schwartz and myself." "Misunderstandings, child! How can you possibly use such a word where a gentleman is concerned of whom you have seen so little?" "There are some people whom one gets to know very quickly. Do you remember the burglar whom our policeman caught as he was climbing the rectory wall? Those two had never seen each other before, yet we met them coming down the road arm-in-arm." Mam laughed. "You are always ready enough to turn a difficult conversation when it suits your purpose. Why don't you show equal tact in your remarks to Mr. Schwartz? I would not ask this, Millicent, if I had not a special reason." "Tell me, mummy dear. Is Mr. Schwartz going to lend Dad some money?" "You certainly are the most amazing child!" cried Mam. "Who told you that?" "No one. I just imagined it; and I will tell you why. One day last week I saw that Dad was awfully cut up about something he read in the paper. It was about the Kwantu Mines, Limited. I know, because I picked up the paper in order to see what was worrying Dad." "But you shouldn't," said Mam, though her lips quivered a little. Now, there is not a person alive who can be more affectionate than Minkie with those whom she loves. I like being petted myself, so I know. She put her arms round her mother and whispered: "I hope Dad and you won't fret. I am sure everything will come right in the end. Don't you think it is a sign of something out of the common going to happen when this black prince comes to our house, a man from the very place which is causing Dad so much trouble?" While Mam searched for her handkerchief Dan muttered to me: "A pretty game you've been having here while I was looking after affairs outside. What has Schwartz been up to? And what good is a cat, anyhow?" That put my back up. "Let me tell you that if you had been in this room during the past five minutes you would have made a beastly fool of yourself and spoiled the finest bit of sport we've ever had," said I. He was so tickled with conceit that he sneezed. "Go away and play, pussy," he sniggered. "You me-ow while I act. Why, I've been chasing niggers all over the place." That startled me. Bad as he is, Dan never lies. "Chasing niggers!" I cried. "Is there more of 'em?" "I counted no less than five," he growled, strutting about in great style, and rather alarming the mongoose. I assure you his news so upset me that I paid no attention to what Minkie and Mam were saying until I heard Minkie mention Jack's name. "I wish you could persuade Dad to see Captain Stanhope," she said. "The merest little note would bring him here to-morrow, and there can be no doubt he would give Dad some very useful information." "Ah, my dear, if I had my way things would be different," sighed Mam; then, feeling that discussion would do no good, she bustled out, bidding Minkie turn the gas low and come to the drawing-room. Dan was bursting to get Minkie outside and let her know about the suspicious characters who were prowling round our house, but she wouldn't listen to him. "Oh, be quiet," she commanded. "I want to do a sum." First, she took the crisp note out of her pocket and looked to see if it was really fifty pounds. "Let me reckon up," she said then. "I began yesterday with a crooked sixpence. I gave the porter a shilling out of Schwartz's fiver for telling me Jack arrived by the 4.20. So now I have fifty-four pounds, nineteen shillings and sixpence. Good old ju-ju! Keep it going! I am pretty strong in arithmetic, but if you maintain that rate of increase until New Year's Day, I shall lose count. Anyhow, they'll want a bigger bank at Dale End. Now, Dan, I'm ready. What is it?" But, before she crossed the hall, she rescued the ju-ju from its hiding-place at the back of the grandfathers clock. THE BLACK MAN'S WAY CHAPTER IV THE BLACK MAN'S WAY _Told by Polly, the Parrot_ You will observe that I was left in the dining-room with the Guv'nor. Those insignificant quadrupeds, Dan and Tib, thought that I was out of the fun. They always do think that, until they come smirking to me for news; then they go off and backbite me behind my tail feathers. That impudent whelp, Dan, sidled up this morning to ask me what a mongoose was. When I was weak enough, at the mention of grapes, to tell him it was an ichneumon, he had the cheek to call me some outlandish name that no decent bird would dream of using. I'll make it hot for him, see if I don't. And that yellow-eyed Tibbie, for all her dainty ways and quiet talk, is not much better. Sometimes, when I have a bath, I flick a few drops of water over her, and she looks at me as much as to say: "Oh, if only I could lay a paw on you!" Yet, mark my word, she'll be trotting in here for a chat as soon as I say a word about the discussion between Schwartz and the Old Man. I have been keeping an eye on the Guv'nor recently. Between you and me, it was he who taught me all the funny bits I know. There is nothing he enjoys more than to hear Mam exclaim: "Dear me! How in the world does the bird learn those vulgar songs?" It's as easy as sitting on a rail. Some Italian ragamuffins come to Dale End occasionally with a Handel piano--eh, what? not that sort of handle; well, you know the thing I mean--and I pick up the tunes. When the Guv'nor hears me whistling them he sings the words, and at the next chance I get I amaze Mam with "My Irish Molly O" or "Why do they call me the Gibson Girl?" The Guv'nor finds out all about these things in London. Once Minkie asked him how he did it, and he told her he learnt them from the office-boy. I wish I knew that boy. Now, it's a solemn fact that I have not added a line to my collection during the past month. I know several new airs, and I have whistled them regularly, but the Old Man remains silent. At first I imagined that perhaps the office-boy had a swollen face, but soon I felt sure my teacher had lost his spirits. Minkie noticed it, but I found it out long before her. You see, we parrots are very wise birds, quick to observe, and able to examine any new notion from all points of view; my habit of looking at Dan upside down riles him far more than the silly things I shout at him. Minkie, I gathered, guessed that her father was in trouble over some Stock Exchange business, and the mention of Kwantu by Captain Stanhope brought back to her mind the name of the mining company whose affairs, as discussed in a newspaper, seemed to be the cause of the worry. But it was I, the "giddy acrobat," as Dan calls me, who hit on the real mystery, and I made even stolid Bob wild before I told him all about it next day. While Schwartz was interviewing Minkie in the morning-room, the Guv'nor sat and stared at the fire. He was smoking, but he didn't seem to enjoy his cigar, and he had that queer look in his face which men call despair. 'Pon my honor, I would rather be a bird than a man any day. We feathered folk don't sigh and abandon hope when things go wrong. Why, the commonest little sparrow in the garden would chirp his contempt if anybody suggested to him that he should lie down and die just because he couldn't find an insect under the first leaf he turned over. Die, indeed! Not he! He works all the harder, and is very likely to be rewarded by a fine fat grub under the next bush. It was quite evident that the Guv'nor had not realized the length of Schwartz's absence when that gentleman reappeared. He looked up, rather miserably, and said: "I am sorry to have troubled you in the matter, Schwartz. And I fear you are having a poor time of it, what between the recital of my difficulties and the unfortunate incident which took place last night." "Last night's affair will adjust itself in a day or two," answered Schwartz, grimly, thinking, no doubt, of the £50 note he had just tossed to Minkie. "The really important item now is this absurd predicament of yours, Grosvenor--" "Don't forget that the suggestion came from you in the first instance." "I am well aware you asked me to let you know if there was anything good going," said Schwartz, rather stiffly. "My friends usually follow my judgment with satisfactory results, and I was quite certain that this Kwantu mine was a swindle, but how was I to ascertain that this special flotation was to be made use of for a squeeze? And you are not the only fish struggling in the net." "Then the others have my sympathy. Yet it was a piece of lunacy on my part to indulge in a heavy bear speculation in interests of which I was utterly ignorant. I don't mind losing a hundred or two in a fair gamble, and I have usually come out on the right side of the ledger, but it was the worst sort of madness to sell a thousand shares in a West African Company. Good heavens! What right has a man who is almost a sleeping partner in a city warehouse to dabble in concerns like that!" "Let me see," said Schwartz, giving his friend a quick side look as he took a letter from his pocket, "you sold at something over par?" "Yes," answered the Guv'nor, still gazing at the fire. "And they are now at 6-1/4?" "Yes. Over £5,000 gone already, and the special settlement due on the 10th of next month." "Can you buy at that price?" "I suppose so. Unhappily, I am a child in these matters. I honestly believe that my little Millicent would have avoided this trap which I blundered into so easily." "Um-m," said Schwartz. "But surely your inquiries have not led you to expect the price to go higher?" demanded the Guv'nor, growing almost white with misery. "My dear fellow," cried the other man blandly, "when you are in the hands of unscrupulous rascals you never know when they will be satisfied. The thing is beautifully simple. You and others have sold a bear. You are called on to deliver your shares, which you cannot do, for the very good reason that the market is controlled by the people who bought all the shares offered. You have fallen among thieves. There is no telling what price they may force things up to before they let go." "Then the issue is quite plain," said the Guv'nor, rising with the air of a man who has no more to say. "It will cripple, indeed, almost ruin me to raise five thousand pounds. Any material advance on that amount means bankruptcy, with goodness knows what evil results to my wife and daughters. If there is any law in the land it should not be possible for men to crush others in this barefaced way." "The law cannot help you. But sit down, Grosvenor. Let us hammer this thing out. I have tried to ascertain the identity of the promoters, and I have failed. Here is the letter my brokers wrote me yesterday. You see they say that the company is registered in Jersey, and the nominal directors are mere figure-heads. The real manipulators of the stock do not appear on the surface--" "Surely you, who are so well acquainted with West Africa, can make a tolerably accurate guess as to the people behind the scenes?" "If I had the slightest grounds for naming any one I should not only tell you, Grosvenor, but I would gladly lend my personal assistance in arranging matters." The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him. Of course, I did not know then what was in it, but it seemed to substantiate Schwartz's statements. "Amazing thing!" he murmured. "And that I should be such a fool! I only wanted to earn an extra hundred or so, for the sake of the girls, to give them some little luxuries which diminishing dividends hardly permit of, and this is the result--I find myself on the very brink of ruin. Ah, well! Let me apologize again for--" "Have you any objection, then, to a full and frank discussion of the matter with me?" Illustration: The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him. "Great Scott, no! Why do you put such a question?" "Please sit down, then. The ladies can spare us from the drawing-room a little longer. Dorothy is singing, and Millicent is--er--engaged with her new pet, while Mrs. Grosvenor will not object, I am sure, if we smoke another cigar. Now, to come to the point. I have been thinking matters over during the day, and I have a proposition to make which may commend itself to you. It is no secret to you that I admire your elder daughter very much. Were I your prospective son-in-law, Grosvenor, I would be prepared to take your liabilities on to my own shoulders. And let me say at once that I am not bargaining with you for Dorothy's hand. You know that I was anxious to pay her my addresses in Ostend, and this Kwantu business was not in existence at that time. You gave a conditional assent to my suit then. Now I am only asking you to exercise a little judicious parental pressure on a charming girl who hardly knows her own mind. I am sure you will not think the less of me because I endeavor to gain my own ends whilst coming to your assistance." I whistled loudly in my surprise. I couldn't help it, but it seemed to annoy Schwartz, who glared at me quite vindictively. The Guv'nor, of course, paid no heed, being accustomed to my interruptions. "It is awfully good of you," he said slowly, "and I admit the justice of your contention that your wish to marry Dorothy is nothing new. But I have always held it a fixed principle, which my wife shares with me, that parents should neither force their children to marry for money nor withhold their consent to marriages based on love, unless the drawbacks are out of all reason. As I understand the position, Dorothy did not exactly refuse you at Ostend, but simply declared that she had no wish to leave her home for some years to come?" "Yes. That is so." "Then, if I go to her now, and tell her you stipulate for her hand as a condition for extricating me from--" "Forgive me," broke in Schwartz, with a certain prompt candor which did him credit as an actor. "I don't ask that. I only want your permission to approach her myself." "But you had that six months ago." "Yes, and I am exceedingly grateful to you. What I seek to-day is your promise to further my request by varying your attitude from passive approval to active support." He was artful, that Schwartz. The Old Man wriggled a bit, but he hardly knew what to say. He was a thoroughbred, you see, and he hated the idea of bartering one of his girls for five thousand pounds. Yet Schwartz was what ladies who come to tea call "a good catch," and it was quite true that he was after Dorothy months before anybody at Holly Lodge so much as heard the word "Kwantu." And the Guv'nor was a proud man, too. It was Schwartz himself who had led him to believe that it would be an easy thing to make money by selling shares in this mine, yet Minkie told me afterwards that he seemed to be quite surprised when her father informed him that he had taken the "tip" and sold heavily. That was in November, when the mine was floated, and Schwartz had been absent in Paris until the third week in December. Now, as the German was a millionaire, and had landed a friend in a hole by his advice, it was reasonable enough to expect him to lend a helping hand, yet there could be no doubt he meant to take advantage of the difficulty and compel Dorothy to marry him to save her father. I saw the bearings of the game far more clearly than the Guv'nor. My own opinion was that Schwartz was a regular scamp, and my experience of scamps is fairly wide, as I hail from South America. You would hardly credit the ups and downs of my life--no wonder I can take a man's measure with fair accuracy. I began my education in an Indian village, after discovering that a baited trap is not exactly what it looks like. Then I went by train to Montevideo, and the things I learnt there would make you weep if I told you even the half which the Spanish language permits. A nigger fireman knifed my owner, a saloon-keeper, and was one of a crowd which cleared out the bar before the patrol came. He brought me to New York, and pawned me to an East-side crimp. I was stolen from there, and hung outside a sixth-floor tenement until I was sold to a bird-fancier in Eighth Avenue. He was a Dago, so I need say no more about him. If Mam understood the least little bit of Italian she wouldn't keep me in the house five minutes, but you bet I take a rise out of those organ-grinders when they come touting for coppers. Giovanni traded me for five dollars to a patriotic American named O'Reilly, and he gave me a university course which ended suddenly by his going to Sing-Sing, while I was seized, with the remainder of the furniture, by another American citizen named Rosenbaum. During the annual fire at his place I was rescued by a ship's steward, who liked the way I talked. On the way to England he died from want of proper liquid nourishment, and the crew would have kept me in the forecastle if some old girl had not complained to the captain of the dreadful language used by one of the men whenever she leaned over the forward rail. How was I to know she could speak the tongues of the Sunny South? Believe me, even after I arrived at Liverpool, my adventures would fill a book, but I have said enough to show that I was ready to appreciate a good home when the Guv'nor found me in Leadenhall Market, and took me to Dale End as a present to Minkie. More than that, you never really appreciate a good home until you have had a few bad ones, and it is in the latter that you obtain any genuine schooling in the darker side of human nature. So it is obvious that I watched Schwartz with my eyes skinned. I sized up the situation this way. Schwartz meant to press the Old Man just a little short of breaking point, and was far more anxious to bring about an agreement than he permitted to be seen. I was aching to give the Guv'nor a pointer, but I couldn't, as my acquaintance with English is peculiar, and he is not able to catch on my meaning like Minkie. If only he had raised Schwartz before the draw, as they say in poker, his adversary would not have been so sure of his cards. As it was, he tried to evade the final struggle. "After all," he said, with a brave attempt at a smile, "this is a poor way to spend Christmas night. Suppose we adjourn to the drawing-room now, and try to forget for a while that mines may be bottomless pits." Schwartz was well content to leave it at that. "May I have my letter?" he said. The Guv'nor handed it to him, but it was not yet refolded when Minkie burst into the room. "Please come, dad!" she cried. "And you, too, Mr. Schwartz! Jim says that the house is simply surrounded by black men." Of course, Schwartz had no grit in him: his type of man never has. He went pale, shook a bit, and leaned back against the table, and I noticed that the letter fell from his fingers to the floor. After a breathless question or two from the men as to what Jim meant by his extraordinary statement, they all rushed out. I turned a couple of summersaults, and was about to sing "Tell me, pretty maiden," when I saw a sharp snout thrust inquiringly round the jamb of the door. It was the mongoose. "Welcome, little stranger," I said, but he didn't seem to grasp idioms quickly, so I gave him the only chunk of Hindustani I possess. "Jao! you soor-ka-butcha," I shouted. One of my sailor friends says that is a polite way of asking after another gentleman's health, but the mongoose looked up at me and wanted to know (in proper animalese) why I was calling him names. "I didn't," I said. "But you did," he retorted. "Well, I didn't mean to. I thought that when the first mate said that to a lascar he meant 'Wot oh, 'ow's yer pore feet?'" "You shouldn't use words you don't understand," said Rikki, quite sharp. "Keep your wool on; you'll need it before the frost breaks. What's this I hear about niggers outside? Are they after the fowls?" "Dan says they want to kidnap Schwartz." "Look here, young fuzzy-wuzzy, not so free with your 'Dan' and 'Schwartz.' You haven't joined the Gang until I pass you. Just try to remember that. Nice thing! You'll be addressing me as 'Poll' next, I suppose? Now, if you want to make yourself useful, pick up that piece of paper on the carpet near the leg of the table, and carry it into your cage. Mind you don't eat it. Miss Millicent may want it." "Is that Minkie?" "There you go again. 'Minkie,' indeed, and you not two hours in the house!" "Sorry." "Well, if you behave yourself properly I'll forgive you this time. Before you go, kindly pass those nuts from the sideboard." "What kind of nuts are they?" said Rikki, thoughtfully. "Brazil. They're rank poison for mongooses." "Oh." He leaped up and gazed at the dish. "Shabàsh!" he said, cracking one. "They're good eating." "I'll shabàsh you," I screamed. "Help! Thieves! Hi, hi, hi! Oh, mother, look at Dick!" "What's the row now?" demanded Tib, trotting in from the hall. "Tib, if you love me, chase that red-haired vagabond away from my nuts," I implored her. "Oh, it's always the same old song with you," she grinned. "Any one would think you were being murdered. Rikki is really doing you a good turn, Poll. Too many nuts are bad for you. Evangeline said so." Ingratitood, thy name is cat! I fairly boiled over. I even called Evangeline such things that she came running in with a stick. And, of course, she never saw that cunning fox, Rikki. He sneaked out while she was beating me, but he took the letter with him, and I wouldn't be the least bit astonished if he told Minkie he had done it off his own bat. Exactly why Minkie brought the Guv'nor and Schwartz out of the dining-room in such a whirl I never discovered. She would have told me in a minute if I had thought of asking her, but things happened at such a rate during the next few days that I had plenty to do to keep track of current events without bothering my head over ancient history. I fancy she disturbed their conversation purposely. She knew Schwartz was in a desperate mood, and would endeavor to force her father to serve his ends. Mam's statement, too, backed up by Dorothy's hints and the plain tale she had read in the newspaper, gave her an all-round glimpse of the facts concerning Kwantus, and Dan was quite right when he said that Minkie had invoked the ju-ju's aid in a plan for the undoing of Schwartz. She told us what it was when we all met in the stable on Boxing Day, but, of course, you will excuse me for not mentioning it yet. To be candid, I daren't. We renewed the vow of the Gang in solemn state, and Rikki was sworn in as a new member at the same time. He was admitted thus promptly on account of his services with regard to that letter, which was a jolly sight more important than it sounded, and I must say he behaved rather handsomely, because he not only gave me full credit for the suggestion that he should nab it, but he told me privately he was sorry about those nuts. Our vow is a jolly serious affair. We bind ourselves to be loyal to the Gang "by hoof and claw, by beak and tooth, in air, on earth, and in water." Each member pledges himself or herself to "sink all private feud the instant any other member is threatened by an external enemy, whether with two, three, or four legs." We also promise to be loyal to our leader Minkie, and to protect and help all inmates of Holly Lodge, and, in token of fealty and allegiance, each of us has to hold up a foot or claw. Dan, naturally, tried to be clever, and suggested that the words "or itself" should be inserted after the word "herself," on the ground that no one knew the sex of a zygodactyl; he could not meet my eye, and pretended to snigger, but Minkie told him not to be rude. It may surprise some people to hear that we made common cause against three-legged adversaries, but that is easily explained. One day last summer, while Jim was washing Bob in the yard, and Dan was routing among some plant pots for a rat, a travelling menagerie passed our house, and a kangaroo leaped over the garden wall and landed in the midst of us. My cage was slung to the walnut tree, and I was so scared that I fell from my perch. Dan, with all his faults, is certainly a courageous beast, because he sprang at the stranger, and received a kick that knocked him clean over the cucumber frame. Jim fell into the pail, but Bob whisked round and gave the kangaroo a postman's double tap on the ribs that sent him flying back to his caravan. Dan, who was furious, alleged that the beast used his tail as a leg, and never touched the ground with his fore-legs at all. Jim bore out his statement, so the vow brought in the three-legged variety, to make sure. I asked if Evangeline were included in the word "inmates," and Minkie said it was a frivolous question. I quite agree with her. Holly Lodge isn't a lunatic asylum. Yet any outsider might be pardoned the mistake if he heard our light-headed housemaid telling Cookie the things she saw when she went to the post, just before she beat me with a cane. _I_ know that post. It is a gate-post, and it has a young man leaning against it. "Fust one nigger kem past, an' his eyes rolled something 'orrible," she said. "Then two kem from the hoppo-site direction, an' their eyes rolled wuss nor the other's. 'Tell you wot, Lena,' Bill said to me, 'I don't like this. I'm for 'ome,' and he left me standin' there, with all those orful blacks prowlin' round like lions. Did you ever 'ear of such a thing? I'm finished with Bill; I wouldn't look at him again not if he had twenty milk-walks. I ran for my life, an' found Jim. He whistled Dan, an' it did me good to see the way that dorg began to clear the road, but Jim called him orf, 'cause he says a nigger has as much right to live as any other sort of man, and those fellows were a-behavin' of themselves. That's as may be; if there's much more of these goin's on 'ere I give my month's notice." What do you think of that for a School Board education? If I couldn't talk better than Evangeline I'd borrow some black-lead and set up as a jack daw. It seems that the Old Man and Schwartz did not come across any negroes. Probably Dan had frightened them, if Prince John had told his friends what sort of a Rugger tackle Dan could put up. But Minkie is sharp, dreadful sharp. The moment I mentioned Jim's remark to Evangeline, she fastened on to it instantly. Jim was washing the victoria in the coach-house, and she went straight to him. "When did you last meet Prince John?" she inquired, planting her feet well apart, and holding her hands behind her back. She wore her blue serge that morning, and had a beaver hat set well clear of her forehead. As the weather was cold, though fine, she had tight-fitting brown gaiters over her strong boots, and she looked fit for any game that might present itself. Jim shuffled from one foot to the other, and scratched the tip of his ear. "I don't exactly remember, miss," he said. "Take time, James. There is no hurry. Just think." "Well, it might ha' bin at the Marquis o' Granby; yesterday after tea." "And what did he say?" "He said it was a powerful shame a furriner should come to a British colony an' steal a thing which a lot o' pore blacks thought more of than anybody could imagine." "And then he paid for another round of beer?" "Well, miss, if you put it that way--" "And he asked you to search for his black bag, and particularly for a little ivory doll which was inside it?" "Why, _you_ must ha' bin talkin' to him, too, miss!" "No, James. I'm just guessing. What did you say to him?" "I didn't see any harm in tellin' him that there was no sich thing anywheres in our grounds, an' Evangeline is sure it isn't in Mr. Schwartz's bedroom." "Do you think it quite right, James, to go to the Marquis o' Granby and discuss our affairs with a negro in a public bar?" "You'll pardon me, miss, but that ain't a fair way of puttin' it. This prince chap an' the rest of us had a rough an' tumble on Christmas Eve, an' I slung him out of the front gate all fair an' square. It was a perfectly nateral thing to meet 'im afterwards an' 'ave a friendly chat over a pint." "All right. The matter remains between you and me. But I want you to promise that if Prince John, or any other negro, approaches you again, and tries to get information, you will tell me everything at the first opportunity." "Of course, miss, I promise that. You can't think I would go agin the people in Holly Lodge, can you?" Applause from the stable. Even Rikki joined in with his squeak, though he could hardly make out what Jim was saying. Nevertheless, Minkie had not finished with our unhappy groom yet. I was glad to hear Jim getting it. He grumbles every time he puts fresh sand in my cage. "Did you arrange to meet him to-day?" she demanded. "Yes, miss," he said. "When and where?" "Well, I said as 'ow the carriage might not be wanted after five, an' I would walk to the other side of the green, when there would not be so many people about." "And what were you to tell him?" "Well, just any gossip that was goin', especially about Mr. Schwartz." "And how much did he promise to give you?" Jim looked rather sheepish. His skin is the color of a brick, but I fancy he took on a beet-root tinge. "I believe a sovereign was mentioned, miss," he admitted. "Here is your sovereign, James. Please oblige me by not meeting Prince John to-night." "Oh, I can't take it. I really can't; not from you, Miss Millicent. Why, I could never look you in the face again." "Take it, please. It is not my money. You know very well that I have no sovereigns to give away. And, when you meet the prince, I want you to tell him plainly that you must not hold any further conversation with him. If my father knew of yesterday's talk he would be exceedingly angry." "I thought that already, miss. Blest if I can imagine how _you_ found out so much." I laughed. I was the only member of the Gang, except Minkie, who saw how important was Evangeline's yarn to Cookie. Dan was very sore about what he called Jim's treachery, but Bob told him not to be a fool. "When the beer is in the wit is out," he said, and Bob ought to know, as he soaked up gallons of it while the Guv'nor and Mam and Dorothy were in Ostend last summer. All that day there was electricity in the atmosphere. Tibbie said she felt it in her fur. Everybody in the village could speak of nothing else but the extraordinary collection of negroes who had invaded what the guidebook calls "a peaceful retreat." At last, even the local policeman became aware that something unusual was taking place, and he strolled majestically up our drive to make inquiries. The Guv'nor met him, and said Mr. Schwartz's presence accounted for the sudden access of color to the landscape. "My friend has large interests in West Africa," he explained, "and the mere fact that he is staying at Dale End has drawn to this neighborhood many natives who are at present residing in England." "From information received," quoth Robert, "I have reason to believe, sir, that a larceny on your premises is intended by some of these blacks." "Nonsense! That story has arisen owing to one of them's thrusting himself in here on Christmas Eve." Schwartz asked the Old Man to head off any police interference in that way. So the law marched back to the village and took off its belt. Yet every man, woman, and child in Dale End resembled so many full soda syphons: the moment you touched them they spurted bubbles, and all the gas that escaped was chat concerning our sable visitors. It soon became known that there were three negroes staying at the Manor, and four at the Marquis o' Granby. They had plenty of money, which they spent freely; but there could not be the slightest doubt that they were hostile to us at Holly Lodge, and the maids at the Marquis o' Granby spread the story that the blacks had some awful-looking choppers among their luggage. From the description I recognized these as machetes. When Schwartz accompanied Dorothy to her old nurse's cottage during the afternoon, some idiot told two negroes who were standing at the door of the inn that the millionaire was just walking across the green with Miss Grosvenor. The black men muttered something, rolled their eyes in a manner that would have given Evangeline hysterics, and dogged the couple all the way back to our place. That started a rumor of attempted murder which set the village in an uproar, and there was some danger of an attack on the strangers until P. C. Banks gave his personal assurance that Mr. Grosvenor himself had said the negroes were perfectly harmless. Altogether, Boxing Day was lively. I began to think of old times in South America, when we had a revolution every twenty-four hours, and I used to ask the baker each morning, "Who is President to-day?" But the night passed without any special incident. I had a few words with the mongoose after dinner because I chanced to call him "Mickey" instead of "Rikki," and Dan and Tib had a spar about some cutlet bones; such breezes, however, are not uncommon in the best families, and, in distinct contrast with us, harmony reigned in the drawing-room, where Schwartz made himself agreeable to all parties, even to Minkie. Picture to yourself, then, the terrific excitement which sprang up next day at luncheon-time when Minkie was missing! I first heard of it from Dan, who rushed in and yelped: "Have you seen Minkie anywhere?" "Yes," said I, breathlessly. "Where?" "Here." "When?" "At breakfast." "Goose!" he hissed, and ran out again. Of course, I was only taking a rise out of him. I had no notion that his search was serious until I heard Mam weeping when the Guv'nor came back after driving all round the village, and calling at every house he could think of. "Oh, Tom," she sobbed, crying as if her heart would break, "if any harm has befallen our darling I shall not survive it." "Why do you take such a gloomy view of a trivial absence from home?" he asked, though his voice did not bear out the carelessness of his words. "You know well enough what an extraordinary child Millicent is. We can never tell what queer thing she may be doing." Mam was not to be comforted in that way. "Millicent has always asked permission if she wished to be away at meal time, and Dandy is not with her. I would not be so frightened if the dog had gone, too. Tom, what shall we do if she is not home before it is dark? I shall go mad." Dorothy was weeping also, and I heard Evangeline snivel something about them there black villains as was up to no good, she was sure. That was the worst thing she could have said. Mam simply refused to remain in the house when the light failed. She was going to ask Captain Stanhope's help, she declared. He knew a good deal about these negroes, and she was certain he would move heaven and earth to discover Minkie's whereabouts, because he loved the child as if she were his own sister. The Guv'nor saw that Mam was not fit to venture out, so he persuaded her to let him go to the Manor and see Jack. Schwartz, who was really beside himself with anxiety, tried hard to console Mam and Dorothy during the Guv'nor's absence, though he personally was in a fine pickle which they knew nothing of. He was afraid Minkie had been attacked, either on account of the ju-ju or the money he had given her, but he simply dared not say anything about his suspicions. At last, after an hour that had a thousand minutes, the Guv'nor returned. Mam saw by her first glance at his face that he brought bad news. She gave a deep sigh, and fainted clean away. I heard Bob telling Dan something outside, but I was forced to listen to what the Guv'nor was saying to Schwartz, while Dorothy and Evangeline and Cookie were trying to revive Mam. "It's a bad business, I fear," he whispered, holding on to the back of a chair like a man who thinks he may fall. "I met Stanhope and his uncle at the Manor, and even the older Stanhope was aghast when I told him my errand. It was the first they had heard of Minkie's disappearance, and Jack is now procuring the arrest of every negro in Dale End." "I would like to burn them alive," broke in Schwartz, and he meant it, too, for he was on the rack. "But that is not all," went on the Old Man hoarsely. "My poor little girl was seen talking to one of these devils last evening, at dusk, at the further end of the green. And to-day, the moment the Bank was open, she changed a fifty-pound note. There can be no doubt about it. The manager himself told me. Of course, he thought the money was mine. God in heaven! what does it all mean, and what has become of her?" Schwartz sat down, and bent his head. He gave it up. He didn't know what to do. Neither did I. I was acquainted with Minkie's plan, but, so far as I could see, it had nothing in it which was likely to keep her away from home. No wonder people in Dale End called that a Black Christmas. It was nearly being a fiery one also, because others in the village shared Schwartz's idea, and it was actually proposed that the police-station should be burnt down and the negroes roasted inside it. Isn't there a proverb about scratching a Russian and finding a Tartar? Well, to my thinking, you will not find such a world of difference between Surrey and Alabama when a black man is suspected of doing away with a white girl. And our Minkie, too! Oh, look here, I'm off into the Latin tongues. I can't express my feelings in pure Anglo-Saxon. Give me a torch and a bucket of tar; I'll find the feathers! _Saperlotte!_ What was it Giovanni used to say? THE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ CHAPTER V THE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ _Told by Minkie_ I suppose it was very wrong of me to leave home without warning. Mam says that if I had told her what I meant to do she would have been spared all anxiety. Of course, Mam means that _now_; my own private impression is that all sorts of objections might have occurred to her _then_; and any interference with my plan might have upset things altogether. However, if I tell the story in my own way, you will see I had several good reasons for acting as I did. One of my copy-books had a head-line: "It is a dangerous yet true axiom that the end justifies the means," and I never understood that sentence until I read in a paper how a clever little boy had extinguished a fire in a bedroom by pulling a plug out of the cistern in an attic overhead. Had there been no fire, that clever little boy would have got spanked. See? And there was no time to be lost. Seven powerful negroes had not come to Dale End for amusement. They meant mischief. Without going so far as killing us all in our beds, they could easily have attacked the house and held us up, as they say in America, until the ju-ju was found. They were not afraid of the law; six of them were ready to go to prison provided the seventh got clear away with their funny little god. And what would Mam have thought then? And Evangeline? And what would Polly have said? Jim, too, was in league with our own maids to search everywhere for the ju-ju. Isn't it odd that you can't trust your fellow-mortals? Dan, or Bob, or Tib would die sooner than play the sneak; even that sarcastic old parrot would never betray the Gang, and little Rikki, though he is a newcomer, is with us tooth and nail. Anyhow, what between Schwartz and the servants inside, and Prince John and his tribesman outside, I made up my mind to act a bit sooner than I intended. Perhaps the ju-ju egged me on also. You never can tell. The mysteries of fetish-worship are beyond me. Of course, _I_ kept Jim's appointment with the African Prince. It was nearly dark when I crossed the green, and there were four negroes standing in the road near the Manor gate. They were all much of a size, and I thought I should not be able to recognize the man who came to our house. But I spotted him at once. There must be something in being born a ruler, even a savage one. Prince John was quite different to the others in his manners and appearance. I was sorry he wore English clothes. It would have been fine if he were stalking about in feathers and a leopard skin, though I expect, poor fellow, he would have caught his death of cold. The four paid no heed to me until I stopped and said "Hello!" That made them look at me, and Prince John said: "Have you a message for me?" He thought I was some girl from the village, but I quickly put him right on that point. "Yes," I answered. "Come here. I wish to speak to you alone." Then he knew me, as he had heard me talking to Dad on our way from the station in the victoria. He advanced a few steps. "Oh," he said, "one of Mr. Grosvenor's daughters? I remember. My ankle is still stiff where you held it. You must have strong hands, for a child. Now, what can I do for you? Have you brought me what I seek?" He spoke as if he were a king, not a bit like the affected drawl of our local M.P. when he opens a bazaar, but it was necessary that I should make him jump, so I replied, rather off-handedly: "It all depends on the price you are willing to pay." That fetched him like a shot. He came quite close and looked down at me eagerly. I could see the whites of his eyes, and they reminded me of a pollywog, but I kept a straight face. "Do you mean to say you have found a bit of carved ivory, with a monkey's head and a little beaded skirt? If so, girl, give it to me, and I will reward you with a handful of gold," he cried. "I have not got your ju-ju in my possession at this moment," I said, speaking slowly, and watching him as intently as Dan watches the mouth of a burrow when he hears the rabbits squeaking at the sight of a ferret. "But I am fairly certain I can lay my hand on it, on terms." "Terms! Anything you ask! What is your price? Take me with you now--" "Not so fast, Prince John," said I, drawing away a foot or so--because a negro does look rather horrid when you are too near him, although he may only be showing animation, which, in his case, means teeth--"there is nothing to be gained by hurry. You can't have your ju-ju to-night, but you may have it to-morrow night, provided you are willing to pay my father exactly half the sum you offered Mr. Schwartz." My heart beat a trifle faster when the words were out. Jack did not mention the amount. It might have been a few hundred pounds, or several thousands. I imagined it was a tolerably large figure, or Schwartz would not have been so ready to hand me fifty pounds for the mere expenses. Prince John did not hesitate a second. "I agree," he cried, "yet surely Mr. Grosvenor has not sent _you_ to arrange such an important matter with _me_!" He might have been his own ju-ju addressing a black-beetle, or Lord Kitchener talking to a tin soldier, but I didn't budge another inch. What I wanted to know was the price. So I made him jump again. "Mr. Grosvenor knows nothing whatever about it," I said. "This affair is absolutely between you and me, and must remain so until you bring the money to our house to-morrow evening." "Do I understand that the ju-ju is in your hands, that no one else is aware of the fact, and that you alone are in treaty with me for its restoration?" I caught the change in his voice. If I hadn't a well-trained ear I could never distinguish the various shades of meaning in the speech of other members of the Gang, because they really don't use words, you know, but just sounds which tell me what they want to say. After all, that is talking, in a sense. And his prince-ship forgot he was in Surrey. Perhaps, like me, when I read an exciting book, he fancied himself far away, in a land where a big yellow river gurgles through a swamp all dark with trees, and a hundred thousand black men were ready to do anything he commanded. Anyhow, _I_ wasn't black. "You have stated the facts," I answered coolly. "But isn't it somewhat daring? Are you not afraid? You are a small English girl, and we are big, strong Africans. You are taking a great risk, eh?" Again he came nearer, but I stood my ground, though he could not tell that my nails were digging into the palms of my hands. "I am English, of course, though not so small," I said, "and I am so perfectly well aware you are an African that I have arranged for your ju-ju to be burnt to ashes unless I am home at six o'clock." _Parbleu!_ as mademoiselle used to forbid me to say, though it only means "By blue!" he altered his tune mighty sharp, or it would be more correct to put it that he came back with a flop from the Upper Niger to Dale End. "It is very extraordinary," he muttered, "but I cannot bring myself to disbelieve you. Captain Stanhope said that if you were friendly to us, something might be done. I accept your proposal. Hand over my property and I, in return, will hand your father five thousand pounds." There! It was out. You know what it is like when you wade into the sea and take your first header through a curling breaker. That is how I felt. Something buzzed in my ears, but I was determined to keep control over my voice. "In notes?" I managed to say. "Certainly. One does not carry such sums in gold. I have the money here; I was prepared, as you are aware, to pay Mr. Schwartz twice as much. But what guarantee have I that you will not sell the ju-ju to him for a higher amount?" "You have my word, and the knowledge that I came to you of my own free will." "Your groom told you I would be here?" "Yes." "Well, I trust you. What time shall I come to your house?" "At nine o'clock." "I warn you I am in no mood to be tricked in this matter. You see those men there?" and he glanced over his shoulder towards the other negroes. "They will face death cheerfully to gain our common object." "You may rely on what I have said." "Thank you. Yet it is amazing, quite amazing." I thought so, too. But I wanted some information, and I had to hurry, as it was growing late. "Your people are Kwantus, aren't they? Have you ever heard of the Kwantu mine?" "Of course I have. It is in my kingdom. Schwartz owns it, the thief." Well, I never! I did gasp a bit at that. "Are you sure?" I was forced to say. "Who should know better than I? It is the best mine in West Africa. The price of the shares shows that its value is appreciated by others, though I cannot understand how so much is known in England about it, as it has hardly been opened up. Schwartz obtained the concession solely because we hoped he would give us back our ju-ju." Yet I had in my pocket a letter from some Stock Exchange people to Schwartz himself, telling him they could not ascertain the name of the real owner! That was the letter Rikki secured at Polly's bidding, and hid in his cage. Somehow, it seemed to prove that Schwartz was really the bad man Prince John made him out to be. I did not quite grasp the meaning of it all, though I was sure that dear old Dad was being swindled, but with fifty-three pounds nineteen and sixpence in my pocket, and five thousand pounds as good as paid to father, and the ju-ju safe in the scullery copper, where Evangeline would light a fire after supper, it would be queer if I failed to bring Schwartz to reason. Besides, I meant to secure the assistance of an older head than mine, as this company business rather bothered me, and I was too young to be well up in "squeezes." My new friend lifted his hat with a grand air when I said "Good night." I walked away quietly, and I heard such a hubbub of strange talk when Prince John rejoined his companions. I met two other negroes on the road across the green. I fancied they were watching the turning to the railway station to make sure that Schwartz did not leave Holly Lodge without their knowledge. At any rate, I determined to take no risks next morning, as it was more than probable Prince John would tell his confederates of the new power behind the ju-ju. That night, in my locked bedroom, I examined the little idol very carefully. It was roughly carved; the ivory was yellow with age, and covered with tiny cracks, which looked like a net of fine hair. The skirt was made of a sort of hemp, plaited together, with a small colored bead between each knot. It was just a strip of beaded cloth, which lapped over at the joint, and was held in position by a piece of string. The beads differed from any I had ever seen, but I was almost certain the monkey's eyes were emeralds, but not good ones, as Mam has a nice emerald and diamond ring, so I know. I don't mind telling you now that I was half afraid of the thing. It seemed to be quite absurd that so many grown men should be willing to kill each other for its ownership. One might imagine a baby crying for it, because babies always prefer the most disreputable wooden horse or dirtiest rag doll, but it made one's hair tingle to think of war, and money, and good or bad fortune for goodness knows how many people, depending on the whereabouts of this eight-inch piece of tusk. Worst of all, I was beginning to believe in it. It seemed to squint at me in a chummy way with its wicked little eyes. Before I so much as heard of its existence or knew its name it brought me luck, just because it was lying in Schwartz's portmanteau in the carriage. You will remember I touched Schwartz for five pounds in five minutes on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day I got fifty out of him, and now Prince John was ready to give me five thousand. I couldn't help wondering if it would keep up the pace, and add another nought each day I held it. And that made me feel rather horrid, so I stuffed it out of sight under the bolster, and said my prayers; then the creeps passed away, and I fell asleep. There was a sunshiny frost when I awoke, and every tree and shrub in the garden was decked with sparkling gems. Evangeline seemed to be annoyed when I unlocked the door. "Nice thing," she said, "makin' me bump me nose in that fashion!" Dan came in with her, and I found that she had clattered along with the hot water without looking where she was going. Of course, the door didn't yield as usual, so her head struck the panel. Dan and I laughed, and Evangeline rubbed her nose with a black finger. Then we laughed some more, and Evangeline looked at herself in the glass. "We'll all be niggers in this house soon," she declared in a rage, and slammed out. "Well, what's the game to-day?" said Dan, sitting on his tail. "Nothing more than yesterday," I answered. "I told the parrot that, but the blessed bird is swinging on his perch and roaring something about another revolution." "What does he mean?" "He's talking Spanish, I believe. The few words I could make sense of showed that he regarded last night's general contentment as the calm before the storm." "Dan," said I, "you are only two years old. Polly is twenty, at the least. If you count up you will find that he is ten times wiser than you." Dan looked at me suspiciously. After thinking for a minute or two and scratching hard on the back of his head, he got me to let him out. When I came down to breakfast I discovered him listening to Polly, who was singing extracts from the latest musical comedies. The instant I appeared Polly became silent. He clung to the wires sideways, and watched me steadily, first with one eye and then with the other. Even Tibbie sat blinking at me from the hearth-rug, and when I went round to the stable, dear old Bob turned in his stall and stared at me solemnly. Talk about a ju-ju, the Gang can read my very thoughts! Illustration: My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly. Dan and Tibbie and Rikki began to follow at my heels, and it grieved me very much to be compelled to shut them up in the coach-house. But I had to do it. I put on my beaver hat and an astrachan jacket, went out through the front gate, doubled down the paddock, crossed the fir plantation, and made my way by a field path to Breckonhurst, the next station to Dale End. I took a return ticket to London, remained in the waiting-room until a train came in, and then popped quickly into the nearest empty carriage. At Waterloo I sat in the train until the other passengers had quitted the platform. After that, I took my chance of not being recognized. My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly. I showed him the ju-ju, and asked him what the beads were. He screwed a funny-shaped glass into his right eye and examined them. "They are different varieties of chalcedony," he said. "There are agates, carnelians, cat's eyes, onyx, sards, and three kinds of flints in this collection." "Good gracious!" said I. "What is it?" he asked, looking curiously at the idol. "A jou-jou," I answered, blessing mademoiselle inwardly. The man didn't speak French, so I told him _jou-jou_ meant "toy," and that satisfied him. We had some more talk, and I am sure I surprised him, but he was very civil, and took no end of trouble to discover an address I wanted. It turned out to be a little street off Tottenham Court Road. I drove there in a hansom, remained ten minutes, and hired the same cab back to the West-end. The cabman wanted to charge me four shillings, but I gave him half-a-crown and looked for his number. "S'elp me!" he cried, "wot's things a-comin' to?" And, with that, he whipped his poor horse into a canter, which is the nasty, vindictive way that sort of man has of expressing his feelings. Then I had a real slice of luck. I met Mr. Warden, my father's solicitor, just coming out of his office. He was quite taken aback at seeing me, especially when he found that Dad or Mam was not with me, and my good fortune was that had I been a few seconds later I should have missed him, as he was going to join Mrs. Warden in Brighton, having simply run up to town for an hour to glance at his letters. I was sorry for Mrs. Warden, but I had to keep him. Although he was a lawyer, and a very smart one, Dad says, he did open his eyes wide when I got fairly started with my story. I told him everything, or nearly everything, and the only bits that puzzled him were my references to Dan, or Bob, or Tib. As for what the parrot said, or Rikki did, he was too polite to smile, but he kept balancing his gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and pressing the tips of his fingers together, until I thought it best not to mention the Gang any more, because they seemed to bother him. But, oh my, didn't he look serious when I showed him the letter from Schwartz's brokers, and told him about the "squeeze" in Kwantus! He asked me if I knew what paper I got my information from, and I said "yes," so he tinkled a little bell and sent a clerk to buy a copy in Fleet-street. I was not sure about the date, but the clerk, who was such a nice boy, said he could search the file. By the time I had finished, the clerk returned with the newspaper. Mr. Warden changed his spectacles, and said "Hum" and "Ha" several times while he was reading the paragraph. Then he put on the gold ones again, and gazed at me. "You are a very remarkable girl, Millicent," he said. "I suppose my story sounds odd," I answered, "but it all happened exactly as I have told you, and there is hardly anything that takes place in Dale End which the Gang cannot form a reliable opinion about." "The Gang?" he repeated. "I beg your pardon, I meant my animal friends, but, of course, you don't quite believe in them." "I believe that you talk to them, and thus teach yourself to express your views very clearly. At any rate, we can let that pass. May I see this phenomenon of a ju-ju?" I smiled, because I was expecting him to say that. "If you don't mind," I explained, "I would rather show it to you in the train this evening." "This evening? Are we not going to Dale End at once?" "I shall not be ready until nearly six o'clock. I have a lot of things to do. Are you quite sure you will meet me at the station?" He was positive, he said, but he was distressed at the notion that I should be hours and hours alone in London, so the nice young clerk was ordered to take care of me. I led him rather a dance, and the way I spent Schwartz's gold seemed to give him a pain. Mr. Warden promised to telegraph to Mam to tell her I was quite safe, and that we should both be home about seven, but he was so astounded by my adventures that he wrote Southend in place of Dale End, and the telegram reached us in a letter two days later, with Mr. Warden's apologies. Do you know, I am convinced the ju-ju had something to do with that. If Schwartz had heard who Mr. Warden was, he might have smelt a rat. And isn't it odd, as Bob pointed out, that Southend should come after West-end, and Dale End, and Ostend and Mile End? The clerk and I had lunch and tea together and he insisted on paying, though I had ever so much more money in my pocket than he. By the time we reached Waterloo he looked rather tired, because we took no more cabs, and I went to lots of places I wanted to see, so I bought him a box of cigarettes as a present, and he said he hoped I would often come to London on business. Mr. Warden was waiting for me, and the moment the guard set eyes on me he came running up. "So you're here, are you, Miss Grosvenor?" he cried. "A fine thing you've bin and gone and done. All Dale End is inquirin' after you, an' your pore father is nearly wild." Mr. Warden gave him a shilling, saying it was all right. But it wasn't. When we reached our station, and began to walk to the Lodge, as Bob was not there to meet us, every person we met turned and followed us, until there was quite a mob at our heels when we crossed the green. We didn't know then that Mr. Banks, our policeman, had all the negroes, including Prince John, locked up in his tiny police-station. Jack and several men from the Manor were helping him to mount guard over them until more policemen arrived, as the Dale-enders wanted to lynch the black men, which would have been a sad job for everybody. Our escort blocked the road in front of our gate, but they did not venture to come inside the grounds. Dan was the first to hear the noise, and he barked. Then he caught my step on the gravel, and Mam will never again say that a dog can't speak, for he told her quite plainly that I was coming. Well, you can guess all the crying and kissing that went on, and how Dad tried to be angry while he took me in his arms, but Mr. Warden spoke about the telegram, and declared he would write to the _Times_ and the Postmaster General. Tib climbed up on my shoulder, and Rikki gave my hand such a queer little lick, while Poll did several lightning twists on the cross-bar, and whistled "Won't you come home, Bill Bailey." I heard dear Bob neighing in the stable, and I went to kiss his velvety nose the first minute I could spare. Mr. Schwartz was really as delighted as anybody that I had turned up, so he failed to notice how cool Mr. Warden was when Dad introduced them. I had hardly got my hat and jacket off, and was hugging Mam for the tenth time, when Dad called me into the morning-room, where he and Schwartz and Mr. Warden were standing. Solicitors can be very sharp if they like, and our lawyer surprised me with the way he tackled Schwartz. "My young friend here," he said, meaning me, "tells me she has promised to restore to you a certain article known as a ju-ju, which you lost on Christmas Eve." "Yes," said Schwartz, quite calmly. You see, he was a smart man of business, and I suppose he was not afraid of lawyers, or he would not have been able to keep all the money he was worth. "Well," went on Mr. Warden, "she is prepared to hand it to you in return for your quittance of her father's obligation to find you one thousand shares in the Kwantu Mines, Limited." That staggered Schwartz somewhat, but he said, in a husky voice: "I fail to understand you." "That is a pity. I wish to avoid a scandal. If you compel candor I shall be obliged to tell you who is the real owner of that property, and the law of England punishes fraudulent conspiracy very heavily. The links in the chain are quite complete; they even include our possession of a letter to you from a certain firm of brokers stating that they had failed to discover the genuine proprietors of the company." "Eh?" cried Dad, looking at Schwartz, "what is this? Are you sure of your facts, Warden?" I once read in a paper that some man who was fighting another man "went down and out." I didn't know what it meant, but it seemed to fit Schwartz's case. He went limp all at once. "Quite sure, Grosvenor," said the solicitor. "You can thank your daughter for putting me on the track of a very discreditable and unsavory business. I have prepared the necessary documents, Mr. Schwartz. Will you execute them without further explanation?" "Where is the ju-ju?" demanded Schwartz, pulling himself together, and glaring at me with eyes like flint marbles. "Here," said I, hauling it out of my pocket. He took it, held it in his left hand, and signed the papers placed before him by the lawyer. Dad signed, too, and Mr. Warden witnessed the signatures. Not a word was spoken. Schwartz went out of the room, and Dad rang for Evangeline to tell Jim to get the victoria ready at once. When Schwartz drove through our gate on his way to the station the mob cheered him. I expect he felt like being cheered. Bob told me afterwards that he said a naughty word to our lame porter when he wanted to carry the small bag in which the ju-ju was placed, I suppose, because gentlemen's pockets are not like mine. Still, from what I heard later, he must have taken it out of the bag when he was safe in the train. It was then nearly eight o'clock, and Dad sent Mole with a note to Jack to say that the negroes ought to be liberated at once. Jack, who has plenty of brains, brought his uncle with him to congratulate Dad and Mam about me, and they stayed to dinner. Jack and Dorothy sat together, so matters looked all right in that quarter. They did not say a great deal. Just as in Schwartz's case, silence was eloquent. Dad brought me once to see a play at Drury Lane, and I imagined all sorts of terrifying things when the villain crept nearer the defenceless heroine. If either of them spoke it was not half so thrilling. I had just the same feeling when Mr. Warden kept waiting for Schwartz to admit he was beaten. Prince John rang our bell exactly at nine o'clock. "Wah!" shrieked Evangeline when she opened the door. Then she fled. I had to rush and grab Dan, but I smiled sweetly at my dark visitor, and asked him to come into the morning-room. I knew that Mr. Warden and Uncle Stanhope were telling each other that every motorist should be sent to penal servitude on a second conviction, so I had no trouble in beckoning Dad to join me for a minute. He was rather surprised at meeting the negro, but he apologized quite nicely for the Christmas Eve incident, and also for any inconvenience which the other might have undergone owing to the action of the police. I was wondering if Dad meant to put his hand in his pocket and produce some money, but he told me afterwards that he felt exactly the same as I did with regard to Prince John. The man looked every inch a king, and I have reckoned up that he was at least seventy-four inches high. But, before I could stop him, Dad nearly gave me away badly. "I ought to tell you," he went on, "that, from circumstances which have come to my knowledge, I now sympathize deeply with you in your search for the--er--curious West African--er--god which you wish to recover, and I must say that if my--er--daughter Millicent had consulted me--" So Dad was just beginning to tell the Kwantu chief in his best J.P. manner that Schwartz was again the proud possessor of the ju-ju, when I broke in: "One moment, father dear," I cried, "you will understand things ever so much better when you hear what Prince John and I have to say to each other. Have you kept your part of the bargain?" I asked the black man quickly. He took from his coat pocket a small bundle tied with pink tape. "Here are fifty Bank of England notes for £100 each," he said. "Then here is your ju-ju," I answered, diving into my skirt pocket, and handing him the original piece of ivory, beaded kilt and all complete, and you may now know what a trouble it was to get a fair copy of it made for Schwartz during the few hours I had at my disposal in London. Dad looked awfully severe, after his first gasp of amazement had passed. "Millicent," he said, "what have you done?" "I have served Mr. Schwartz as he tried to serve you, father dear," I replied. "As for Prince John, he offered the man who stole the ju-ju ten thousand pounds if it were given back, so I saw no harm in arranging that half the amount should be paid to you. In any case, I always meant the poor black people to have it. It was a very great shame for Mr. Schwartz to take from them a thing which they thought so much of." For a little while he could say nothing. Like me, he was watching the black prince, who really treated that absurd--I mean that extraordinary scrap of carved ivory, as if it were the most precious article in the world. It might have been all one blazing diamond by the reverent way he handled it. When he was quite sure that it was his own ju-ju--and he did not take for granted, like Schwartz, that it was the genuine thing until he had looked at every mark--he pressed its funny monkey face to his lips, his forehead, and his breast. He paid not the least heed to us or what we were saying. It was not until he had produced a small, finely woven mat from the pocket in which he kept the notes, and wrapped the ju-ju in it before putting it away, that he gave us any attention. Of course, Dad started a second time to talk as if he were at a Conservative meeting. "It has given me the greatest pleasure to observe that my--er--daughter Millicent has restored to you the--er--interesting object which you seem to value so highly, but I need hardly say that--er--the payment of any such--er--astounding reward as five thousand pounds is utterly out of the question." "My people pay the money gladly," said the negro prince, dragging himself up in the grandest way imaginable. "I tell you, too, that your daughter's name will be honored in my country, and when I and my friends return home we shall not fail to send her other tokens of our regard and good will." "We cannot accept this money," said Dad, firmly. "It is quite essential that you should," said the other with equal coolness. "If you refuse it now, I shall simply be compelled to send it to you through the post. We lost our ju-ju owing to the remissness of its guardians. We must atone for that, and the payment must be made in treasure--or blood." You can have no idea how he uttered those last two words. He spoke quietly, and in a low voice, but somehow I could feel in them the edge of one of those sharp, heavy choppers--called "machetes," Polly says--which the maids in the Marquis o' Granby saw in the negroes' bedrooms. So it ended in our shaking hands with Prince John, and in Dad's bringing the notes into the drawing-room to show them to Mam and the others before he put them away in the silver safe. Everybody made a tremendous fuss over me, and Poll sang "The man who broke the Bank at Monte Carlo," but I was only too delighted that we had had such a jolly Christmas, and were all good friends again, though it looked rather glum at one time. They made me talk nearly all this story before I went to bed, and I heard old Mr. Stanhope growl that if Dorothy was in such a hurry to get married he didn't see why she shouldn't. Dad did not tell me until long after, but he sent Mr. Schwartz his fifty-five pounds next day, when he also bought me the loveliest bay pony to ride. I christened him "Prince John" when I introduced him to the gang. And that reminds me. In the morning paper the day afterwards, I found a most exciting paragraph. I whistled Dan, took Tibbie and Rikki under each arm, and asked Mole to carry Poll's cage to the stable. Bob and Prince John looked round in their stalls to see what was the matter, and Bob said: "What is it now? Has a North American Indian arrived in Dale End, or what?" "You listen," I said. "I came across this in the paper just now: 'An extraordinary outrage was committed in the precincts of Waterloo Station on Thursday evening--'" "Thursday evening!" cried Tib. "Why, that's the evening Schwartz--" "Don't interrupt," I said, and went on reading: "'Mr. Montague Schwartz, the well-known West African millionaire, was leaving the station in a four-wheeled cab when two gigantic negroes rushed to the near side of the vehicle as it was descending the steep slope into Waterloo Road, and threw it bodily over.'" "Ha! ha!" roared Dan, but I silenced him with a look. "'The cabman was, of course, flung headlong from his seat; Mr. Schwartz was imprisoned inside, and ran grave risk of serious injury owing to the plunging of the frightened horse.'" "Silly creatures, some horses," observed Poll, and Bob didn't like it, but I continued: "'In the darkness and confusion no one seems to have noticed the negroes, who made off with Mr. Schwartz's luggage, even appropriating a leather dressing-case which was on the front seat inside, and had fallen on top of the alarmed occupant. Mr. Schwartz, when extricated from his dangerous position, behaved with admirable coolness. He felt in his pockets, and declared that the rascals who had adopted this novel and exceedingly daring method of highway robbery had only secured some clothing and other articles which could be easily replaced. He was naturally somewhat shaken, however. After liberally compensating the cab-driver, Mr. Schwartz sought the escort of two policemen, when he entered another vehicle to proceed to his house in Brook-street. During the course of yesterday the police arrested several negroes, but neither the cabman nor Mr. Schwartz could identify any of them, and they were set at liberty.' I think that's rather fine; don't you? Please don't all speak at once." But they did, and lost their tempers because nobody could get a hearing; Bob and Prince John stamped and rattled the chains of their head-stalls, Dan chased Tibbie up the loft ladder, and Poll shrieked at Rikki: "You're a miserable, cat-whiskered _soor-ka butcha_, that's what you are, and I mean it this time, whatever it is!" And that is all, I think, for this time. Transcriber's Notes: Minor changes have been made to regularize hyphenation and correct minor printer errors. Illustrations have been moved below paragraphs to allow smoother reading in this e-book. Additionally, the titles of the Illustrations from the "List of Illustrations" have been added to the illustration line to make it more apparent what the illustration contained. 
19998	----	file was produced from images produced by Core Historical Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University) [Transcriber's Note: Typographical errors and inconsistencies are listed at the end of the text.] * * * * * RURAL ARCHITECTURE. Being A Complete Description of FARM HOUSES, COTTAGES, and OUT BUILDINGS, Comprising Wood Houses, Workshops, Tool Houses, Carriage and Wagon Houses, Stables, Smoke and Ash Houses, Ice Houses, Apiary or Bee House, Poultry Houses, Rabbitry, Dovecote, Piggery, Barns and Sheds for Cattle, &c., &c., &c. Together With Lawns, Pleasure Grounds and Parks; The Flower, Fruit and Vegetable Garden. Also, Useful and Ornamental Domestic Animals for the Country Resident, &c., &c., &c. Also, The Best Method Of CONDUCTING WATER INTO CATTLE YARDS AND HOUSES. BY LEWIS F. ALLEN. Beautifully Illustrated. New York: C. M. SAXTON, Agricultural Book Publisher. 1852. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852. By LEWIS F. ALLEN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Stereotyped by JEWETT, THOMAS AND CO. Buffalo, N.Y. ADVERTISEMENT. The writer of these pages ought, perhaps, to apologize for attempting a work on a subject, of which he is not a _professional_ master, either in design or execution. In the science of Farm buildings he claims no better knowledge than a long practical observation has given him. The thoughts herein submitted for the consideration of those interested in the subject of Farm buildings are the result of that observation, added to his experience in the use of such buildings, and a conviction of the inconveniences attending many of those already planned and erected. Nor is it intended, in the production of this work, to interfere with the labors of the professional builder. To such builder all who may be disposed to adopt any model or suggestion here presented, are referred, for the various details, in their specifications, and estimates, that may be required; presuming that the designs and descriptions of this work will be sufficient for the guidance of any master builder, in their erection and completion. But for the solicitation of those who believe that the undersigned could offer some improvements in the construction of Farm buildings for the benefit of our landholders and practical farmers, these pages would probably never have appeared. They are offered in the hope that they may be useful in assisting to form the taste, and add to the comfort of those who are the main instruments in embellishing the face of our country in its most pleasing and agreeable features--the American Farmer. LEWIS F. ALLEN. Black Rock, N.Y. 1851. NOTE.--For throwing the Designs embraced in these pages into their present artistic form, the writer is indebted to Messrs. Otis & Brown, architects, of Buffalo, to whose skill and experience he takes a pleasure in recommending such as may wish instruction in the plans, drawings, specifications, or estimates relating to either of the designs here submitted, or for others of any kind that may be adapted to their purposes. L. F. A. CONTENTS. Page. PREFATORY, 9 INTRODUCTORY, 13 General Suggestions, 19 Style of Building--Miscellaneous, 23 Position of Farm Houses, 29 Home Embellishments, 32 Material for Farm Buildings, 37 Outside Color of Houses, 42 A Short Chapter on Taste, 48 The Construction of Cellars, 54 Ventilation of Houses, 56 Interior Accommodation of Houses, 65 Chimney Tops, 68 Preliminary to our Designs, 69 DESIGN I. A Farm House, 72 Interior Arrangement, 75 Ground Plan, 76 Chamber Plan, 77 Miscellaneous, 80 As a Tenant House, 81 DESIGN II. Description, 84 Ground and Chamber Plans, 89 Interior Arrangement, 90 Miscellaneous Details, 95 DESIGN III. Description, 101 Ground and Chamber Plans, 105 Interior Arrangement, 106 Miscellaneous, 111 DESIGN IV. Description, 114 Interior Arrangement, 118 Ground Plan, 119 Chamber Plan, 120 Surrounding Plantations, Shrubbery, Walks, &c., 125 Tree Planting in the Highway, 129 DESIGN V. Description, 133 Interior Arrangement, 135 Ground Plan, 136 Chamber Plan, 142 Construction, Cost of Building, &c., 147 Grounds, Plantations, and Surroundings, 149 DESIGN VI. A Southern, or Plantation House, 154 Interior Arrangement, 159 Chamber Plan, 162 Carriage House, 163 Miscellaneous, 163 Lawn and Park Surroundings, 166 An Ancient New England Family, 168 An American Homestead of the Last Century, 169 Estimate of Cost of Design VI, 172 DESIGN VII. A Plantation House, 175 Interior Arrangement, 176 Ground Plan, 177 Chamber Plan, 178 Miscellaneous, 179 LAWNS, GROUNDS, PARKS, AND WOODS, 181 The Forest Trees of America, 183 Influence of Trees and Forests on the Character of men, 184 Hillhouse and Walter Scott as Tree Planters, 187 Doctor Johnson, no Rural Taste, 188 Fruit Garden--Orchard, 194 How to lay out a Kitchen Garden, 197 Flowers, 202 Wild Flowers of America, 203 Succession of Home Flowers, 206 FARM COTTAGES, 208 DESIGN I, and Ground Plan, 213 Interior Arrangement 214 DESIGN II, and Ground Plan, 216 Interior Arrangement, 216 DESIGN III, and Ground Plan, 220 Interior Arrangement, 220 DESIGN IV, and Ground Plan, 226 Interior Arrangement, 229 Cottage Outside Decoration, 231 Cottages on the Skirts of Estates, 233 House and Cottage Furniture, 235 APIARY, OR BEE HOUSE, 246 View of Apiary and Ground Plan, and description, 249 Mode of Taking the Honey, 252 AN ICE HOUSE, 258 Elevation and Ground Plan, 260 AN ASH HOUSE AND SMOKE HOUSE, 264 Elevation and Ground Plan, 265 THE POULTRY HOUSE, 267 Elevation and Ground Plan, 269 Interior Arrangement, 271 THE DOVECOTE, 275 Different Varieties of Pigeons, 278 A PIGGERY, 279 Elevation and Ground Plan, 281 Interior Arrangement, 282 Construction of Piggery--Cost, 283 FARM BARNS, 286 DESIGN I. Description, 291 Interior Arrangement, and Main Floor Plan, 293 Underground Plan, and Yard, 295 DESIGN II. Description, 300 Interior Arrangement, 303 Floor Plan, 304 BARN ATTACHMENTS, 308 RABBITS, 311 Mr. Rotch's Description of his Rabbits, 313 Rabbits and Hutch, 315 Dutch, and English Rabbits, 318 Mode of Feeding, 319 Mr. Rodman's Rabbitry, Elevation, and Floor Plan, 322 Explanations, 323 Loft or Garret, Explanation, 324 Cellar plan, Explanation, 325 Front and Back of Hutches, and Explanation, 326 DAIRY BUILDINGS, 330 Cheese Dairy House, 330 Elevation of Dairy House and Ground Plan, 331 Interior Arrangement, 333 The Butter Dairy, 335 THE WATER RAM, 237 Figure and Description, 338 GRANARY--Rat-proof, 343 IMPROVED DOMESTIC ANIMALS, 345 Short Horn Bull, 349 Short Horn Cow, 352 Devon Cow and Bull, 355 Southdown Ram and Ewe, 359 Long-wooled Ram and Ewe, 362 Common Sheep, 364 Remarks, 365 WATERFOWLS, 370 The African Goose, 370 China Goose, 371 Bremen Goose, 372 A WORD ABOUT DOGS, 374 Smooth Terrier, 377 Shepherd Dog, 381 PREFATORY. This work owes its appearance to the absence of any cheap and popular book on the subject of Rural Architecture, exclusively intended for the farming or agricultural interest of the United States. Why it is, that nothing of the kind has been heretofore attempted for the chief benefit of so large and important a class of our community as our farmers comprise, is not easy to say, unless it be that they themselves have indicated but little wish for instruction in a branch of domestic economy which is, in reality, one of great importance, not only to their domestic enjoyment, but their pecuniary welfare. It is, too, perhaps, among the category of neglects, and in the lack of fidelity to their own interests which pervades the agricultural community of this country, beyond those of any other profession--for we insist that agriculture, in its true and extended sense, is as much a profession as any other pursuit whatever. To the reality of such neglects they have but of late awaked, and indeed are now far too slowly wheeling into line for more active progress in the knowledge pertaining to their own advancement. As an accessory to their labors in such advancement, the present work is intended. It is an opinion far too prevalent among those engaged in the more active occupations of our people,--fortified indeed in such opinion, by the too frequent example of the farmer himself--that everything connected with agriculture and agricultural life is of a rustic and uncouth character; that it is a profession in which ignorance, as they understand the term, is entirely consistent, and one with which no aspirations of a high or an elevated character should, or at least need be connected. It is a reflection upon the integrity of the great agricultural interest of the country, that any such opinion should prevail; and discreditable to that interest, that its condition or example should for a moment justify, or even tolerate it. Without going into any extended course of remark, we shall find ample reason for the indifference which has prevailed among our rural population, on the subject of their own domestic architecture, in the absence of familiar and practical works on the subject, by such as have given any considerable degree of thought to it; and, what little thought has been devoted to this branch of building, has been incidentally rather than directly thrown off by those professionally engaged in the finer architectural studies appertaining to luxury and taste, instead of the every-day wants of a strictly agricultural population, and, of consequence, understanding but imperfectly the wants and conveniences of the farm house in its connection with the every-day labors and necessities of farm life. It is not intended, in these remarks, to depreciate the efforts of those who have attempted to instruct our farmers in this interesting branch of agricultural economy. We owe them a debt of gratitude for what they have accomplished in the introduction of their designs to our notice; and when it is remarked that they are insufficient for the purposes intended, it may be also taken as an admission of our own neglect, that we have so far disregarded the subject ourselves, as to force upon others the duty of essaying to instruct us in a work of which we ourselves should long ago have been the masters. Why should a farmer, because he _is_ a farmer, only occupy an uncouth, outlandish house, any more than a professional man, a merchant, or a mechanic? Is it because he himself is so uncouth and outlandish in his thoughts and manners, that he deserves no better? Is it because his occupation is degrading, his intellect ignorant, his position in life low, and his associations debasing? Surely not. Yet, in many of the plans and designs got up for his accommodation, in the books and publications of the day, all due convenience, to say nothing of the respectability or the elegance of domestic life, is as entirely disregarded as if such qualities had no connection with the farmer or his occupation. We hold, that although many of the practical operations of the farm may be rough, laborious, and untidy, yet they are not, and need not be inconsistent with the knowledge and practice of neatness, order, and even elegance and refinement within doors; and, that the due accommodation of the various things appertaining to farm stock, farm labor, and farm life, should have a tendency to elevate the social position, the associations, thoughts, and entire condition of the farmer. As the man himself--no matter what his occupation--be lodged and fed, so influenced, in a degree, will be his practice in the daily duties of his life. A squalid, miserable tenement, with which they who inhabit it are content, can lead to no elevation of character, no improvement in condition, either social or moral, of its occupants. But, the family comfortably and tidily, although humbly provided in their habitation and domestic arrangements, have usually a corresponding character in their personal relations. A log cabin, even,--and I speak of this primitive American structure with profound affection and regard, as the shelter from which we have achieved the most of our prodigious and rapid agricultural conquests,--may be so constructed as to speak an air of neatness, intelligence, and even refinement in those who inhabit it. Admitting, then, without further argument, that well conditioned household accommodations are as important to the farmer, even to the indulgence of luxury itself, when it can be afforded, as for those who occupy other and more active pursuits, it is quite important that he be equally well instructed in the art of planning and arranging these accommodations, and in designing, also, the various other structures which are necessary to his wants in their fullest extent. As a question of economy, both in saving and accumulating, good and sufficient buildings are of the first consequence, in a pecuniary light, and when to this are added other considerations touching our social enjoyment, our advancement in temporal condition, our associations, our position and influence in life, and, not least, the decided item of national good taste which the introduction of good buildings throughout our extended agricultural country will give, we find abundant cause for effort in improvement. It is not intended in our remarks to convey the impression that we Americans, as a people, are destitute of comfortable, and, in many cases, quite convenient household and farm arrangements. Numerous farmeries in every section of the United States, particularly in the older ones, demonstrate most fully, that where our farmers have taken the trouble to _think_ on the subject, their ingenuity has been equal, in the items of convenient and economical arrangement of their dwellings and out-buildings, to their demands. But, we are forced to say, that such buildings have been executed, in most cases, with great neglect of _architectural_ system, taste, or effect; and, in many instances, to the utter violation of all _propriety_ in appearance, or character, as appertaining to the uses for which they are applied. The character of the farm should be carried out so as to _express_ itself in everything which it contains. All should bear a consistent relation with each other. The former himself is a plain man. His family are plain people, although none the less worthy, useful, or exalted, on that account. His structures, of every kind, should be plain, also, yet substantial, where substance is required. All these detract nothing from his respectability or his influence in the neighborhood, the town, the county, or the state. A farmer has quite as much business in the field, or about his ordinary occupations, with ragged garments, out at elbows, and a crownless hat, as he has to occupy a leaky, wind-broken, and dilapidated house. Neither is he any nearer the mark, with a ruffled shirt, a fancy dress, or gloved hands, when following his plough behind a pair of _fancy_ horses, than in living in a finical, pretending house, such as we see stuck up in conspicuous places in many parts of the country. All these are out of place in each extreme, and the one is as absurd, so far as true propriety is concerned, as the other. A fitness of things, or a correspondence of one thing with another, should always be preserved upon the farm, as elsewhere; and there is not a single reason why propriety and good keeping should not as well distinguish it. Nor is there any good cause why the farmer himself should not be a man of taste, in the arrangement and architecture of every building on his place, as well as other men. It is only necessary that he devote a little time to study, in order to give his mind a right direction in all that appertains to this department. Or, if he prefer to employ the ingenuity of others to do his planning,--which, by the way, is, in most cases, the more natural and better course,--he certainly should possess sufficient judgment to see that such plans be correct and will answer his purposes. The plans and directions submitted in this work are intended to be of the most practical kind; plain, substantial, and applicable, throughout, to the purposes intended, and such as are within the reach--each in their kind--of every farmer in our country. These plans are chiefly original; that is, they are not copied from any in the books, or from any structures with which the writer is familiar. Yet they will doubtless, on examination, be found in several cases to resemble buildings, both in outward appearance and interior arrangement, with which numerous readers may be acquainted. The object, in addition to our own designs, has been to apply practical hints, gathered from other structures in use, which have seemed appropriate for a work of the limited extent here offered, and that may serve to improve the taste of all such as, in building useful structures, desire to embellish their farms and estates in an agreeable style of home architecture, at once pleasant to the eye, and convenient in their arrangement. INTRODUCTORY. The lover of country life who looks upon rural objects in the true spirit, and, for the first time surveys the cultivated portions of the United States, will be struck with the incongruous appearance and style of our farm houses and their contiguous buildings; and, although, on examination, he will find many, that in their interior accommodation, and perhaps relative arrangement to each other, are tolerably suited to the business and convenience of the husbandman, still, the feeling will prevail that there is an absence of method, congruity, and correct taste in the architectural structure of his buildings generally, by the American farmer. We may, in truth, be said to have no architecture at all, as exhibited in our agricultural districts, so far as any correct system, or plan is concerned, as the better taste in building, which a few years past has introduced among us, has been chiefly confined to our cities and towns of rapid growth. Even in the comparatively few buildings in the modern style to be seen in our farming districts, from the various requirements of those buildings being partially unknown to the architect and builder, who had their planning--and upon whom, owing to their own inexperience in such matters, their employers have relied--a majority of such dwellings have turned out, if not absolute failures, certainly not what the necessities of the farmer has demanded. Consequently, save in the mere item of outward appearance--and that, not always--the farmer and cottager have gained nothing, owing to the absurdity in style or arrangement, and want of fitness to circumstances adopted for the occasion. We have stated that our prevailing rural architecture is discordant in appearance; it may be added, that it is also uncouth, out of keeping with correct rules, and, ofttimes offensive to the eye of any lover of rural harmony. Why it is so, no matter, beyond the apology already given--that of an absence of cultivation, and thought upon the subject. It may be asked, of what consequence is it that the farmer or small property-holder should conform to given rules, or mode, in the style and arrangement of his dwelling, or out-buildings, so that they be reasonably convenient, and answer his purposes? For the same reason that he requires symmetry, excellence of form or style, in his horses, his cattle, or other farm stock, household furniture, or personal dress. It is an arrangement of artificial objects, in harmony with natural objects; a cultivation of the sympathies which every rational being should have, more or less, with true taste; that costs little or nothing in the attainment, and, when attained, is a source of gratification through life. Every human being is bound, under ordinary circumstances, to leave the world somewhat better, so far as his own acts or exertions are concerned, than he found it, in the exercise of such faculties as have been given him. Such duty, among thinking men, is conceded, so far as the moral world is concerned; and why not in the artificial? So far as the influence for good goes, in all practical use, from the building of a temple, to the knocking together of a pig-stye--a labor of years, or the work of a day--the exercise of a correct taste is important, in a degree. In the available physical features of a country, no land upon earth exceeds North America. From scenery the most sublime, through the several gradations of magnificence and grandeur, down to the simply picturesque and beautiful, in all variety and shade; in compass vast, or in area limited, we have an endless variety, and, with a pouring out of God's harmonies in the creation, without a parallel, inviting every intelligent mind to study their features and character, in adapting them to his own uses, and, in so doing, to even embellish--if such a thing be possible--such exquisite objects with his own most ingenious handiwork. Indeed, it is a profanation to do otherwise; and when so to improve them requires no extraordinary application of skill, or any extravagant outlay in expense, not to plan and to build in conformity with good taste, is an absolute barbarism, inexcusable in a land like ours, and among a population claiming the intelligence we do, or making but a share of the general progress which we exhibit. It is the idea of some, that a house or building which the farmer or planter occupies, should, in shape, style, and character, be like some of the stored-up commodities of his farm or plantation. We cannot subscribe to this suggestion. We know of no good reason why the walls of a farm house should appear like a hay rick, or its roof like the thatched covering to his wheat stacks, because such are the shapes best adapted to preserve his crops, any more than the grocer's habitation should be made to imitate a tea chest, or the shipping merchant's a rum puncheon, or cotton bale. We have an idea that the farmer, or the planter, according to his means and requirements, should be as well housed and accommodated, and in as agreeable style, too, as any other class of community; not in like character, in all things, to be sure, but in his own proper way and manner. Nor do we know why a farm house should assume a peculiarly primitive or uncultivated style of architecture, from other sensible houses. That it be a _farm_ house, is sufficiently apparent from its locality upon the farm itself; that its interior arrangement be for the convenience of the in-door farm work, and the proper accommodation of the farmer's family, should be quite as apparent; but, that it should assume an uncouth or clownish aspect, is as unnecessary as that the farmer himself should be a boor in his manners, or a dolt in his intellect. The farm, in its proper cultivation, is the foundation of all human prosperity, and from it is derived the main wealth of the community. From the farm chiefly springs that energetic class of men, who replace the enervated and physically decaying multitude continually thrown off in the waste-weir of our great commercial and manufacturing cities and towns, whose population, without the infusion--and that continually--of the strong, substantial, and vigorous life blood of the country, would soon dwindle into insignificance and decrepitude. Why then should not this first, primitive, health-enjoying and life-sustaining class of our people be equally accommodated in all that gives to social and substantial life, its due development? It is absurd to deny them by others, or that they deny themselves, the least of such advantages, or that any mark of _caste_ be attempted to separate them from any other class or profession of equal wealth, means, or necessity. It is quite as well to say that the farmer should worship on the Sabbath in a _meeting-house_, built after the fashion of his barn, or that his district school house should look like a stable, as that his dwelling should not exhibit all that cheerfulness and respectability in form and feature which belongs to the houses of any class of our population whatever. Not that the farm house should be like the town or the village house, in character, style, or architecture, but that it should, in its own proper character, express all the comfort, repose, and quietude which belong to the retired and thoughtful occupation of him who inhabits it. Sheltered in its own secluded, yet independent domain, with a cheerful, _intelligent_ exterior, it should exhibit all the pains-taking in home embellishment and rural decoration that becomes its position, and which would make it an object of attraction and regard. * * * * * RURAL ARCHITECTURE. * * * * * GENERAL SUGGESTIONS. In ascertaining what is desirable to the conveniences, or the necessities in our household arrangement, it may be not unprofitable to look about us, and consider somewhat, the existing condition of the structures too many of us now inhabit, and which, in the light of true fitness for the objects designed, are inconvenient, absurd, and out of all harmony of purpose; yet, under the guidance of a better skill, and a moderate outlay, might be well adapted, in most cases, to our convenience and comfort, and quite well, to a reasonable standard of taste in architectural appearance. At the threshold--not of the house, but of this treatise--it may be well to remark that it is not here assumed that there has been neither skill, ingenuity, nor occasional good taste exhibited, for many generations back, in the United States, in the construction of farm and country houses. On the contrary, there are found in the older states many farm and country houses that are almost models, in their way, for convenience in the main purposes required of structures of their kind, and such as can hardly be altered for the better. Such, however, form the exception, not the rule; yet instead of standing as objects for imitation, they have been ruled out as antiquated, and unfit for modern builders to consult, who have in the introduction of some real improvements, also left out, or discarded much that is valuable, and, where true comfort is concerned, indispensable to perfect housekeeping. Alteration is not always improvement, and in the rage for innovation of all kinds, among much that is valuable, a great deal in house-building has been introduced that is absolutely pernicious. Take, for instance, some of our ancient-looking country houses of the last century, which, in America, we call old. See their ample dimensions; their heavy, massive walls; their low, comfortable ceilings; their high gables; sharp roofs; deep porches, and spreading eaves, and contrast them with the ambitious, tall, proportionless, and card-sided things of a modern date, and draw the comparison in true comfort, which the ancient mansion really affords, by the side of the other. Bating its huge chimneys, its wide fire-places, its heavy beams dropping below the ceiling overhead, and the lack of some modern conveniences, which, to be added, would give all that is desired, and every man possessed of a proper judgment will concede the superiority to the house of the last century. That American house-building of the last fifty years is out of joint, requires no better proof than that the main improvements which have been applied to our rural architecture, are in the English style of farm and country houses of two or three centuries ago; so, in that particular, we acknowledge the better taste and judgment of our ancestors. True, modern luxury, and in some particulars, modern improvement has made obsolete, if not absurd, many things considered indispensable in a ruder age. The wide, rambling halls and rooms; the huge, deep fire-places in the chimneys; the proximity of out-buildings, and the contiguity of stables, ricks, and cattle-yards--all these are wisely contracted, dispensed with, or thrown off to a proper distance; but instead of such style being abandoned altogether, as has too often been done, the house itself might better have been partially reformed, and the interior arrangement adapted to modern convenience. Such changes have in some instances been made; and when so, how often does the old mansion, with outward features in good preservation, outspeak, in all the expression of home-bred comforts, the flashy, gimcrack neighbor, which in its plenitude of modern pretension looks so flauntingly down upon it! We cannot, in the United States, consistently adopt the domestic architecture of any other country, throughout, to our use. We are different in our institutions, our habits, our agriculture, our climates. Utility is our chief object, and coupled with that, the indulgence of an agreeable taste may be permitted to every one who creates a home for himself, or founds one for his family. The frequent changes of estates incident to our laws, and the many inducements held out to our people to change their locality or residence, in the hope of bettering their condition, is a strong hindrance to the adoption of a universally correct system in the construction of our buildings; deadening, as the effect of such changes, that home feeling which should be a prominent trait of agricultural character. An attachment to locality is not a conspicuous trait of American character; and if there be a people on earth boasting a high civilization and intelligence, who are at the same time a roving race, the Americans are that people; and we acknowledge it a blemish in our domestic and social constitution. Such remark is not dropped invidiously, but as a reason why we have thus far made so little progress in the arts of home embellishment, and in clustering about our habitations those innumerable attractions which win us to them sufficiently to repel the temptation so often presented to our enterprise, our ambition, or love of gain--and these not always successful--in seeking other and distant places of abode. If, then, this tendency to change--a want of attachment to any one spot--is a reason why we have been so indifferent to domestic architecture; and if the study and practice of a better system of building tends to cultivate a home feeling, why should it not be encouraged? Home attachment is a virtue. Therefore let that virtue be cherished. And if any one study tend to exalt our taste, and promote our enjoyment, let us cultivate that study to the highest extent within our reach. STYLE OF BUILDING.--MISCELLANEOUS. Diversified as are the features of our country in climate, soil, surface, and position, no one style of rural architecture is properly adapted to the whole; and it is a gratifying incident to the indulgence in a variety of taste, that we possess the opportunity which we desire in its display to almost any extent in mode and effect. The Swiss chalêt may hang in the mountain pass; the pointed Gothic may shoot up among the evergreens of the rugged hill-side; the Italian roof, with its overlooking campanile, may command the wooded slope or the open plain; or the quaint and shadowy style of the old English mansion, embosomed in its vines and shrubbery, may nestle in the quiet, shaded valley, all suited to their respective positions, and each in harmony with the natural features by which it is surrounded. Nor does the effect which such structures give to the landscape in an ornamental point of view, require that they be more imposing in character than the necessities of the occasion may demand. True economy demands a structure sufficiently spacious to accommodate its occupants in the best manner, so far as convenience and comfort are concerned in a dwelling; and its conformity to just rules in architecture need not be additionally expensive or troublesome. He who builds at all, if it be anything beyond a rude or temporary shelter, may as easily and cheaply build in accordance with correct rules of architecture, as against such rules; and it no more requires an extravagance in cost or a wasteful occupation of room to produce a given effect in a house suited to humble means, than in one of profuse accommodation. Magnificence, or the attempt at magnificence in building, is the great fault with Americans who aim to build out of the common line; and the consequence of such attempt is too often a failure, apparent, always, at a glance, and of course a perfect condemnation in itself of the judgment as well as taste of him who undertakes it. Holding our tenures as we do, with no privilege of entail to our posterity, an eye to his own interest, or to that of his family who is to succeed to his estate, should admonish the builder of a house to the adoption of a plan which will, in case of the sale of the estate, involve no serious loss. He should build such a house as will be no detriment, in its expense, to the selling value of the land on which it stands, and always fitted for the spot it occupies. Hence, an imitation of the high, extended, castellated mansions of England, or the Continent, although in miniature, are altogether unsuited to the American farmer or planter, whose lands, instead of increasing in his family, are continually subject to division, or to sale in mass, on his own demise; and when the estate is encumbered with unnecessarily large and expensive buildings, they become an absolute drawback to its value in either event. An expensive house requires a corresponding expense to maintain it, otherwise its effect is lost, and many a worthy owner of a costly mansion has been driven to sell and abandon his estate altogether, from his unwillingness or inability to support "the establishment" which it entailed; when, if the dwelling were only such as the estate required and could reasonably maintain, a contented and happy home would have remained to himself and family. It behooves, therefore, the American builder to examine well his premises, to ascertain the actual requirements of his farm or plantation, in convenience and accommodation, and build only to such extent, and at such cost as shall not impoverish his means, nor cause him future disquietude. Another difficulty with us is, that we oftener build to gratify the eyes of the public than our own, and fit up our dwellings to accommodate "company" or visitors, rather than our own families; and in the indulgence of this false notion, subject ourselves to perpetual inconvenience for the gratification of occasional hospitality or ostentation. This is all wrong. A house should be planned and constructed for the use of the household, with _incidental_ accommodation for our immediate friends or guests--which can always be done without sacrifice to the comfort or convenience of the regular inmates. In this remark, a stinted and parsimonious spirit is not suggested. A liberal appropriation of rooms in every department; a spare chamber or two, or an additional room on the ground floor, looking to a possible increase of family, and the indulgence of an easy hospitality, should always govern the resident of the country in erecting his dwelling. The enjoyments of society and the intercourse of friends, sharing for the time, our own table and fireside, is a crowning pleasure of country life; and all this may be done without extraordinary expense, in a wise construction of the dwelling. The farm house too, should comport in character and area with the extent and capacity of the farm itself, and the main design for which it is erected. To the farmer proper--he who lives from the income which the farm produces--it is important to know the extent of accommodation required for the economical management of his estate, and then to build in accordance with it, as well as to suit his own position in life, and the station which he and his family hold in society. The owner of a hundred acre farm, living upon the income he receives from it, will require less house room than he who tills equally well his farm of three, six, or ten hundred acres. Yet the numbers in their respective families, the relative position of each in society, or their taste for social intercourse may demand a larger or smaller household arrangement, regardless of the size of their estates; still, the dwellings on each should bear, in extent and expense, a consistent relation to the land itself, and the means of its owner. For instance: a farm of one hundred acres may safely and economically erect and maintain a house costing eight hundred to two thousand dollars, while one of five hundred to a thousand acres may range in an expenditure of twenty-five hundred to five thousand dollars in its dwelling, and all be consistent with a proper economy in farm management. Let it be understood, that the above sums are named as simply comporting with a financial view of the subject, and such as the economical management of the estate may warrant. To one who has no regard to such consideration, this rule of expenditure will not apply. He may invest any amount he so chooses in building beyond, if he only be content to pocket the loss which he can never expect to be returned in an increased value to the property, over and above the price of cheaper buildings. On the other hand, he would do well to consider that a farm is frequently worth less to an ordinary purchaser, with an extravagant house upon it, than with an economical one, and in many cases will bring even less in market, in proportion as the dwelling is expensive. _Fancy_ purchasers are few, and fastidious, while he who buys only for a home and an occupation, is governed solely by the profitable returns the estate will afford upon the capital invested. There is again a grand error which many fall into in building, looking as they do only at the extent of wood and timber; or stone and mortar in the structure, and paying no attention to the surroundings, which in most cases contribute more to the effect of the establishment than the structure itself, and which, if uncultivated or neglected, any amount of expenditure in building will fail to give that completeness and perfection of character which every homestead should command. Thus the tawdry erections in imitation of a cast-off feudalism in Europe, or a copying of the massive piles of more recent date abroad, although in miniature, both in extent and cost, is the sheerest affectation, in which no sensible man should ever indulge. It is out of all keeping, or propriety with other things, as we in this country have them, and the indulgence of all such fancies is sooner or later regretted. Substance, convenience, purpose, harmony--all, perhaps, better summed up in the term EXPRESSION--these are the objects which should govern the construction of our dwellings and out-buildings, and in their observance we can hardly err in the acquisition of what will promote the highest enjoyment which a dwelling can bestow. POSITION. The site of a dwelling should be an important study with every country builder; for on this depends much of its utility, and in addition to that, a large share of the enjoyment which its occupation will afford. Custom, in many parts of the United States, in the location of the farm buildings, gives advantages which are denied in others. In the south, and in the slave states generally, the planter builds, regardless of roads, on the most convenient site his plantation presents; the farmer of German descent, in Pennsylvania and some other states, does the same: while the Yankee, be he settled where he will, either in the east, north, or west, inexorably huddles himself immediately upon the highway, whether his possessions embrace both sides of it or not, disregarding the facilities of access to his fields, the convenience of tilling his crops, or the character of the ground which his buildings may occupy, seeming to have no other object than proximity to the road--as if his chief business was upon that, instead of its being simply a convenience to his occupation. To the last, but little choice is left; and so long as a close connection with the thoroughfare is to control, he is obliged to conform to accident in what should be a matter of deliberate choice and judgment. Still, there are right and wrong positions for a house, which it is necessary to discuss, regardless of conventional rules, and they should be considered in the light of propriety alone. A fitness to the purposes for which the dwelling is constructed should, unquestionably, be the governing point in determining its position. The site should be dry, and slightly declining, if possible, on every side; but if the surface be level, or where water occasionally flows from contiguous grounds, or on a soil naturally damp, it should be thoroughly drained of all superfluous moisture. That is indispensable to the preservation of the house itself, and the health of its inmates. The house should so stand as to present an agreeable aspect from the main points at which it is seen, or the thoroughfares by which it is approached. It should be so arranged as to afford protection from wind and storm, to that part most usually occupied, as well as be easy of access to the out-buildings appended to it. It should have an unmistakable front, sides, and rear; and the uses to which its various parts are applied, should distinctly appear in its outward character. It should combine all the advantages of soil, cultivation, water, shade, and shelter, which the most liberal gratification, consistent with the circumstances of the owner, may demand. If a site on the estate command a prospect of singular beauty, other things equal, the dwelling should embrace it; if the luxury of a stream, or a sheet of water in repose, present itself, it should, if possible, be enjoyed; if the shade and protection of a grove be near, its benefits should be included; in fine, any object in itself desirable, and not embarrassing to the main purposes of the dwelling and its appendages, should be turned to the best account, and appropriated in such manner as to combine all that is desirable both in beauty and effect, as well as in utility, to make up a perfect whole in the family residence. Attached to the building site should be considered the quality of the soil, as affording cultivation and growth to shrubbery and trees,--at once the ornament most effective to all domestic buildings, grateful to the eye always, as objects of admiration and beauty--delightful in the repose they offer in hours of lassitude or weariness; and to them, that indispensable feature in a perfect arrangement, the garden, both fruit and vegetable, should be added. Happily for the American, our soils are so universally adapted to the growth of vegetation in all its varieties, that hardly a farm of considerable size can be found which does not afford tolerable facilities for the exercise of all the taste which one may indulge in the cultivation of the garden as well as in the planting and growth of trees and shrubbery; and a due appropriation of these to an agreeable residence is equal in importance to the style and arrangement of the house itself. The site selected for the dwelling, and the character of the scenery and objects immediately surrounding it, should have a controlling influence upon the style in which the house is to be constructed. A fitness and harmony in all these is indispensable to both expression and effect. And in their determination, a single object should not control, but the entire picture, as completed, should be embraced in the view; and that style of building constituting the most agreeable whole, as filling the eye with the most grateful sensations, should be the one selected with which to fill up and complete the design. HOME EMBELLISHMENTS. A discussion of the objects by way of embellishment, which may be required to give character and effect to a country residence, would embrace a range too wide, in all its parts, for a simply practical treatise like this; and general hints on the subject are all indeed, that will be required, as no specific rules or directions can be given which would be applicable, indiscriminately, to guide the builder in the execution of his work. A dwelling house, no matter what the style, standing alone, either on hill or plain, apart from other objects, would hardly be an attractive sight. As a mere representation of a particular style of architecture, or as a model of imitation, it might excite our admiration, but it would not be an object on which the eye and the imagination could repose with satisfaction. It would be incomplete unless accompanied by such associates as the eye is accustomed to embrace in the full gratification of the sensations to which that organ is the conductor. But assemble around that dwelling subordinate structures, trees, and shrubbery properly disposed, and it becomes an object of exceeding interest and pleasure in the contemplation. It is therefore, that the particular style or outward arrangement of the house is but a part of what should constitute the general effect, and such style is to be consulted only so far as it may in itself please the taste, and give benefit or utility in the purposes for which it is intended. Still, the architectural design should be in harmony with the features of the surrounding scenery, and is thus important in completing the effect sought, and which cannot be accomplished without it. A farm with its buildings, or a simple country residence with the grounds which enclose it, or a cottage with its door-yard and garden, should be finished sections of the landscape of which it forms a part, or attractive points within it; and of consequence, complete each within itself, and not dependent upon distant accessories to support it--an _imperium in imperio_, in classic phrase. A tower, a monument, a steeple, or the indistinct outline of a distant town may form a striking feature in a pictorial design and the associations connected with them, or, the character in which they are contemplated may allow them to stand naked and unadorned by other objects, and still permit them to fill up in perfect harmony the picture. This idea will illustrate the importance of embellishment, not only in the substitution of trees as necessary appendages to a complete rural establishment, but in the erection of all the buildings necessary for occupation in any manner, in form and position, to give effect from any point of view in which the homestead may be seen. General appearance should not be confined to one quarter alone, but the house and its surroundings on every side should show completeness in design and harmony in execution; and although humble, and devoted to the meanest purposes, a portion of these erections may be, yet the character of utility or necessity which they maintain, gives them an air of dignity, if not of grace. Thus, a house and out-buildings flanked with orchards, or a wood, on which they apparently fall back for support, fills the eye at once with not only a beautiful group, in themselves combined, but associate the idea of repose, of comfort, and abundance--indispensable requisites to a perfect farm residence. They also seem to connect the house and out-buildings with the fields beyond, which are of necessity naked of trees, and gradually spread the view abroad over the farm until it mingles with, or is lost in the general landscape. These remarks may seem too refined, and as out of place here, and trenching upon the subject of Landscape Gardening, which is not designed to be a part, or but an incidental one of the present work, yet they are important in connection with the subject under discussion. The proper disposition of trees and shrubbery around, or in the vicinity of buildings is far too little understood, although tree planting about our dwellings is a practice pretty general throughout our country. Nothing is more common than to see a man build a house, perhaps in most elaborate and expensive style, and then plant a row of trees close upon the front, which when grown will shut it almost entirely out of view; while he leaves the rear as bald and unprotected as if it were a barn or a horse-shed--as if in utter ignorance, as he probably is, that his house is more effectively set off by a _flanking_ and _background_ of tree and shrubbery, than in front. And this is called good taste! Let us examine it. Trees near a dwelling are desirable for shade; _shelter_ they do not afford except in masses, which last is always better given to the house itself by a veranda. Immediately adjoining, or within touching distance of a house, trees create dampness, more or less litter, and frequently vermin. They injure the walls and roofs by their continual shade and dampness. They exclude the rays of the sun, and prevent a free circulation of air. Therefore, _close_ to the house, trees are absolutely pernicious, to say nothing of excluding all its architectural effect from observation; when, if planted at proper distances, they compose its finest ornaments. If it be necessary to build in good taste at all, it is quite as necessary that such good taste be kept in view throughout. A country dwelling should always be a conspicuous object in its full character and outline, from one or more prominent points of observation; consequently all plantations of tree or shrubbery in its immediate vicinity should be considered as aids to show off the house and its appendages, instead of becoming the principal objects of attraction in themselves. Their disposition should be such as to create a perfect and agreeable whole, when seen in connection with the house itself. They should also be so placed as to open the surrounding landscape to view in its most attractive features, from the various parts of the dwelling. Much in the effective disposition of trees around the dwelling will thus depend upon the character of the country seen from it, and which should control to a great extent their position. A single tree, of grand and stately dimensions, will frequently give greater effect than the most studied plantations. A ledge of rock, in the clefts of which wild vines may nestle, or around which a mass of shrubbery may cluster, will add a charm to the dwelling which an elaborate cultivation would fail to bestow; and the most negligent apparel of nature in a thousand ways may give a character which we might strive in vain to accomplish by our own invention. In the efforts to embellish our dwellings or grounds, the strong natural objects with which they are associated should be consulted, always keeping in view an _expression_ of the chief character to which the whole is applied. MATERIAL FOR FARM BUILDINGS. In a country like ours, containing within its soils and upon its surface such an abundance and variety of building material, the composition of our farm erections must depend in most cases upon the ability or the choice of the builder himself. Stone is the most durable, in the long run the cheapest, and as a consequence, the _best_ material which can be furnished for the walls of a dwelling. With other farm buildings circumstances may govern differently; still, in many sections of the United States, even stone cannot be obtained, except at an expense and inconvenience altogether forbidding its use. Yet it is a happy relief that where stone is difficult, or not at all to be obtained, the best of clay for bricks, is abundant; and in almost all parts of our country, even where building timber is scarce, its transportation is so comparatively light, and the facilities of removing it are so cheap, that wood is accessible to every one. Hence we may indulge in almost every fitting style of architecture and arrangement, to which either kind of these materials are best adapted. We shall slightly discuss them as applicable to our purposes. Stone is found either on the surface, or in quarries under ground. On the surface they lie chiefly as bowlders of less or greater size, usually of hard and durable kinds. Large bowlders may be either blasted, or split with wedges into sufficiently available shapes to lay in walls with mortar; or if small, they may with a little extra labor, be fitted by the aid of good mortar into equally substantial wall as the larger masses. In quarries they are thrown out, either by blasting or splitting in layers, so as to form regular courses when laid up; and all their varieties may, _unhammered_, except to strike off projecting points or angles, be laid up with a sufficiently smooth face to give fine effect to a building. Thus, when easily obtained, aside from the greater advantages of their durability, stone is as cheap in the first instance as lumber, excepting in new districts of country where good building lumber is the chief article of production, and cheaper than brick in any event. Stone requires no paint. Its color is a natural, therefore an agreeable one, be it usually what it may, although some shades are more grateful to the eye than others; yet it is always in harmony with natural objects, and particularly so on the farm where everything ought to wear the most substantial appearance. The outer walls of a stone house should always be _firred_ off inside for _lathing_ and plastering, to keep them thoroughly dry. Without that, the rooms are liable to dampness, which would penetrate through the stone into the inside plastering unless cut off by an open space of air between. Bricks, where stone is not found, supply its place tolerably well. When made of good clay, rightly tempered with sand, and well burned, they will in a wall remain for centuries, and as far as material is concerned, answer all purposes. Brick walls may be thinner than stone walls, but they equally require "firring off" for inside plastering, and in addition, they need the aid of paint quite as often as wood, to give them an agreeable color--bricks themselves not usually being in the category of desirable colors or shades. Wood, when abundant and easily obtained, is worked with the greatest facility, and on many accounts, is the cheapest material, _for the time_, of which a building can be constructed. But it is perishable. It requires every few years a coat of paint, and is always associated with the idea of decay. Yet wood may be moulded into an infinite variety of form to please the eye, in the indulgence of any peculiar taste or fancy. We cannot, in the consideration of material for house-building therefore, urge upon the farmer the adoption of either of the above named materials to the preference of another, in any particular structure he may require; but leave him to consult his own circumstances in regard to them, as best he may. But this we will say: _If it be possible_, never lay a _cellar_ or underground wall of perishable material, such as wood or soft bricks; nor build with soft or _unburnt_ bricks in a wall exposed to the weather _anywhere;_ nor with stone which is liable to crumble or disintegrate by the action of frost or water upon it. We are aware that unburnt bricks have been strongly recommended for house-building in America; but from observation, we are fully persuaded that they are worthless for any _permanent_ structure, and if used, will in the end prove a dead loss in their application. Cottages, out-buildings, and other cheap erections on the farm, for the accommodation of laborers, stock, or crops, may be made of wood, where wood is the cheapest and most easily obtained; and, even taking its perishable nature into account, it may be the most economical. In their construction, it may be simply a matter of calculation with him who needs them, to calculate the first cost of any material he has at hand, or may obtain, and to that add the interest upon it, the annual wear and tear, the insurance, and the period it may last, to determine this matter to his entire satisfaction--always provided he have the means at hand to do either. But other considerations generally control the American farmer. His pocket is apt more often to be pinched, than his choice is to be at fault; and this weighty argument compels him into the "make shift" system, which perhaps in its results, provided the main chance be attained, is quite as advantageous to his interests as the other. As a general remark, all buildings should show for themselves, what they are built of. Let stone be stone; bricks show on their own account; and of all things, put no counterfeit by way of plaster, stucco, or other false pretence other than paint, or a durable wash upon wood: it is a miserable affectation always, and of no possible use whatever. All counterfeit of any kind as little becomes the buildings of the farmer, as the gilded _pinchbeck_ watch would fit the finished attire of a gentleman. Before submitting the several designs proposed for this work, it may be remarked, that in addressing them to a climate strictly American, we have in every instance adopted the wide, steeply-pitched roof, with broad eaves, gables and cornices, as giving protection, shade, and shelter to the walls; thus keeping them dry and in good preservation, and giving that well housed, and comfortable expression, so different from the stiff, pinched, and tucked-up look in which so many of the haberdasher-built houses of the present day exult. We give some examples of the hipped roof, because they are convenient and cheap in their construction; and we also throw into the designs a lateral direction to the roofs of the wings, or connecting parts of the building. This is sometimes done for effect in architectural appearance, and sometimes for the economy and advantage of the building itself. Where roofs thus intersect or connect with a side wall, the connecting gutters should be made of copper, zinc, lead, galvanized iron, or tin, into which the shingles, if they be covered with that material, should be laid so as to effectually prevent leakage. The _eave gutters_ should be of copper, zinc, lead, galvanized iron or tin, also, and placed _at least_ one foot back from the edge of the roof, and lead the water into conductors down the wall into the cistern or elsewhere, as may be required. If the water be not needed, and the roof be wide over the walls, there is no objection to let it pass off naturally, if it be no inconvenience to the ground below, and can run off, or be absorbed into the ground without detriment to the cellar walls. All this must be subject to the judgment of the proprietor himself. OUTSIDE COLOR. We are not among those who cast off, and on a sudden condemn, as out of all good taste, the time-honored white house with its green blinds, often so tastefully gleaming out from beneath the shade of summer trees; nor do we doggedly adhere to it, except when in keeping, by contrast or otherwise, with everything around it. For a century past white has been the chief color of our wooden houses, and often so of brick ones, in the United States. This color has been supposed to be strong and durable, being composed chiefly of white lead; and as it _reflected_ the rays of the sun instead of _absorbing_ them, as some of the darker colors do, it was thus considered a better preserver of the weather-boarding from the cracks which the fervid heat of the sun is apt to make upon it, than the darker colors. White, consequently, has always been considered, until within a few years past, as a fitting and _tasteful_ color for dwellings, both in town and country. A new school of _taste_ in colors has risen, however, within a few years past, among us; about the same time, too, that the recent gingerbread and beadwork style of country building was introduced. And these were both, as all _new_ things are apt to be, carried to extremes. Instead of _toning_ down the glare of the white into some quiet, neutral shade, as a straw color; a drab of different hues--always an agreeable and appropriate color for a dwelling, particularly when the door and window casings are dressed with a deeper or lighter shade, as those shades predominate in the main body of the house; or a natural and soft _wood_ color, which also may be of various shades; or even the warm russet hue of some of our rich stones--quite appropriate, too, as applied to wood, or bricks--the _fashion_ must be followed without either rhyme or reason, and hundreds of our otherwise pretty and imposing country houses have been daubed over with the dirtiest, gloomiest pigment imaginable, making every habitation which it touched look more like a funeral appendage than a cheerful, life-enjoying home. We candidly say that we have no sort of affection for such sooty daubs. The fashion which dictates them is a barbarous, false, and arbitrary fashion; void of all natural taste in its inception; and to one who has a cheerful, life-loving spirit about him, such colors have no more fitness on his dwelling or out-buildings, than a tomb would have in his lawn or dooryard. Locality, amplitude of the buildings, the purpose to which they are applied--every consideration connected with them, in fact, should be consulted, as to color. Stone will give its own color; which, by the way, some prodigiously smart folks _paint_--quite as decorous or essential, as to "paint the lily." Brick sometimes must be painted, but it should be of a color in keeping with its character,--of substance and dignity; not a counterfeit of stone, or to cheat him who looks upon it into a belief that it may be marble, or other unfounded pretension. A _warm_ russet is most appropriate for brick-work of any kind of color--the color of a russet apple, or undressed leather--shades that comport with Milton's beautiful idea of "_Russet_ lawns and fallows _gray_." Red and yellow are both too glaring, and slate, or lead colors too somber and cold. It is, in fact, a strong argument in favor of bricks in building, where they can be had as cheap as stone or wood, that any color can be given to them which the good taste of the builder may require, in addition to their durability, which, when made of good material, and properly burned, is quite equal to stone. In a wooden structure one may play with his fancy in the way of color, minding in the operation, that he does not play the mountebank, and like the clown in the circus, make his tattooed tenement the derision of men of correct taste, as the other does his burlesque visage the ridicule of his auditors. A _wooden_ country house, together with its out-buildings, should always be of a cheerful and softly-toned color--a color giving a feeling of warmth and comfort; nothing glaring or flashy about it. And yet, such buildings should not, in their color, any more than in their architecture, appear as if _imitating_ either stone or brick. Wood, of itself, is light. One cannot build a _heavy_ house of wood, as compared with brick or stone. Therefore all imitation or device which may lead to a belief that it may be other than what it really is, is nothing less than a fraud--not criminal, we admit, but none the less a fraud upon good taste and architectural truth. It is true that in this country we cannot afford to place in stone and brick buildings those ornate trimmings and appendages which, perhaps, if economy were not to be consulted, might be more durably constructed of stone, but at an expense too great to be borne by those of moderate means. Yet it is not essential that such appendages should be of so expensive material. The very purposes to which they are applied, as a parapet, a railing, a balustrade, a portico, piazza, or porch; all these may be of wood, even when the material of the house _proper_ is of the most durable kind; and by being painted in keeping with the building itself, produce a fine effect, and do no violence to good taste or the most fastidious propriety. They may be even sanded to a color, and grained, stained, or otherwise brought to an identity, almost, with the material of the house, and be quite proper, because they simply are _appendages_ of convenience, necessity, or luxury, to the building itself, and may be taken away without injuring or without defacing the main structure. They are not a _material_ part of the building itself, but reared for purposes which may be dispensed with. It is a matter of taste or preference, that they were either built there, or that they remain permanently afterward, and of consequence, proper that they be of wood. Yet they should not _imitate_ stone or brick. They should still show that they _are_ of wood, but in color and outside preservation denote that they are appendages to a _stone_ or _brick_ house, by complying with the proper shades in color which predominate in the building itself, and become their own subordinate character. Not being a professional painter, or compounder of colors, we shall offer no receipts or specifics for painting or washing buildings. Climate affects the composition of both paints and washes, and those who are competent in this line, are the proper persons to dictate their various compositions; and we do but common justice to the skill and intelligence of our numerous mechanics, when we recommend to those who contemplate building, to apply forthwith to such as are masters of their trade for all the information they require on the various subjects connected with it. One who sets out to be his own architect, builder, and painter, is akin to the lawyer in the proverb, who has a fool for his client, when pleading his own case, and quite as apt to have quack in them all. Hints, general outlines, and oftentimes matters of detail in interior convenience, and many other minor affairs may be given by the proprietor, when he is neither a professional architect, mechanic, or even an amateur; but in all things affecting the _substantial_ and important parts of his buildings, he should consult those who are proficient and experienced in the department on which he consults them. And it may perhaps be added that none _professing_ to be such, are competent, unless well instructed, and whose labors have met the approbation of those competent to judge. There is one kind of color, prevailing to a great extent in many parts of our country, particularly the northern and eastern, which, in its effect upon any one having an eye to a fitness of things in country buildings, is a monstrous perversion of good taste. That is the glaring red, made up of Venetian red, ochre, or Spanish brown, with doors and windows touched off with white. The only apology we have ever heard given for such a barbarism was, that it is a good, strong, and lasting color. We shall not go into an examination as to that fact, but simply answer, that if it be so, there are other colors, not more expensive, which are equally strong and durable, and infinitely more tasteful and fitting. There can be nothing less comporting with the simplicity of rural scenery, than a glaring red color on a building. It _connects_ with nothing natural about it; it neither _fades_ into any surrounding shade of soil or vegetation, and must of necessity, stand out in its own bold and unshrouded impudence, a perfect Ishmaelite in color, and a perversion of every thing harmonious in the design. We eschew _red_, therefore, from every thing in rural architecture. A SHORT CHAPTER ON TASTE. The compound words, or terms _good-taste_ and _bad-taste_ have been used in the preceding pages without, perhaps, sufficiently explaining what is meant by the word _taste_, other than as giving vague and unsatisfactory terms to the reader in measuring the subject in hand. _Taste_ is a term universally applied in criticism of the fine-arts, such as painting, sculpture, architecture, &c., &c., of which there are many schools--of _taste_, we mean--some of them, perhaps natural, but chiefly conventional, and all more or less arbitrary. The proverb, "there is no accounting for taste," is as old as the aforesaid schools themselves, and defines perfectly our own estimate of the common usage of the term. As we have intended to use it, Webster defines the word _taste_ to be "the faculty of discerning beauty, order, congruity, proportion, symmetry, or whatever constitutes excellence; style; manner with respect to what is pleasing." With this understanding, therefore; a fitness to the purpose for which a thing is intended--got up in a manner agreeable to the eye and the mind--preserving also a harmony between its various parts and uses; pleasing to the eye, as addressed to the sense, and satisfactory to the mind, as appropriate to the object for which it is required;--these constitute _good-taste_, as the term is here understood. The term _style_, also, is "the _manner_ or _form_ of a thing." When we say, "that is a stylish house," it should mean that it is in, or approaches some particular style of building recognized by the schools. It may or may not be in accordance with good taste, and is, consequently, subject to the same capricious test in its government. Yet _styles_ are subject to arrangement, and are classified in the several schools of architecture, either as distinct specimens of acknowledged orders, as the Doric, the Ionic, the Corinthian, in Grecian architecture, or, the Tuscan and Composite, which are, more distinctly, styles of Roman architecture. To these may be added the Egyptian, the most massive of all; and either of them, in their proper character, grand and imposing when applied to public buildings or extensive structures, but altogether inapplicable, from their want of lightness and convenience, to country or even city dwellings. Other styles--not exactly orders--of architecture, such as the Italian, the Romanesque, the Gothic, the Swiss, with their modifications--all of which admit of a variety of departures from fixed rules, not allowed in the more rigid orders--may be adapted in a variety of ways, to the most agreeable and harmonious arrangement in architectural effect, for dwellings and structures appurtenant to them. The Italian style of architecture, modified somewhat in pretension and extent, is admirably adapted to most parts of the United States. Its general lightness, openness, and freedom gives a wide range of choice; and its wings, verandas, and terraces, stretching off in any and almost every direction desired, from the main building, make it exceedingly appropriate for general use. The modern, or rural Gothic, branching off sometimes into what is termed the English cottage style, and in many instances blending so intimately with the Italian, as hardly to mark the line of division, is also a beautiful _arrangement_ of building for country dwellings. These, in ruder structures, may also be carried into the Rustic--not a style proper, in itself--but so termed as approximating in execution or pretension to either of the above; while the Swiss, with its hanging roofs, and sheltering eaves may be frequently brought in aid to show out the rustic form in more completeness, and in greater harmony with surrounding objects, than either of the others. For farm houses, either of these _arrangements_ or departures from a _set_ and _positive_ style, are better fitted than any which we have noticed; and in some one or other of the modifications named, we have applied them in the examples submitted in this work. They may not therefore be viewed as _distinct_ delineations of an _order_ of architecture, or style _proper_, even; but as a _mode_ appropriate to the object required. And so long as they do not absolutely conflict with true taste, or in their construction commit a barbarism upon any acknowledged system of architecture, in any of its modifications, we hazard no impropriety in introducing them for the imitation of country builders. Congruity with the objects to which it is applied should be the chief merit of any structure whatever; and so long as that object be attained, good taste is not violated, and utility is fully subserved. Intimately connected with this subject, in rural buildings, is the _shape_ of the structure. Many of the designs recently introduced for the imitation of builders, are full of angles and all sorts of zig-zag lines, which, although they may add to the variety of style, or relieve the monotony of straight and continuous lines, are carried to a needless excess, expensive in their construction, and entail infinite trouble upon the owner or occupant, in the repairs they subject him to, in the leakages continually occurring, against which last, either of wind or rain, it is almost impossible to guard. And what, let us ask, are the benefits of a parcel of needless gables and peaked windows, running up like owl's ears, above the eaves of a house, except to create expense, and invite leakage and decay? If in appearance, they provoke an association of that kind, they certainly are not in good taste; and a foot or two of increased height in a wall, or a low window sufficient for the purpose intended, would give a tone of dignity, of comfort, and real utility, which a whole covey of such pretentious things could not. All such trumpery should be scouted from the dwelling house of the farmer, and left to the special indulgence of the town builder. A _square_ form of house will afford more area within a given line of wall than any other _sensible_ form which may be adopted. Yet a square house is not so agreeable to the eye as an oblong. Thus, a house should stand somewhat broader on one front than on another. It should also be relieved from an appearance of monotony and tameness, by one or more wings; and such wings should, at their junction with the main building, retreat or advance a sufficient distance from a continuous line, as to relieve it effectually from an appearance of stiffness, and show a different character of occupation from that of the main structure. The front of a house should be the most imposing and finished in its architecture of any one of its parts; and unless some motive of greater convenience control otherwise, its entrance the most highly wrought, as indicating the luxury of the establishment--for even the humblest habitations have their luxuries. The side rooms, or more usually occupied apartments, require less pretension in both architectural effect and finish, and should wear a more subdued appearance; while the kitchen section, and from that, the several grades of apartments stretching beyond it, should distinctly show that they are subservient in their character, and wear a style and finish accordingly. Thus, each part of the house speaks for itself. It is its own finger-board, pointing the stranger to its various accommodation, as plainly as if written on its walls, and saying as significantly as dumb walls can do, that here dwells a well regulated family, who have a parlor for their friends; a library, or sitting-room for their own leisure and comfort; an ample bedroom and nursery, for the parents and the little ones; a kitchen for the cooking; and a scullery and closets, and all the other etceteras which belong to a perfect family homestead. And so with the grounds. The lawn or "dooryard," should be the best kept ground on the place. The most conspicuous part of the garden should show its shrubbery and its flowers. The side or rear approach should be separated from the lawn, and show its constant _business_ occupation, and openly lead off to where men and farm stock meet on common ground, devoted to every purpose which the farm requires. Such arrangement would be complete in all its parts, satisfactory, and lasting. Tinsel ornament, or gewgaw decoration should never be permitted on any building where the sober enjoyment of agricultural life is designed. It can never add consideration or dignity to the retired gentleman even, and least of all should it be indulged in by the farmer, dwelling on his own cultivated acres. THE CONSTRUCTION OF CELLARS. Every farm house and farm cottage, where a family of any size occupy the latter, should have a good, substantial _stone_-walled cellar beneath it. No room attached to the farm house is more profitable, in its occupation, than the cellar. It is useful for storing numberless articles which are necessary to be kept warm and dry in winter, as well as cool in summer, of which the farmer is well aware. The walls of a cellar should rise at least one, to two, or even three feet above the level of the ground surrounding it, according to circumstances, and the rooms in it well ventilated by _two_ or more sliding sash windows in each, according to size, position, and the particular kind of storage for which it is required, so that a draft of pure air can pass through, and give it thorough ventilation at all times. It should also be at least seven and a half feet high in the clear; and if it be even nine feet, that is not too much. If the soil be compact, or such as will hold water, it should be thoroughly drained from the lowest point or corner, and the drain always kept open; (a stone drain is the best and most durable,) and if floored with a coat of flat, or rubble stones, well set in good hydraulic cement--or cement alone, when the stone cannot be obtained--all the better. This last will make it _rat proof_. For the purpose of avoiding these destructive creatures, the _foundation_ stones in the wall should be brought to a joint, and project at least six inches on each side, from the wall itself, when laid upon this bottom course; as the usual manner of rats is to burrow in a nearly perpendicular direction from the surface, by the side of the wall, when intending to undermine it. On arriving at the bottom, if circumvented by the projecting stones, they will usually abandon their work. Plank of hard wood, or hard burnt bricks, may answer this purpose when stone cannot be had. All cellar walls should be laid in good lime mortar, or if that be not practicable, they should be well pointed with it. This keeps them in place, and renders them less liable to the ingress of water and vermin. The thickness of wall should not be less than fifteen to eighteen inches, in any event, when of stone; and if the house walls above be built of stone or brick, two feet is better; and in all cases the cellar wall should be full three inches thicker than the wall resting upon it. In the cellar of every farm house there should be an outside door, with a flight of steps by which to pass roots and other bulky or heavy articles, to which a wagon or cart may approach, either to receive or discharge them. This is indispensable. Every out-building upon the farm, let it be devoted to what purpose it may, having a wooden floor on the ground story, should be set up sufficiently high from the surface to admit a cat or small terrier dog beneath such floor, with openings for them to pass in and out, or these hiding places will become so many rat warrens upon the premises, and prove most destructive to the grain and poultry. Nothing can be more annoying to the farmer than these vermin, and a trifling outlay in the beginning, will exclude them from the foundations and walls of all buildings. Care, therefore, should be taken to leave no haunt for their convenience. With these suggestions the ingenuity of every builder will provide sufficient guards against the protection of vermin beneath his buildings. VENTILATION OF HOUSES. Pure air, and enough of it, is the cheapest blessing one can enjoy; and to deny one's self so indispensable an element of good health, is little short of criminal neglect, or the sheerest folly. Yet thousands who build at much needless expense, for the protection of their health and that of their families, as they allege, and no doubt suppose, by neglecting the simplest of all contrivances, in the work of ventilation, invite disease and infirmity, from the very pains they so unwittingly take to ward off such afflictions. A man, be he farmer or of other profession, finding himself prosperous in life, sets about the very sensible business of building a house for his own accommodation. Looking back, perhaps, to the days of his boyhood, in a severe climate, he remembers the not very highly-finished tenement of his father, and the wide, open fireplace which, with its well piled logs, was scarcely able to warm the large living-room, where the family were wont to huddle in winter. He possibly remembers, with shivering sympathy, the sprinkling of snow which he was accustomed to find upon his bed as he awaked in the morning, that had found its way through the frail casing of his chamber window--but in the midst of all which he grew up with a vigorous constitution, a strong arm, and a determined spirit. He is resolved that _his_ children shall encounter no such hardships, and that himself and his excellent helpmate shall suffer no such inconvenience as his own parents had done, who now perhaps, are enjoying a strong and serene old age, in their old-fashioned, yet to them not uncomfortable tenement. He therefore determines to have a snug, _close_ house, where the cold cannot penetrate. He employs all his ingenuity to make every joint an air-tight fit; the doors must swing to an air-tight joint; the windows set into air-tight frames; and to perfect the catalogue of his comforts, an air-tight stove is introduced into every occupied room which, perchance, if he can afford it, are further warmed and poisoned by the heated flues of an air-tight furnace in his air-tight cellar. In short, it is an air-tight concern throughout. His family breathe an air-tight atmosphere; they eat their food cooked in an "air-tight kitchen witch," of the latest "premium pattern;" and thus they start, father, mother, children, all on the high road--if persisted in--to a galloping consumption, which sooner or later conducts them to an air-tight dwelling, not soon to be changed. If such melancholy catastrophe be avoided, colds, catarrhs, headaches, and all sorts of bodily afflictions shortly make their appearance, and they wonder what is the matter! They live so snug! their house is so warm! they sleep so comfortable! how can it be? True, in the morning the air of their sleeping-rooms feels close, but then if a window is opened it will chill the rooms, and that will give them colds. What _can_ be the matter? The poor creatures never dream that they have been breathing, for hour after hour, decomposed air, charged with poisonous gases, which cannot escape through the tight walls, or over the tight windows, or through the tight stoves; and thus they keep on in the sure course to infirmity, disease, and premature death--all for the want of a little ventilation! Better indeed, that instead of all this painstaking, a pane were knocked out of every window, or a panel out of every door in the house. We are not disposed to talk about cellar furnaces for heating a farmer's house. They have little to do in the farmer's inventory of goods at all, unless it be to give warmth to the hall--and even then a snug box stove, with its pipe passing into the nearest chimney is, in most cases, the better appendage. Fuel is usually abundant with the farmer; and where so, its benefits are much better dispensed in open stoves or fireplaces, than in heating furnaces or "air-tights." We have slightly discussed this subject of firing in the farm house, in a previous page, but while in the vein, must crave another word. A farmer's house should _look_ hospitable as well as _be_ hospitable, both outside and in; and the broadest, most cheerful look of hospitality within doors, in cold weather, is an _open_ fire in the chimney fireplace, with the blazing wood upon it. There is no _mistake_ about it. It thaws you out, if cold; it stirs you up, if drooping; and is the welcome, winning introduction to the good cheer that is to follow. A short time ago we went to pay a former town friend a visit. He had removed out to a snug little farm, where he could indulge his agricultural and horticultural tastes, yet still attend to his town engagements, and enjoy the quietude of the country. We rang the door bell. A servant admitted us; and leaving overcoat and hat in the hall, we entered a lone room, with an "air-tight" stove, looking as black and solemn as a Turkish eunuch upon us, and giving out about the same degree of genial warmth as the said eunuch would have expressed had he been there--an emasculated warming machine truly! On the floor was a Wilton carpet, too fine to stand on; around the room were mahogany sofas and mahogany chairs, all too fine to sit on--at all events to _rest_ one upon if he were fatigued. The blessed light of day was shut out by crimson and white curtains, held up by gilded arrows; and upon the mantle piece, and on the center and side tables were all sorts of gimcracks, costly and worthless. In short, there was no _comfort_ about the whole concern. Hearing our friend coming up from his dining-room below, where too, was his _cellar kitchen_--that most abominable of all appendages to a farm house, or to any other country house, for that matter--we buttoned our coat up close and high, thrust our hands into our pockets, and walked the room, as he entered. "Glad to see you--glad to see you, my friend!" said he, in great joy; "but dear me, why so buttoned up, as if you were going? What's the matter?" "My good sir," we replied, "you asked us to come over and see you, 'a _plain farmer_,' and 'take a quiet family dinner with you.' We have done so; and here find you with all your town nonsense about you. No fire to warm by; no seat to rest in; no nothing like a farm or farmer about you; and it only needs your charming better half, whom we always admired, when she lived in town, to take down her enameled harp, and play 'In fairy bowers by moonlight hours,' to convince one that instead of ruralizing in the country, you had gone a peg higher in town residence! No, no, we'll go down to farmer Jocelyn's, our old schoolfellow, and take a dinner of bacon and cabbage with him. If he does occupy a one-story house, he lives up in sunshine, has an open fireplace, with a blazing wood fire on a chilly day, and his 'latch string is always out.'" Our friend was petrified--astonished! We meant to go it rather strong upon him, but still kept a frank, good-humored face, that showed him no malice. He began to think he was not exactly in character, and essayed to explain. We listened to his story. His good wife came in, and all together, we had a long talk of their family and farming arrangements; how they had furnished their house; and how they proposed to live; but wound up with a sad story, that their good farming neighbors didn't call on them the _second_ time--kind, civil people they appeared, too--and while they were in, acted as though afraid to sit down, and afraid to stand up;--in short, they were dreadfully embarrassed; for why, our friends couldn't tell, but now began to understand it. "Well, my good friends," said we, "you have altogether mistaken country life in the outset. To live on a farm, it is neither necessary to be vulgar, nor clownish, nor to affect ignorance. _Simplicity_ is all you require, in manners, and equal simplicity in your furniture and appointments. Now just turn all this nonsense in furniture and room dressing out of doors, and let some of your town friends have it. Get some simple, comfortable, cottage furniture, much better for all purposes, than this, and you will settle down into quiet, natural country life before you are aware of it, and all will go 'merry as a marriage bell' with you, in a little time"--for they both loved the country, and were truly excellent people. We continued, "I came to spend the day and the night, and I will stay; and this evening we'll go down to your neighbor Jocelyn's; and you, Mrs. N----, shall go with us; and we will see how quietly and comfortably he and his family take the world in a farmer's way." We did go; not in carriage and livery, but walked the pleasant half mile that lay between them; the exercise of which gave us all activity and good spirits. Jocelyn was right glad to see us, and Patty, his staid and sober wife, with whom we had romped many an innocent hour in our childhood days, was quite as glad as he. But they _looked_ a little surprised that such "great folks" as their new neighbors, should drop in so unceremoniously, and into their common "keeping room," too, to chat away an evening. However, the embarrassment soon wore off. We talked of farming; we talked of the late elections; we talked of the fruit trees and the strawberry beds; and Mrs. Jocelyn, who was a pattern of good housekeeping, told Mrs. N---- how _she_ made her apple jellies, and her currant tarts, and cream cheeses; and before we left they had exchanged ever so many engagements,--Mrs. Patty to learn her new friend to do half a dozen nice little matters of household pickling and preserving; while she, in turn, was to teach Nancy and Fanny, Patty's two rosy-cheeked daughters, almost as pretty as their mother was at their own age, to knit a bead bag and work a fancy chair seat! And then we had apples and nuts, all of the very best--for Jocelyn was a rare hand at grafting and managing his fruit trees, and knew the best apples all over the country. We had, indeed, a capital time! To cut the story short, the next spring our friend sent his _fancy_ furniture to auction, and provided his house with simple cottage furnishings, at less than half the cost of the other; which both he and his wife afterward declared was infinitely better, for all house-keeping purposes. He also threw a neat wing on to the cottage, for an upper kitchen and its offices, and they now live like sensible country folks; and with their healthy, frolicksome children, are worth the envy of all the dyspeptic, town-fed people in existence. A long digression, truly; but so true a story, and one so apt to our subject can not well be omitted. But what has all this to do with ventilation? We'll tell you. Jocelyn's house was _ventilated_ as it should be;--for he was a methodical, thoughtful man, who planned and built his house himself--not the mechanical work, but directed it throughout, and saw that it was faithfully done; and that put us in mind of the story. To be perfect in its ventilation, every room in the house, even to the closets, should be so arranged that a current of air _may_ pass through, to keep it pure and dry. In living rooms, fresh air in sufficient quantity may usually be admitted through the doors. In sleeping rooms and closets, when doors may not be left open, one or more of the lower panels of the door may be filled by a rolling blind, opening more or less, at pleasure; or a square or oblong opening for that purpose, may be left in the base board, at the floor, and covered by a wire netting. And in all rooms, living apartments, as well as these, an opening of at least sixty-four square inches should be made in the wall, near the ceiling, and leading into an air flue, to pass into the garret. Such opening may be filled by a rolling blind, or wire screen, as below, and closed or kept open, at pleasure. Some builders prefer an air register to be placed in the chimney, over the fireplace or stove, near the ceiling; but the liability to annoyance, by smoke escaping through it into the room, if not thoroughly done, is an objection to this latter method, and the other may be made, in its construction, rather ornamental than otherwise, in appearance. All such details as these should be planned when the building is commenced, so that the several flues may be provided as the building proceeds. In a stone or brick house, a small space may be left in the walls, against which these air registers may be required; and for inner rooms, or closets, they may pass off into the openings of the partitions, and so up into the garret; from which apertures of escape may be left, or made at the gables, under the roof, or by a blind in a window. For the admission of air to the first floor of the house, a special opening through the walls, for that purpose, can hardly be necessary; as the doors leading outside are usually opened often enough for such object. One of the best ventilated houses we have ever seen, is that owned and occupied by Samuel Cloon, Esq., of Cincinnati. It is situated on his farm, three miles out of the city, and in its fine architectural appearance and finished appointments, as a rural residence and first-class farm house, is not often excelled. Every closet is ventilated through rolling blinds in the door panels; and foul air, either admitted or created within them, is passed off at once by flues near the ceiling overhead, passing into conductors leading off through the garret. Where chambers are carried into the roof of a house, to any extent, they are sometimes incommoded by the summer heat which penetrates them, conducted by the chamber ceiling overhead. This heat can best be obviated by inserting a small window at each opposite peak of the garret, by which the outside air can circulate through, above the chambers, and so pass off the heated air, which will continually ascend. All this is a simple matter, for which any builder can provide, without particular expense or trouble. INTERIOR ACCOMMODATION OF HOUSES. Ground, in the country, being the cheapest item which the farmer can devote to building purposes, his object should be to _spread over_, rather than to go deeply into it, or climb high in the air above it. We repudiate cellar kitchens, or under-ground rooms for house work, altogether, as being little better than a nuisance--dark, damp, unhealthy, inconvenient, and expensive. The several rooms of a farm dwelling house should be compact in arrangement, and contiguous as may be to the principally-occupied apartments. Such arrangement is cheaper, more convenient, and labor-saving; and in addition, more in accordance with a good and correct taste in the outward appearance of the house itself. The general introduction of cooking stoves, and other stoves and apparatus for warming houses, within the last twenty years, which we acknowledge to be a great acquisition in comfort as well as in convenience and economy, has been carried to an extreme, not only in shutting up and shutting out the time-honored open fireplace and its broad hearthstone, with their hallowed associations, but also in prejudice to the health of those who so indiscriminately use them, regardless of other arrangements which ought to go with them. A farm house should never be built without an ample, open fireplace in its kitchen, and other _principally_ occupied rooms; and in all rooms where stoves are placed, and fires are daily required, the _open_ Franklin should take place of the close or air-tight stove, unless extraordinary ventilation to such rooms be adopted also. The great charm of the farmer's winter evening is the open fireside, with its cheerful blaze and glowing embers; not wastefully expended, but giving out that genial warmth and comfort which, to those who are accustomed to its enjoyment, is a pleasure not made up by any invention whatever; and although the cooking stove or range be required--which, in addition to the fireplace, we would always recommend, to lighten female labor--it can be so arranged as not to interfere with the enjoyment or convenience of the open fire. In the construction of the chimneys which appear in the plans submitted, the great majority of them--particularly those for northern latitudes--are placed in the interior of the house. They are less liable to communicate fire to the building, and assist greatly in warming the rooms through which they pass. In southern houses they are not so necessary, fires being required for a much less period of the year. Yet even there they may be oftentimes properly so placed. Where holes, for the passage of stovepipes through floors, partitions, or into chimneys, are made, stone, earthen, or iron thimbles should be inserted; and, except in the chimneys, such holes should be at least one to two inches larger than the pipe itself. The main flues of the chimney conducting off the smoke of the different fires, should be built separate, and kept apart by a partition of one brick in thickness, and carried out independently, as in no other way will they rid the house of smoky rooms. [Illustration] An illustration in point: Fifteen years ago we purchased and removed into a most substantial and well-built stone house, the chimneys of which were constructed with open fireplaces, and the flues carried up separately to the top, where they all met upon the same level surface, as chimneys in past times usually were built, thus. Every fireplace in the house (and some of them had stoves in,) smoked intolerably; so much so, that when the wind was in some quarters the fires had to be put out in every room but the kitchen, which, as good luck would have it, smoked less--although it did smoke there--than the others. After balancing the matter in our own mind some time, whether we should pull down and rebuild the chimneys altogether, or attempt an alteration; as we had given but little thought to the subject of chimney draft, and to try an experiment was the cheapest, we set to work a bricklayer, who, under our direction, simply built over each discharge of the several flues a separate top of fifteen inches high, in this wise: The remedy was perfect. We have had no smoke in the house since, blow the wind as it may, on any and all occasions. The chimneys _can't_ smoke; and the whole expense for four chimneys, with their twelve flues, was not twenty dollars! The remedy was in giving each outlet a _distinct_ current of air all around, and on every side of it. [Illustration] CHIMNEY TOPS. Nothing adds more to the outward expression of a dwelling, than the style of its chimneys. We have just shown that independent chimney tops pass off their smoke more perfectly, than when only partitioned inside to the common point of outlet. Aside from the architectural beauty which a group of chimney flues adds to the building, we have seen that they are really useful, beyond the formal, square-sided piles so common throughout the country. They denote good cheer, social firesides, and a generous hospitality within--features which should always mark the country dwelling; and more particularly that of the farmer. The style and arrangement of these chimney groups may be various, as comporting with the design of the house itself; and any good architect can arrange them as fitted to such design. Our illustrations will show them of different kinds, which are generally cheap in construction, and simple, yet expressive in their arrangement. PRELIMINARY TO OUR DESIGNS. We have discussed with tolerable fullness, the chief subjects connected with farm buildings--sufficiently so, we trust, to make ourselves understood as desiring to combine utility with commendable ornament in all that pertains to them. The object has been, thus far, to give hints, rather than models, in description. But as the point to which we have endeavored to arrive will be but imperfectly understood without illustration, we shall submit a few plans of houses and outbuildings, as carrying out more fully our ideas. We are quite aware that different forms or fashions of detail and finish, to both outside and inside work, prevail among builders in different sections of the United States. Some of these fashions are the result of climate, some of conventional taste, and some of education. With them we are not disposed to quarrel. In many cases they are immaterial to the main objects of the work, and so long as they please the taste or partialities of those adopting them, are of little consequence. There are, however, certain matters of _principle_, both in general construction and in the detail of finish, which should not be disregarded; and these, in the designs submitted, and in the explanations which follow, will be fully discussed, each in its place. The particular form or style of work we have not directed, because, as before remarked, we are no professional builder, and of course free from the dogmas which are too apt to be inculcated in the professional schools and workshops. We give a wide berth, and a free toleration in all such matters, and are not disposed to raise a hornet's nest about our ears by interfering in matters where every tyro of the drafting board and work-bench assumes to be, and probably may be, our superior. All minor subjects we are free to leave to the skill and ingenuity of the builder--who, fortunately for the country, is found in almost every village and hamlet of the land. Modes and styles of finish, both inside and outside of buildings, change; and that so frequently, that what is laid down as the reigning fashion to-day, may be superseded by another fashion of to-morrow--immaterial in themselves, only, and not affecting the shape, arrangement, and accommodation of the building itself, which in these, must ever maintain their relation with the use for which it is intended. The northern dwelling, with its dependencies and appointments, requires a more compact, snug, and connected arrangement than that of the south; while one in the middle states may assume a style of arrangement between them both, each fitted for their own climate and country, and in equally good taste. The designs we are about to submit are intended to be such as may be modified to any section of the country, although some of them are made for extremes of north and south, and are so distinguished. Another object we have had in view is, to give to every farmer and country dweller of moderate means the opportunity of possessing a cheap work which would guide him in the general objects which he wishes to accomplish in building, that he may _have his own notions_ on the subject, and not be subject to the caprice and government of such as profess to exclusive knowledge in all that appertains to such subjects, and in which, it need not be offensive to say, that although clever in their way, they are sometimes apt to be mistaken. Therefore, without assuming _to instruct_ the professional builder, our plans will be submitted, not without the hope that he even, may find in them something worthy of consideration; and we offer them to the owner and future occupant of the buildings themselves, as models which he may adopt, with the confidence that they will answer all his reasonable purposes. DESIGN I. We here present a farm house of the simplest and most unpretending kind, suitable for a farm of twenty, fifty, or an hundred acres. Buildings somewhat in this style are not unfrequently seen in the New England States, and in New York; and the plan is in fact suggested, although not copied, from some farm houses which we have known there, with improvements and additions of our own. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 73-74.] This house may be built either of stone, brick, or wood. The style is rather rustic than otherwise, and intended to be altogether plain, yet agreeable in outward appearance, and of quite convenient arrangement. The body of this house is 40�30 feet on the ground, and 12 feet high, to the plates for the roof; the lower rooms nine feet high; the roof intended for a pitch of 35°--but, by an error in the drawing, made less--thus affording very tolerable chamber room in the roof story. The L, or rear projection, containing the wash-room and wood-house, juts out two feet from the side of the house to which it is attached, with posts 7½ feet high above the floor of the main house; the pitch of the roof being the same. Beyond this is a building 32�24 feet, with 10 feet posts, partitioned off into a swill-room, piggery, workshop, and wagon-house, and a like roof with the others. A light, rustic porch, 12�8 feet, with lattice work, is placed on the front of the house, and another at the side door, over which vines, by way of drapery, may run; thus combining that sheltered, comfortable, and home-like expression so desirable in a rural dwelling. The chimney is carried out in three separate flues, sufficiently marked by the partitions above the roof. The windows are hooded, or sheltered, to protect them from the weather, and fitted with simple sliding sashes with 7�9 or 8�10 glass. Outer blinds may be added, if required; but it is usually better to have these _inside_, as they are no ornament to the outside of the building, are liable to be driven back and forth by the wind, even if fastenings are used, and in any event are little better than a continual annoyance. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door, over which is a single sash-light across, opens into a hall or entry 9�7 feet, from which a door opens on either side into a sitting-room and parlor, each 16�15 feet, lighted by a double, plain window, at the ends, and a single two-sash window in front. Between the entrance door and stove, are in each room a small pantry or closet for dishes, or otherwise, as may be required. The chimney stands in the center of the house, with a separate flue for each front room, into which a thimble is inserted to receive the stovepipes by which they are warmed; and from the inner side of these rooms each has a door passing to the kitchen, or chief living room. This last apartment is 22�15 feet, with a broad fireplace containing a crane, hooks, and trammel, if required, and a spacious family oven--affording those homely and primitive comforts still so dear to many of us who are not ready to concede that all the virtues of the present day are combined in a "perfection" cooking stove, and a "patent" heater; although there is a chance for these last, if they should be adopted into the peaceful atmosphere of this kitchen. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN.] On one side of the kitchen, in rear of the stairs, is a bedroom, 9�8 feet, with a window in one corner. Adjoining that, is a buttery, dairy-room, or closet, 9�6 feet, also having a window. At the inner end of the stairway is the cellar passage; at the outer end is the chamber passage, landing above, in the highest part of the roof story. Opposite the chamber stairs is a door leading to the wash-room. Between the two windows, on the rear side of the kitchen, is a sink, with a waste pipe passing out through the wall. At the further corner a door opens into a snug bedroom 9�8 feet, lighted by a window in rear; and adjoining this is a side entry leading from the end door, 9�6 feet in area; thus making every room in the house accessible at once from the kitchen, and giving the greatest possible convenience in both living and house-work. The roof story is partitioned into convenient-sized bedrooms; the ceiling running down the pitch of the roof to within two feet of the floor, unless they are cut short by inner partitions, as they are in the largest chamber, to give closets. The open area in the center, at the head of the stairs, is lighted by a small gable window inserted in the roof, at the rear, and serves as a lumber room; or, if necessary, a bed may occupy a part of it. In rear of the main dwelling is a building 44�16 feet, occupied as a wash-room and wood-house. The wash-room floor is let down eight inches below the kitchen, and is 16�14 feet, in area, lighted by a window on each side, with a chimney, in which is set a boiler, and fireplace, if desired, and a sink in the corner adjoining. This room is 7½ feet in height. A door passes from this wash-room into the wood-house, which is 30�16 feet, open in front, with a water-closet in the further corner. The cellar is 7½ feet in height--and is the whole size of the house, laid with good stone wall, in lime mortar, with a flight of steps leading outside, in rear of the kitchen, and two or more sash-light windows at the ends. If not in a loose, gravelly, or sandy soil, the cellar should be kept dry by a drain leading out on to lower ground. The building beyond, and adjoining the wood-house, contains a swill-house 16�12 feet, with a window in one end; a chimney and boiler in one corner, with storage for swill barrels, grain, meal, potatoes, &c., for feeding the pigs, which are in the adjoining pen of same size, with feeding trough, place for sleeping, &c., and having a window in one end and a door in the rear, leading to a yard. Adjoining these, in front, is a workshop and tool-house, 16�10 feet, with a window at the end, and an entrance door near the wood house. In this is a joiner's work-bench, a chest of working tools, such as saw, hammer, augers, &c., &c., necessary for repairing implements, doing little rough jobs, or other wood work, &c., which every farmer ought to do for himself; and also storing his hoes, axes, shovels, hammers, and other small farm implements. In this room he will find abundant rainy-day employment in repairing his utensils of various kinds, making his beehives, hencoops, &c., &c. Next to this is the wagon-house, 16�14 feet, with broad doors at the end, and harness pegs around the walls. The posts of this building are 10 feet high; the rooms eight feet high, and a low chamber overhead for storing lumber, grain, and other articles, as may be required. Altogether, these several apartments make a very complete and desirable accommodation to a man with the property and occupation for which it is intended. On one side and adjoining the house, should be the garden, the clothes-yard, and the bee-house, which last should always stand in full sight, and facing the most frequented room--say the kitchen--that they can be seen daily during the swarming season, as those performing household duties may keep them in view. MISCELLANEOUS. In regard to the surroundings, and approach to this dwelling, they should be treated under the suggestions already given on these subjects. This is an exceedingly _snug_ tenement, and everything around and about it should be of the same character. No pretension or frippery whatever. A neat garden, usefully, rather than ornamentally and profusely supplied; a moderate court-yard in front; free access to the end door, from the main every-day approach by vehicles--not on the highway, but on the farm road or lane--the business entrance, in fact; which should also lead to the barns and sheds beyond, not far distant. Every feature should wear a most domestic look, and breathe an air of repose and content. Trees should be near, but not so near as to cover the house. A few shrubs of simple kind--some standing roses--a few climbing ones; a syringa, a lilac, a snow ball, and a little patch or two of flowers near the front porch, and the whole expression is given; just as one would wish to look upon as a simple, unpretending habitation. It is not here proposed to give working plans, or estimates, to a nicety; or particular directions for building any design even, that we present. The material for construction best suited to the circumstances and locality of the proprietor must govern all those matters; and as good builders are in most cases at hand, who are competent to give estimates for the cost of any given plan, when the material for construction is once settled, the question of expense is readily fixed. The same sized house, with the same accommodation, may be made to cost fifty to one hundred per cent. over an economical estimate, by the increased style, or manner of its finish; or it may be kept within bounds by a rigid adherence to the plan first adopted. In western New York this house and attachments complete, the body of stone, the wood-house, wagon-house, &c., of wood, may be built and well finished in a plain way for $1,500. If built altogether of wood, with grooved and matched vertical boarding, and battens, the whole may be finished and painted for $800, to $1,200. For the lowest sum, the lumber and work would be of a rough kind, with a cheap wash to color it; but the latter amount would give good work, and a lasting coat of mineral paint both outside and within. As a _tenant_ house on a farm of three, four, or even five hundred acres, where all who live in it are laborers in the field or household, this design may be most conveniently adopted. The family inhabiting it in winter may be well accommodated for sleeping under the main roof, while they can at all seasons take their meals, and be made comfortable in the several rooms. In the summer season, when a larger number of laborers are employed, the lofts of the carriage or wagon-house and work-shop may be occupied with beds, and thus a large share of the expense of house building for a very considerable farm be saved. Luxury is a quality more or less consulted by every one who builds for his _own_ occupation on a farm, or elsewhere; and the tendency in building is constantly to expand, to give a higher finish, and in fact, to over-build. Indeed, if we were to draw the balance, on our _old_ farms, between scantily-accommodated houses, and houses with needless room in them, the latter would preponderate. Not that these latter houses either are too good, or too convenient for the purpose for which they were built, but they have _too much_ room, and that room badly appropriated and arranged. On a farm proper, the whole establishment is a _workshop_. The shop _out of doors_, we acknowledge, is not always _dry_, nor always warm; but it is exceedingly well aired and lighted, and a place where industrious people dearly love to labor. Within doors it is a work-shop too. There is always labor and occupation for the family, in the _general business_ of the farm; therefore but little room is wanted for either luxury or leisure, and the farm house should be fully occupied, with the exception, perhaps, of a single room on the main floor, (and that not a large one,) for some regular business purpose. All these accommodated, and the requirements of the house are ended. Owners of _rented_ farms should reflect, too, that expensive houses on their estates entail expensive repairs, and that continually. Many tenants are careless of highly-finished houses. Not early accustomed to them, they misappropriate, perhaps, the best rooms in the house, and pay little attention to the purposes for which the owner designed them, or to the _manner_ of using them. It is therefore a total waste of money to build a house on a tenant estate anything beyond the mere comfortable wants of the family occupying it, and to furnish the room necessary for the accommodation of the crops, stock, and farm furniture, in the barns and other out-buildings--all in a cheap, tidy, yet substantial way. So, too, with the grounds for domestic purposes around the house. A kitchen garden, sufficient to grow the family vegetables--a few plain fruits--a _posey_ bed or two for the girls--and the story is told. Give a larger space for these things--anything indeed, for elegance--and ten to one, the plow is introduced, a corn or potato patch is _set out_, field culture is adopted, and your choice grounds are torn up, defaced, and sacrificed to the commonest uses. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, a cheerful, home-expression may be given, and should be given to the homestead, in the character and construction of the buildings, be they ever so rough and homely. We can call to mind many instances of primitive houses-_log_ cabins even--built when none better could be had, that presented a most comfortable and life-enjoying picture--residences once, indeed, of those who swayed "the applause of listening senates," but under the hands of taste, and a trifle of labor, made to look comfortable, happy, and sufficient. We confess, therefore, to a profound veneration, if not affection, for the humble farm house, as truly American in character; and which, with a moderate display of skill, may be made equal to the main purposes of life and enjoyment for all such as do not aspire to a high display, and who are content to make the most of moderate means. DESIGN II. This is the plan of a house and out-buildings based chiefly on one which we built of wood some years since on a farm of our own, and which, in its occupation, has proved to be one of exceeding convenience to the purposes intended. As a farm _business_ house, we have not known it excelled; nor in the ease and facility of doing up the house-work within it, do we know a better. It has a subdued, quiet, unpretending look; yet will accommodate a family of a dozen workmen, besides the females engaged in the household work, with perfect convenience; or if occupied by a farmer with but his own family around him, ample room is afforded them for a most comfortable mode of life, and sufficient for the requirements of a farm of two, to three or four hundred acres. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 85-86] This house is, in the main body, 36�22 feet, one and a half stories high, with a projection on the rear 34�16 feet, for the kitchen and its offices; and a still further addition to that, of 26�18 feet, for wash-room. The main body of the house is 14 feet high to the plates; the lower rooms are 9 feet high; the roof has a pitch of 35° from a horizontal line, giving partially-upright chambers in the main building, and _roof_ lodging rooms in the rear. The rear, or kitchen part, is one story high, with 10 feet posts, and such pitch of roof (which last runs at right angles to the main body, and laps on to the main roof,) as will carry the peak up to the same air line. This addition should retreat 6 inches from the line of the main building, on the side given in the design, and 18 inches on the rear. The rooms on this kitchen floor are 8 feet high, leaving one foot above the upper floor, under the roof, as a chamber garret, or lumber-room, as may be required. Beyond this, in the rear, is the other extension spoken of, with posts 9 feet high, for a buttery, closet, or dairy, or all three combined, and a wash-room; the floor of which is on a level with the last, and the roof running in the same direction, and of the same pitch. In front of this wash-room, where not covered by the wood-house, is an open porch, 8 feet wide and 10 feet long, the roof of which runs out at a less angle than the others--say 30° from a horizontal line. Attached to this is the wood-house, running off by way of L, at right angles, 36�16 feet, of same height as the wash-room. Adjoining the wood-house, on the same front line, is a building 50�20 feet, with 12 feet posts, occupied as a workshop, wagon-house, stable, and store-room, with a lean-to on the last of 15�10 feet, for a piggery. The several rooms in this building are 8 feet high, affording a good lumber room over the workshop, and hay storage over the wagon-house and stable. Over the wagon-house is a gable, with a blind window swinging on hinges, for receiving hay, thus relieving the long, uniform line of roof, and affording ample accommodation on each side to a pigeon-house or dovecote, if required. The style of this establishment is of plain Italian, or bracketed, and may be equally applied to stone, brick, or wood. The roofs are broad, and protect the walls by their full projection over them, 2½ feet. The small gable in the front roof of the main dwelling relieves it of its otherwise straight uniformity, and affords a high door-window opening on to the deck of the veranda, which latter should be 8 or 10 feet in width. The shallow windows, also, over the wings of the veranda give it a more cheerful expression. The lower _end_ windows of this part of the house are hooded, or sheltered by a cheap roof, which gives them a snug and most comfortable appearance. The veranda may appear more ornamental than the plain character of the house requires; but any superfluous work upon it may be omitted, and the style of finish conformed to the other. The veranda roof is flatter than that of the house, but it may be made perfectly tight by closer shingling, and paint; while the deck or platform in the centre may be roofed with zinc, or tin, and a coat of sanded paint laid upon it. The front chimney is plain, yet in keeping with the general style of the house, and may be made of ordinary bricks. The two parts of the chimney, as they appear in the front rooms, are drawn together as they pass through the chamber above, and become one at the roof. The kitchen chimneys pass up through the peaks of their respective roofs, and should be in like character with the other. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN. GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door of this house opens into a small entry or hall, 9�6 feet, which is lighted by a low sash of glass over the front door. A door leads into a room on each side; and at the inner end of the hall is a recess between the two chimneys of the opposite rooms, in which may be placed a table or broad shelf to receive hats and coats. On the left is a parlor 22�15 feet, lighted on one side by a double window, and in front by a single plain one. The fireplace is centrally placed on one side of the room, in the middle of the house. On one side of the fireplace is a closet, three feet deep, with shelves, and another closet at the inner end of the room, near the kitchen door; or this closet may be dispensed with for the use of this parlor, and given up to enlarge the closet which is attached to the bedroom. Another door opens directly into the kitchen. This parlor is 9 feet high between joints. The sitting-room is opposite to the parlor, 19�15 feet, and lighted and closeted in nearly the same manner, as will be seen by referring to the floor plan. The kitchen is the grand room of this house. It is 24�16 feet in area, having an ample fireplace, with its hooks and trammels, and a spacious oven by its side. It is lighted by a double window at one end, and a single window near the fireplace. At one end of this kitchen is a most comfortable and commodious family bedroom, 13�10 feet, with a large closet in one corner, and lighted by a window in the side. Two windows may be inserted if wanted. A passage leads by the side of the oven to a sink-room, or recess, behind the chimney, with shelves to dry dishes on, and lighted by the half of a double window, which accommodates with its other half the dairy, or closet adjoining. A door also opens from this recess into the closet and dairy, furnished with broad shelves, that part of which, next the kitchen, is used for dishes, cold meat and bread cupboards, &c.; while the part of it adjoining the window beyond, is used for milk. This room is 14�6 feet, besides the L running up next to the kitchen, of 6�4 feet. From the kitchen also opens a closet into the front part of the house for any purpose needed. This adjoins the parlor, and sitting-room, closets. In the passage to the sitting-room also opens the stairway leading to the chambers, and beneath, at the other end of it, next the outside wall, is a flight leading down cellar. The cellar is excavated under the whole house, being 36�22, and 34�16 feet, with glass windows, one light deep by four wide, of 8�10 glass; and an outer door, and flight of steps outside, under either the sitting-room or kitchen windows, as may be most convenient. A door opens, also, from the kitchen, into a passage 4 feet wide and 12 feet long leading to the wash-room, 18�16 feet, and by an outside door, through this passage to the porch. In this passage may be a small window to give it light. In the wash-room are two windows. A chimney at the far end accommodates a boiler or two, and a fireplace, if required. A sink stands adjoining the chimney. A flight of stairs, leading to a garret over head on one side, and to the kitchen chamber on the other, stands next the dairy, into which last a door also leads. In this wash-room may be located the cooking stove in warm weather, leaving the main kitchen for a family and eating room. A door also leads from the wash-room into the wood-house. The wood-house stands lower than the floor of the wash-room, from which it falls, by steps. This is large, because a plentiful store of wood is needed for a dwelling of this character. If the room be not all wanted for such purpose, a part of it may devoted to other necessary uses, there seldom being too much shelter of this kind on a farm; through the rear wall of this wood-house leads a door into the garden, or clothes-yard, as the case may be; and at its extreme angle is a water closet, 6�4 feet, by way of lean-to, with a hipped roof, 8 feet high, running off from both the wood-house and workshop. This water-closet is lighted by a sliding sash window. On to the wood-house, in a continuous front line, joins the workshop, an indispensable appendage to farm convenience. This has a flight of stairs leading to the lumber-room above. For the furnishing of this apartment, see description of Design I. Next to the work-house is the wagon and tool-house, above which is the hay loft, also spread over the stable adjoining; in which last are stalls for a pair of horses, which may be required for uses other than the main labors of the farm--to run to market, carry the family to church, or elsewhere. A pair of horses for such purposes should always be kept near the house. The horse-stalls occupy a space of 10�12 feet, with racks and feeding boxes. The plans of these will be described hereafter. The door leading out from these stalls is 5 feet wide, and faces the partition, so that each horse may be led out or in at an easy angle from them. Beyond the stalls is a passage 4 feet wide, leading to a store-room or area, from which a flight of rough stairs leads to the hay loft above. Beyond this room, in which is the oat bin for the horses, is a small piggery, for the convenience of a pig or two, which are always required to consume the daily wash and offal of the house; and not for the general _pork_ stock of the farm; which, on one of this size, may be expected to require more commodious quarters. The chamber plan of this house is commodious, furnishing one large room and three smaller ones. The small chamber leading to the deck over the porch, may, or may not be occupied as a sleeping room. The small one near the stairs may contain a single bed, or be occupied as a large clothes-closet. Through this, a door leads into the kitchen chamber, which may serve as one, or more laborers' bed-chambers. They may be lighted by one or more windows in the rear gable. If more convenient to the family, the parlor and sitting-room, already described, may change their occupation, and one substituted for the other. The main business approach to this house should be by a lane, or farm road opening on the side next the stable and wagon-house. The yard, in front of these last named buildings, should be separated from the lawn, or front door-yard of the dwelling. The establishment should stand some distance back from the traveled highway, and be decorated with such trees, shrubbery, and cultivation, as the taste of the owner may direct. No _general_ rules or directions can be applicable to this design beyond what have already been given; and the subject must be treated as circumstances may suggest. The unfrequented side of the house should, however, be flanked with a garden, either ornamental, or fruit and vegetable; as buildings of this character ought to command a corresponding share of attention with the grounds by which they are surrounded. This house will appear equally well built of wood, brick, or stone. Its cost, according to materials, or finish, may be $1,000 or $1,500. The out-buildings attached, will add $400 to $600, with the same conditions as to finish; but the whole may be substantially and well built of either stone, brick, or wood, where each may be had at equal convenience, for $2,000 in the interior of New York. Of course, it is intended to do all the work plain, and in character for the occupation to which it is intended. MISCELLANEOUS DETAILS. At this point of our remarks a word or two may be offered on the general subject of inside finish to farm houses, which may be applicable more or less to any one, or all of the designs that may come under our observation; therefore what is here said, may be applied at large. Different sections of the United States have their own several _local_ notions, or preferences as to the mode of finish to their houses and out-buildings, according to climate, education, or other circumstances. In all these matters neither taste, fashion, nor climate should be arbitrary. The manner of finish may be various, without any departure from truth or propriety--always keeping in mind the object for which it is intended. The _material_ for a country house should be _strong_, and _durable_, and the work simple in its details, beyond that for either town or suburban houses. It should be _strong_, for the reason that the interior of the farm house is used for purposes of industry, in finishing up and perfecting the labors of the farm; labors indispensable too, and in amount beyond the ordinary housekeeping requirements of a family who have little to do but merely to live, and make themselves comfortable. The material should be _durable_, because the distance at which the farm house is usually located from the residences of building mechanics, renders it particularly troublesome and expensive to make repairs, and alterations. The work should be _simple_, because cheaper in the first place, in construction, and finish; quite as appropriate and satisfactory in appearance; and demanding infinitely less labor and pains to care for, and protect it afterward. Therefore all mouldings, architraves, _chisel_-work, and gewgawgery in interior finish should be let alone in the living and daily occupied rooms of the house. If, to a single parlor, or _spare_ bedchamber a little _ornamental_ work be permitted, let even that be in moderation, and just enough to teach the active mistress and her daughters what a world of scrubbing and elbow work they have saved themselves in the enjoyment of a plainly-finished house, instead of one full of gingerbread work and finery. None but the initiated can tell the affliction that _chiseled_ finishing entails on housekeepers in the spider, fly, and other insect lodgment which it invites--frequently the cause of more annoyance and _daily_ disquietude in housekeeping, because unnecessary, than real griefs from which we may not expect to escape. Bases, casings, sashes, doors--all should be plain, and painted or stained a quiet _russet_ color--a color natural to the woods used for the finish, if it can be, showing, in their wear, as little of dust, soiling, and fly dirt as possible. There is no poetry about common housekeeping. Cooking, house-cleaning, washing, scrubbing, sweeping, are altogether matter-of-fact duties, and usually considered _work_, not recreation; and these should all be made easy of performance, and as seldom to be done as possible; although the first item always was, and always _will_ be, and the last item _should_ be, an every-day vocation for _somebody_; and the manner of inside finish to a house has a great deal to do with all these labors. In a stone, or brick house, the inside walls should be firred off for plastering. This may be done either by "plugging," that is, driving a plug of wood strongly into the mortar courses, into which the firring should be nailed, or by laying a strip of thin board in the mortar course, the entire length of each wall. This is better than _blocks_ laid in for such purpose, because it is effectually _bound_ by the stone, or brick work; whereas, a block may get loose by shrinking, but the nails which hold the firring to the plug, or to the thin strip of board will split and _wedge_ it closer to the mason work of the outside wall. This is an important item. It makes close work too, and leaves no room for rats, mice, or other vermin; and as it admits a _space_--no matter how thin--so that no outside damp from the walls can communicate into, or through the inner plastering, it answers all purposes. The inside, and partition walls should be of coarse, strong mortar, _floated off_ as smoothly as may be, not a _hard finish_, which is fine, and costly; and then papered throughout for the better rooms, and the commonly-used rooms whitewashed. Paper gives a most comfortable look to the rooms, more so than paint, and much less expensive, while nothing is so sweet, tidy, and cheerful to the _working_ rooms of the house as a _lime_ wash, either white, or softened down with some agreeable tint, such as _light_ blue, green, drab, fawn, or russet, to give the shade desired, and for which every _professional_ painter and whitewasher in the vicinity, can furnish a proper recipe applicable to the place and climate. On such subjects we choose to prescribe, rather than to play the apothecary by giving any of the thousand and one recipes extant, for the composition. Our remarks upon the strength and durability of _material_ in house-building do not apply exclusively to brick and stone. Wood is included also; and of this, there is much difference in the kind. Sound _white_ oak, is, perhaps the best material for the heavy frame-work of any house or out-building, and when to be had at a moderate expense, we would recommend it in preference to any other. If _white_ oak cannot be had, the other varieties of oak, or chesnut are the next best. In _light_ frame-timbers, such as studs, girts, joists, or rafters, oak is inclined to spring and warp, and we would prefer hemlock, or chesnut, which holds a nail equally as well, or, in its absence, pine, (which holds a nail badly,) whitewood, or black walnut. The outside finish to a wooden house, may be _lighter_ than in one of stone or brick. The wood work on the outside of the latter should always be heavy, and in character with the walls, giving an air of firmness and stability to the whole structure. No elaborate carving, or beadwork should be permitted on the outside work of a country house at all; and only a sufficient quantity of ornamental _tracery_ of any kind, to break the monotony of a plainness that would otherwise give it a formal, or uncouth expression, and relieve it of what some would consider a pasteboard look. A farm house, in fact, of any degree, either cheap or expensive, should wear the same appearance as a well-dressed person of either sex; so that a stranger, not looking at them for the purpose of inspecting their garb, should, after an interview, be unable to tell what particular sort of dress they wore, so perfectly in keeping was it with propriety. In the design now under discussion, a cellar is made under the whole body of the house; and this cellar is a _shallow_ one, so far as being sunk into the ground is concerned, say 5½ feet, leaving 2½ feet of cellar wall above ground--8 feet in all. A part of the wall above ground should be covered by the excavated earth, and sloped off to a level with the surrounding surface. A commodious, well-lighted, and well-ventilated cellar is one of the most important apartments of the farm house. It should, if the soil be compact, be well drained from some point or corner within the walls into a lower level outside, to which point within, the whole floor surface should incline, and the bottom be floored with water-lime cement. This will make it hard, durable, and dry. It may then be washed and scrubbed off as easily as an upper floor. If the building site be high, and in a gravelly, or sandy soil, neither drain nor flooring will be required. The cellar may be used for the storage of root crops, apples, meats, and household vegetables. A partitioned room will accommodate either a summer or a winter dairy, if not otherwise provided, and a multitude of conveniences may be made of it in all well arranged farmeries. But in all cases the cellar should be well lighted, ventilated, and dry. Even the ash-house and smoke-house may be made in it with perfect convenience, by brick or stone partitions, and the smoke-house flue be carried up into one of the chimney flues above, and thus make a more snug and compact arrangement than to have separate buildings for those objects. A wash-room, in which, also, the soap may be made, the tallow and lard tried up, and other extraordinary labor when fire heat is to be used, may properly be made in a cellar, particularly when on a sloping ground, and easy of access to the ground level on one side. But, as a general rule, such room is better on a level with the main floor of the dwelling, and there are usually sufficient occupations for the cellar without them. All cellar walls should be at least 18 inches thick, for even a wooden house, and from that to 2 feet for a stone or brick one, and well laid in strong lime-mortar. Unmortared cellar walls are frequently laid under wooden buildings, and _pointed_ with lime-mortar inside; but this is sometimes dug out by rats, and is apt to crumble and fall out otherwise. A _complete_ cellar wall should be thoroughly laid in mortar. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 101-102.] DESIGN III. We here present the reader with a substantial, plain, yet highly-respectable stone or brick farm house, of the second class, suitable for an estate of three, to five hundred acres, and accommodation for a family of a dozen or more persons. The style is mixed rural Gothic, Italian, and bracketed; yet in keeping with the character of the farm, and the farmer's standing and occupation. The main body of this house is 42�24 feet on the ground, and one and three quarter stories high--the chambers running two or three feet into the roof, as choice or convenience may direct. The roof has a pitch of 30 to 40° from a horizontal line, and broadly spread over the walls, say two and a half feet, showing the ends of the rafters, bracket fashion. The chimneys pass out through the peak of the roof, where the hips of what would otherwise be the gables, connect with the long sides of the roof covering the front and rear. On the long front is partly seen, in the perspective, a portico, 16�10 feet--not the _chief_ entrance front, but rather a side front, practically, which leads into a lawn or garden, as may be most desirable, and from which the best view from the house is commanded. Over this porch is a small gable running into the roof, to break its monotony, in which is a door-window leading from the upper hall on to the deck of the porch. This gable has the same finish as the main roof, by brackets. The chamber windows are two-thirds or three-quarters the size of the lower ones; thus showing the upper story not full height below the plates, but running two to four feet into the garret. The rear wing, containing the entrance or business front, is 24�32 feet, one and a half stories high, with a pitch of roof not less than 35°, and spread over the walls both at the eaves and gable, in the same proportion as the roof to the main body. In front of this is a porch or veranda eight feet wide, with a low, hipped roof. In the front and rear roofs of this wing is a dormer window, to light the chambers. The gable to this wing is bold, and gives it character by the breadth of its roof over the walls, and the strong brackets by which it is supported. The chimney is thrown up strong and boldly at the point of the roof, indicating the every-day uses of the fireplaces below, which, although distinct and wide apart in their location on the ground floors, are drawn together in the chambers, thus showing only one escape through the roof. The wood-house in the rear of the wing has a roof of the same character, and connects with the long building in the rear, which has the same description of roof, but hipped at one end. That end over the workshop, and next the wood-house, shows a bold gable like the wing of the house, and affords room and light to the lumber room over the shop, and also gives variety and relief to the otherwise too great sameness of roof-appearance on the further side of the establishment. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN. CHAMBER PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. As has been remarked, the main entrance front to this house is from the wing veranda, from which a well finished and sizeable door leads into the principal hall, 24�8 feet in area, and lighted by a full-sized window at the front end. Opposite the entrance door is the door leading into the parlor; and farther along is the staircase, under the upper landing of which a door leads into a dining or sitting-room, as may be determined. This hall is 10 feet high, as are all the rooms of this lower main story. In the chimney, which adjoins the parlor side of this hall, may be inserted a thimble for a hall stovepipe, if this method of warming should be adopted. The parlor, into which a door leads from the hall, is 18�16 feet, with two windows on the side, shown in perspective, and one on the front facing the lawn, or garden. It has also a fireplace near the hall door. At the further angle is a door leading to an entry or passage on to the portico. E is the entry just mentioned, six feet square, and lighted by a short sash, one light deep, over the outside door. This portico may be made a pleasant summer afternoon and evening resort for the family, by which the occupied rooms connect with the lawn or garden, thus adding to its retired and private character. Opposite the parlor, on the other side of this entry, a door leads into a room 18�12 feet, which may be occupied as a family bedroom, library, or small sitting-room. This is lighted by two windows, and has a closet of 6�5 feet. A fireplace is on the inner side of this room; and near to that, a door connects with a dining-room of the same size, having a window in one end, and a fireplace, and closet of the same size as the last. Through the rear wall is a door leading into a pantry, which also communicates with the kitchen; and another door leads to the hall, and from the hall, under the staircases, (which, at that point, are sufficiently high for the purpose,) is a passage leading to the kitchen. Under the wing veranda, near the point of intersection of the wing with the main body of the house, is an _every-day_ outer door, leading into a small entry, 6�5 feet, and lighted by a low, one-sash window over the door. By another door, this leads to the kitchen, or family room, which is lighted by three windows. An ample fireplace, with oven, &c., accommodates this room at the end. A closet, 7�5 feet, also stands next to the entry; and beyond that, an open passage, to the left, leading out under the front hall stairs to the rooms of the main building. A door also leads from that passage into a _best_ pantry, for choice crockery, sweetmeats, and tea-table comforts. Another door, near the last, leads into a dairy or milk-room, 9�8 feet, beyond the passage; in which last, also, may be placed a tier of narrow shelves. This milk, or dairy-room, is lighted by a window in the end, and connects also, by a door in the side, with the _outer_ kitchen, or wash-room. Next to this milk-room door, in the front kitchen, is another door leading down cellar; and through this door, passing by the upper, broad stair of the flight of cellar steps, is another door into the wash-room. At the farther angle of the kitchen is still another door, opening into a passage four feet wide; and, in that passage, a door leading up a flight of stairs into the wing chambers. This passage opens into the back kitchen, or wash-room, 16�16 feet in area, and lighted by two windows, one of which looks into the wood-house. In this wash-room is a chimney with boilers and fireplace, as may be required. The cellar and chamber stairs, and the milk-room are also accessible direct, by doors leading from this wash-room. The chamber plan will be readily understood, and requires no particular description. The space over the wing may be partitioned off according to the plan, or left more open for the accommodation of the "work folks," as occasion may demand. But, as this dwelling is intended for substantial people, "well to do in the world," and who extend a generous hospitality to their friends, a liberal provision of sleeping chambers is given to the main body of the house. The parlor chamber, which is the best, or _spare_ one, is 18�16 feet, with roomy side-closets. Besides this, are other rooms for the daughters Sally, and Nancy, and Fanny, and possibly Mary and Elizabeth--who want their own chambers, which they keep so clean and tidy, with closets full of nice bedclothes, table linen, towels, &c., &c., for certain events not yet whispered of, but quite sure to come round. And then there are Frederick, and Robert, and George, fine stalwart boys coming into manhood, intending to be "somebody in the world," one day or another; they must have _their_ rooms--and good ones too; for, if any people are to be well lodged, why not those who toil for it? All such accommodation every farm house of this character should afford. And we need not go far, or look sharp, to see the best men and the best women in our state and nation graduating from the wholesome farm house thus tidily and amply provided. How delightfully look the far-off mountains, or the nearer plains, or prairies, from the lawn porch of this snug farm house! The distant lake; the shining river, singing away through the valley; or the wimpling brook, stealing through the meadow! Aye, enjoy them all, for they are God's best, richest gifts, and we are made to love them. The wood-house strikes off from the back kitchen, retreating two feet from its gable wall, and is 36�14 feet in size. A bathing room may be partitioned off 8�6 feet, on the rear corner next the wash-room, if required, although not laid down in the plan. At the further end is the water-closet, 6�4 feet. Or, if the size and convenience of the family require it, a part of the wood-house may be partitioned off for a wash-room, from which a chimney may pass up through the peak of the roof. If so, carry it up so high that it will be above the eddy that the wind may make in passing over the adjoining wing, not causing it to smoke from that cause. At the far end of the wood-house is the workshop and tool-house, 18�16 feet, lighted by two windows, and a door to enter it from beneath the wood-house. Over this, is the lumber and store-room. Next to this is the swill-room and pigsty for the house pigs, as described in the last design; and over it a loft for farm seeds, small grains, and any other storage required. Adjoining this is the wagon and carriage-house; and above, the hayloft, stretching, also, partly over the stable which stands next, with two stalls, 12�5 feet each, with a flight of stairs leading to the loft, in the passage next the door. In this loft are swinging windows, to let in hay for the horses. This completes the household establishment, and we leave the surroundings to the correct judgment and good taste of the proprietor to complete, as its position, and the variety of objects with which it may be connected, requires. Stone and brick we have mentioned as the proper materials for this house; but it may be also built of wood, if more within the means and limits of the builder. There should be no pinching in its proportions, but every part carried out in its full breadth and effect. The cost of the whole establishment may be from $2,000, to $3,000; depending somewhat upon the material used, and the finish put upon it. The first-named sum would build the whole in an economical and plain manner, while the latter would complete it amply in its details. MISCELLANEOUS. It may be an objection in the minds of some persons to the various plans here submitted, that we have connected the out-buildings _immediately_ with the offices of the dwelling itself. We are well aware that such is not always usual; but many years observation have convinced us, that in their use and occupation, such connection is altogether the most convenient and economical. The only drawback is in the case of fire; which, if it occur in any one building, the whole establishment is liable to be consumed. This objection is conceded; but we take it, that it is the business of every one not able to be his own insurer, to have his buildings insured by others; and the additional cost of this insurance is not a tithe of what the extra expense of time, labor, and exposure is caused to the family by having the out-buildings disconnected, and at a _fire-proof_ distance from each other. There has, too, in the separation of these out-buildings, (we do not now speak of barns, and houses for the stock, and the farmwork proper,) from the main dwelling, crept into the construction of such dwellings, by modern builders, _some_ things, which in a country establishment, particularly, ought never to be there, such as privies, or _water-closets_, as they are more _genteelly_ called. These last, in our estimation, have no business _in_ a _farmer's_ house. They are an _effeminacy_, only, and introduced by _city_ life. An _appendage_ they should be, but separated to some distance from the living rooms, and accessible by sheltered passages to them. The wood-house should adjoin the outer kitchen, because the fuel should always be handy, and the outer kitchen, or wash-room is a sort of _slop_-room, of necessity; and the night wood, and that for the morning fires may be deposited in it for immediate use. The workshop, and small tool-house naturally comes next to that, as being chiefly used in stormy weather. Next to this last, would, more conveniently, come the carriage or wagon-house, and of course a stable for a horse or two for family use, always accessible at night, and convenient at unseasonable hours for farm labor. In the same close neighborhood, also, should be a small pigsty, to accommodate a pig or two, to eat up the kitchen slops from the table, refuse vegetables, parings, dishwater, &c., &c., which could not well be carried to the main piggery of the farm, unless the old-fashioned filthy mode of letting the hogs run in the road, and a trough set outside the door-yard fence, as seen in some parts of the country, were adopted. A pig can always be kept, and fatted in three or four months, from the wash of the house, with a little grain, in any well-regulated farmer's family. A few fowls may also be kept in a convenient hen-house, if desired, without offence--all constituting a part of the _household_ economy of the place. These out-buildings too, give a comfortable, domestic look to the whole concern. Each one shelters and protects the other, and gives an air of comfort and repose to the whole--a family expression all round. What so naked and chilling to the feelings, as to see a country dwelling-house all perked up, by itself, standing, literally, out of doors, without any dependencies about it? No, no. First should stand the house, the chief structure, in the foreground; appendant to that, the kitchen wing; next in grade, the wood-house; covering in, also, the minor offices of the house. Then by way of setting up, partially on their own account, should come the workshop, carriage-house, and stable, as practically having a separate character, but still subordinate to the house and its requirements; and these too, may have their piggery and hen-house, by way of tapering off to the adjoining fence, which encloses a kitchen garden, or family orchard. Thus, each structure is appropriate in its way--and together, they form a combination grateful to the sight, as a complete rural picture. All objections, on account of filth or vermin, to this connection, may be removed by a cleanly keeping of the premises--a removal of all offal immediately as it is made, and daily or weekly taking it on to the manure heaps of the barns, or depositing it at once on the grounds where it is required. In point of health, nothing is more congenial to sound physical condition than the occasional smell of a stable, or the breath of a cow, not within the immediate contiguity to the occupied rooms of the dwelling. On the score of neatness, therefore, as we have placed them, no bar can be raised to their adoption. DESIGN IV. This is perhaps a more ambitious house than either of the preceding, although it may be adapted to a domain of the same extent and value. It is plain and unpretending in appearance; yet, in its ample finish, and deeply drawn, sheltering eaves, broad veranda, and spacious out-buildings, may give accommodation to a larger family indulging a more liberal style of living than the last. By an error in the engraving, the main roof of the house is made to appear like a double, or gambrel-roof, breaking at the intersection of the gable, or hanging roof over the ends. This is not so intended. The roofs on each side are a straight line of rafters. The Swiss, or hanging style of gable-roof is designed to give a more sheltered effect to the elevation than to run the end walls to a peak in the point of the roof. By a defect in the drawing, the roof of the veranda is not sufficiently thrown over the columns. This roof should project at least one foot beyond them, so as to perfectly shelter the mouldings beneath from the weather, and conform to the style of the main roof of the house. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 115-116.] The material of which it is built may be of either stone, brick, or wood, as the taste or convenience of the proprietor may suggest. The main building is 44�36 feet, on the ground. The cellar wall may show 18 to 24 inches above the ground, and be pierced by windows in each end, as shown in the plan. The height of the main walls may be two full stories below the roof plates, or the chambers may run a foot or two into the garret, at the choice of the builder, either of which arrangements may be permitted. The front door opens from a veranda 28 feet long by 10 feet in depth, dropping eight inches from the door-sill. This veranda has a hipped roof, which juts over the columns in due proportion with the roof of the house over its walls. These columns are plain, with brackets, or braces from near their tops, sustaining the plate and finish of the roof above, which may be covered either with tin or zinc, painted, or closely shingled. The walls of the house may be 18 to 20 feet high below the plates; the roof a pitch of 30 to 45°, which will afford an upper garret, or store, or small sleeping rooms, if required; and the eaves should project two to three feet, as climate may demand, over the walls. A plain finish--that is, ceiled underneath--is shown in the design, but brackets on the ends of the rafters, beaded and finished, may be shown, if preferred. The gables are _Swiss-roofed_, or _truncated_, thus giving them a most sheltered and comfortable appearance, particularly in a northerly climate. The small gable in front relieves the roof of its monotony, and affords light to the central garret. The chimneys are carried out with partition flues, and may be topped with square caps, as necessity or taste may demand. Retreating three feet from the kitchen side of the house runs, at right angles, a wing 30�18 feet, one and a half stories high, with a veranda eight feet wide in front. Next in rear of this, continues a wood-house, 30�18 feet, one story high, with ten feet posts, and open in front, the ground level of which is 18 inches below the floor of the wing to which it is attached. The roof of these two is of like character with that of the main building. Adjoining this wood-house, and at right angles with it, is a building 68�18 feet, projecting two feet outside the line of wood-house and kitchen. This building is one and a half stories high, with 12 feet posts, and roof in the same style and of equal pitch as the others. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door from the veranda of the house opens into a hall, 18�8 feet, and 11 feet high, amply lighted by sash windows on the sides, and over the door. From the rear of this hall runs a flight of easy stairs, into the upper or chamber hall. On one side of the lower hall, a door leads into a parlor, 18 feet square, and 11 feet high, lighted by three windows, and warmed by an open stove, or fireplace, the pipe passing into a chimney flue in the rear. A door passes from this parlor into a rear passage, or entry, thus giving it access to the kitchen and rear apartments. At the back end of the front hall, a door leads into the rear passage and kitchen; and on the side opposite the parlor, a door opens into the sitting or family room, 18�16 feet in area, having an open fireplace, and three windows. On the hall side of this room, a door passes into the kitchen, 22�16 feet, and which may, in case the requirements of the family demand it, be made the chief family or living room, and the last one described converted into a library. In this kitchen, which is lighted by two windows, is a liberal open fireplace, with an ample oven by its side, and a sink in the outer corner. A flight of stairs, also, leads to the rear chambers above; and a corresponding flight, under them, to the cellar below. A door at each end of these stairs, leads into the back entry of the house, and thus to the other interior rooms, or through the rear outer door to the back porch. This back entry is lighted by a single sash window over the outside door leading to the porch. Another door, opposite that leading down cellar, opens into the passage through the wing. From the rear hall, which is 16�5 feet, the innermost passage leads into a family bedroom, or nursery, 16�14 feet, lighted by a window in each outside wall, and warmed by an open fireplace, or stove, at pleasure. Attached to this bedroom is a clothes-closet, 8�4 feet, with shelves, and drawers. Next the outer door, in rear end of the hall, is a small closet opening from it, 6�4 feet in dimensions, convertible to any use which the mistress of the house may direct. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN.] Opening into the wing from the kitchen, first, is a large closet and pantry, supplied with a table, drawers, and shelves, in which are stored the dishes, table furniture, and edibles necessary to be kept at a moment's access. This room is 14�8 feet, and well lighted by a window of convenient size. If necessary, this room may have a partition, shutting off a part from the everyday uses which the family requires. In this room, so near to the kitchen, to the sink, to hot-water, and the other little domestic accessories which good housewives know so well how to arrange and appreciate, all the nice little table-comforts can be got up, and perfected, and stored away, under lock and key, in drawer, tub, or jar, at their discretion, and still their eyes not be away from their subordinates in the other departments. Next to this, and connected by a door, is the dairy, or milk-room, also 14�8 feet; which, if necessary, may be sunk three or four feet into the ground, for additional coolness in the summer season, and the floor reached by steps. In this are ample shelves for the milkpans, conveniences of churning, &c., &c. But, if the dairy be a prominent object of the farm, a separate establishment will be required, and the excavation may not be necessary for ordinary household uses. Out of this milk-room, a door leads into a wash-room, 18�14 feet. A passage from the kitchen also leads into this. The wash-room is lighted by two windows in rear, and one in front. A sink is between the two rear windows, with conductor leading outside, and a closet beneath it, for the iron ware. In the chimney, at the end, are boilers, and a fireplace, an oven, or anything else required, and a door leading to a platform in the wood-house, and so into the yard. On the other side of the chimney, a door leads into a bathing-room, 7�6 feet, into which hot water is drawn from one of the boilers adjoining, and cold water may be introduced, by a hand-pump, through a pipe leading into the well or cistern. As no more convenient opportunity may present itself, a word or two will be suggested as to the location of the bath-room in a country house. In city houses, or country houses designed for the summer occupancy of city dwellers, the bathing-rooms are usually placed in the second or chamber story, and the water for their supply is drawn from cisterns still above _them_. This arrangement, in city houses, is made chiefly from the want of room on the ground floor; and, also, thus arranged in the city-country houses, _because_ they are so constructed in the city. In the farm house, or in the country house proper, occupied by whom it may be, such arrangement is unnecessary, expensive, and inconvenient. Unnecessary, because there is no want of room on the ground; expensive, because an upper cistern is always liable to leakages, and a consequent wastage of water, wetting, and rotting out the floors, and all the slopping and dripping which such accidents occasion; and inconvenient, from the continual up-and-down-stair labor of those who occupy the bath, to say nothing of the piercing the walls of the house, for the admission of pipes to lead in and let out the water, and the thousand-and-one vexations, by way of plumbers' bills, and expense of getting to and from the house itself, always a distance of some miles from the mechanic. The only defence for such location of the bath-room and cisterns is, the convenience and privacy of access to them, by the females of the family. This counts but little, if anything, over the place appropriated in this, and the succeeding designs of this work. The access is almost, if not quite as private as the other, and, in case of ill-health, as easily approachable to invalids. And on the score of economy in construction, repair, or accident, the plan here adopted is altogether preferable. In this plan, the water is drawn from the boiler by the turning of a cock; that from the cistern, by a minute's labor with the hand-pump. It is let off by the drawing of a plug, and discharges, by a short pipe, into the adjoining garden, or grassplat, to moisten and invigorate the trees and plants which require it, and the whole affair is clean and sweet again. A screen for the window gives all the privacy required, and the most fastidious, shrinking female is as retired as in the shadiest nook of her dressing-room. So with water-closets. A fashion prevails of thrusting these noisome things into the midst of sleeping chambers and living rooms--pandering to effeminacy, and, at times, surcharging the house--for they cannot, at _all_ times, and under _all_ circumstances, be kept perfectly close--with their offensive odor. _Out_ of the house they belong; and if they, by any means, find their way within its walls proper, the fault will not be laid at our door. To get back to our description. This bathing-room occupies a corner of the wood-house. A raised platform passes from the wash-room in, past the bath-room, to a water-closet, which may be divided into two apartments, if desirable. The vaults are accessible from the rear, for cleaning out, or introducing lime, gypsum, powdered charcoal, or other deodorizing material. At the extreme corner of the wood-house, a door opens into a feed and swill-room, 20�8 feet, which is reached by steps, and stands quite eighteen inches above the ground level, on a stone under-pinning, or with a stone cellar beneath, for the storage of roots in winter. In one corner of this is a boiler and chimney, for cooking food for the pigs and chickens. A door leads from this room into the piggery, 20�12 feet, where half-a-dozen swine may be kept. A door leads from this pen into a yard, in the rear, where they will be less offensive than if confined within. If necessary, a flight of steps, leading to the loft overhead, may be built, where corn can be stored for their feeding. Next to this is the workshop and tool-house, 18�14 feet; and, in rear, a snug, warm house for the family chickens, 18�6 feet. These chickens may also have the run of the yard in rear, with the pigs, and apartments in the loft overhead for roosting. Adjoining the workshop is the carriage house, 18�18 feet, with a flight of stairs to the hayloft above, in which is, also, a dovecote; and, leading out of the carriage floor, is the stable, 18�12 feet, with stalls for two or four horses, and a passage of four feet wide, from the carriage-house into it; thus completing, and drawing under one continuous roof, and at less exposure than if separated, the chief every-day requirements of living, to a well-arranged and highly-respectable family. The chamber plan of the dwelling will be readily understood by reference to its arrangement. There are a sufficiency of closets for all purposes, and the whole are accessible from either flight of stairs. The rooms over the wing, of course, should be devoted to the male domestics of the family, work-people, &c. SURROUNDING PLANTATIONS, SHRUBBERY, WALKS, ETC. After the general remarks made in the preceding pages, no _particular_ instructions can be given for the manner in which this residence should be embellished in its trees and shrubbery. The large forest trees, always grand, graceful, and appropriate, would become such a house, throwing a protecting air around and over its quiet, unpretending roof. Vines, or climbing roses, might throw their delicate spray around the columns of the modest veranda, and a varied selection of familiar shrubbery and ornamental plants checker the immediate front and sides of the house looking out upon the lawn; through which a spacious walk, or carriage-way should wind, from the high road, or chief approach. There are, however, so many objects to be consulted in the various sites of houses, that no one rule can be laid down for individual guidance. The surface of the ground immediately adjoining the house must be considered; the position of the house, as it is viewed from surrounding objects; its altitude, or depression, as affected by the adjacent lands; its command upon surrounding near, or distant objects, in the way of prospect; the presence of water, either in stream, pond, or lake, far or near, or the absence of water altogether--all these enter immediately into the manner in which the lawn of a house should be laid out, and worked, and planted. But as a rule, all _filagree_ work, such as serpentine paths, and tortuous, unmeaning circles, artificial piles of rock, and a multitude of small _ornaments_--so esteemed, by some--should never be introduced into the lawn of a _farm_ house. It is unmeaning, in the first place; expensive in its care, in the second place; unsatisfactory and annoying altogether. Such things about a farm establishment are neither dignified nor useful, and should be left to town's-people, having but a stinted appreciation of what constitutes _natural_ beauty, and wanting to make the most of the limited piece of ground of which they are possessed. Nor would we shut out, by these remarks, the beauty and odor of the flower-borders, which are so appropriately the care of the good matron of the household and her comely daughters. To them may be devoted a well-dug plat beneath the windows, or in the garden. Enough, and to spare, they should always have, of such cheerful, life-giving pleasures. We only object to their being strewed all over the ground,--a tussoc of plant here, a patch of posey there, and a scattering of both everywhere, without either system or meaning. They lower the dignity and simplicity of the country dwelling altogether. The business approach to this house is, of course, toward the stables and carriage-house, and from them should lead off the main farm-avenue. The kitchen garden, if possible, should lie on the kitchen side of the house, where, also, should be placed the bee-house, in full sight from the windows, that their labors and swarming may be watched. In fact, the entire economy of the farm house, and its appendages, should be brought close under the eye of the household, to engage their care and watchfulness, and to interest them in all the little associations and endearments--and they are many, when properly studied out--which go to make agricultural life one of the most agreeable pursuits, if not altogether so, in which our lot in life may be cast. A fruit-garden, too, should be a prominent object near this house. We are now advancing somewhat into the _elegances_ of agricultural life; and although fruit trees, and _good_ fruits too, should hold a strong place in the surroundings of even the humblest of all country places--sufficient, at least, for the ample use of the family--they have not yet been noticed, to any extent, in those already described. It may be remarked, that the fruit-_garden_--the _orchard_, for market purposes, is not here intended--should be placed in near proximity to the house. All the _small_ fruits, for household use, such as strawberries, raspberries, currants, gooseberries, blackberries, grapes, as well as apricots, plums, nectarines, peaches, pears, apples, quinces, or whatever fruits may be cultivated, in different localities, should be close by, for the convenience of collecting them, and to protect them from destruction by vermin, birds, or the depredations of creatures _called_ human. A decided plan of arrangement for all the plantations and grounds, should enter into the composition of the site for the dwelling, out-houses, gardens, &c., as they are to appear when the whole establishment is completed; and nothing left to accident, chance, or after-thought, which can be disposed of at the commencement. By the adoption of such a course, the entire composition is more easily perfected, and with infinitely greater expression of character, than if left to the chance designs, or accidental demands of the future. Another feature should be strictly enforced, in the outward appointments of the farm house,--and that is, the entire withdrawal of any use of the highway, in its occupation by the stock of the farm, except in leading them to and from its enclosures. Nothing looks more slovenly, and nothing can be more unthrifty, in an _enclosed_ country, than the running of farm stock in the highway. What so untidy as the approach to a house, with a herd of filthy hogs rooting about the fences, basking along the sidewalk, or feeding at a huge, uncouth, hollowed log, in the road near the dwelling. It may be out of place here to speak of it, but this disgusting spectacle has so often offended our sight, at the approach of an otherwise pleasant farm establishment, that we cannot forego the opportunity to speak of it. The road lying in front, or between the different sections of the farm, should be as well, and as cleanly kept as any portion of the enclosures, and it is equally a sin against good taste and neighborhood-morality, to have it otherwise. TREE-PLANTING IN THE HIGHWAY. This is frequently recommended by writers on country embellishment, as indispensable to a finished decoration of the farm. Such may, or may not be the fact. Trees shade the roads, when planted on their sides, and so they partially do the fields adjoining, making the first muddy, in bad weather, by preventing the sun drying them, and shading the crops of the last by their overhanging foliage, in the season of their growth. Thus they are an evil, in moist and heavy soils. Yet, in light soils, their shade is grateful to the highway traveler, and not, perhaps, injurious to the crops of the adjoining field; and when of proper kinds, they add grace and beauty to the domain in which they stand. We do not, therefore, indiscriminately recommend them, but leave it to the discretion of the farmer, to decide for himself, having seen estates equally pleasant with, and without trees on the roadside. Nothing, however, can be more beautiful than a clump of trees in a pasture-ground, with a herd, or a flock beneath them, near the road; or the grand and overshadowing branches of stately tree, in a rich meadow, leaning, perhaps, over the highway fence, or flourishing in its solitary grandeur, in the distance--each, and all, imposing features in the rural landscape. All such should be preserved, with the greatest care and solicitude, as among the highest and most attractive ornaments which the farm can boast. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 131-132.] DESIGN V. We here present a dwelling of a more ambitious and pretending character than any one which we have, as yet, described, and calculated for a large and wealthy farmer, who indulges in the elegances of country life, dispenses a liberal hospitality, and is every way a country gentleman, such as all our farmers of ample means should be. It will answer the demands of the retired man of business as well; and is, perhaps, as full in its various accommodation as an American farm or country house may require. It claims no distinct style of architecture, but is a composition agreeable in effect, and appropriate to almost any part of the country, and its climate. Its site may be on either hill or plain--with a view extensive, or restricted. It may look out over broad savannas, cultivated fields, and shining waters; it may nestle amid its own quiet woods and lawn in its own selected shade and retirement, or lord it over an extensive park, ranged by herds and flocks, meandered by its own stream, spreading anon into the placid lake, or rushing swiftly over its own narrow bed--an independent, substantial, convenient, and well-conditioned home, standing upon its own broad acres, and comporting with the character and standing of its occupant, among his friends and neighbors. The main building is 50�40 feet in area upon the ground, two stories high; the ground story 11 feet high, its floor elevated 2½ or 3 feet above the level of the surrounding surface, as its position may demand; the chambers 9 feet high, and running 2 feet into the roof. The rear wing is one and a half stories high, 36�16 feet; the lower rooms 11 feet high, with a one story lean-to range of closets, and small rooms on the weather side, 8 feet in width and 9 feet high. In the rear of these is a wood-house, 30�20 feet, with 10 feet posts, dropped to a level with the ground. At the extremity of this is a building, by way of an L, 60�20 feet, one and a half stories high, with a lean-to, 12�30 feet, in the rear. The ground rooms of this are elevated 1½ feet above the ground, and 9 feet high. A broad roof covers the whole, standing at an angle of 40 or 45° above a horizontal line, and projecting widely over the walls, 2½ to 3 feet on the main building, and 2 feet on the others, to shelter them perfectly from the storms and damps of the weather. A small cupola stands out of the ridge of the rear building, which may serve as a ventilator to the apartments and lofts below, and in it may be hung a bell, to summon the household, or the field laborers, as the case may be, to their duties or their meals. The design, as here shown, is rather florid, and perhaps profusely ornamental in its finish, as comporting with the taste of the day; but the cut and moulded trimmings may be left off by those who prefer a plain finish, and be no detriment to the general effect which the deep friezes of the roofs, properly cased beneath, may give to it. Such, indeed, is our own taste; but this full finish has been added, to gratify such as wish the full ornament which this style of building may admit. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front of this house is accommodated by a porch, or veranda, 40 feet long, and 10 feet wide, with a central, or entrance projection of 18 feet in length, and 12 feet in width, the floor of which is eight inches below the main floor of the house. The wings, or sides of this veranda may be so fitted up as to allow a pleasant conservatory on each side of the entrance area in winter, by enclosing them with glass windows, and the introduction of heat from a furnace under the main hall, in the cellar of the house. This would add to its general effect in winter, and, if continued through the summer, would not detract from its expression of dignity and refinement. From the veranda, a door in the center of the front, with two side windows, leads into the main hall, which is 26�12 feet in area, two feet in the width of which is taken from the rooms on the right of the main entrance. On the left of the hall a door opens into a parlor or drawing-room, marked P, 20 feet square, with a bay window on one side, containing three sashes, and seats beneath. A single window lights the front opening on to the veranda. On the opposite side to this is the fireplace, with blank walls on each side. On the opposite side of the hall is a library, 18�16 feet, with an end window, and a corresponding one to the parlor, in front, looking out on the veranda. In case these portions of the veranda, opposite the two front windows are occupied as conservatories, these windows should open to the floor, to admit a walk immediately into them. At the farther corner of the library a narrow door leads into an office, or business apartment, 12�8 feet, and opening by a broad door, the upper half of which is a lighted sash. This door leads from the office out on a small porch, with a floor and two columns, 8�5 feet, and nine feet high, with a gable and double roof of the same pitch as the house. Between the chimney flues, in the rear of this room may be placed an iron safe, or chest for the deposit of valuable papers; and, although small, a table and chairs sufficient to accommodate the business requirements of the occupant, may be kept in it. A chimney stands in the center of the inner wall of the library, in which may be a fireplace, or a flue to receive a stovepipe, whichever may be preferred for warming the room. Near the hall side of the library a door opens into a passage leading into the family bedroom, or nursery. A portion of this passage may be shelved and fitted up as a closet for any convenient purpose. The nursery is 18�16 feet in size, lighted by two windows. It may have an open fireplace, or a stove, as preferred, let into the chimney, corresponding to that in the library. These two chimneys may either be drawn together in the chambers immediately above, or carried up separately into the garret, and pass out of the roof in one stack, or they maybe built in one solid mass from the cellar bottom; but they are so placed here, as saving room on the floors, and equally accommodating, in their separate divisions, the stovepipes that may lead into them. On the inner side of the nursery, a door leads into a large closet, or child's sleeping-room, 9�8 feet; or it may be used as a dressing-room, with a sash inserted in the door to light it. A door may also lead from it into the small rear entry of the house, and thus pass directly out, without communicating with the nursery. On the extreme left corner of the nursery is a door leading into the back entry, by which it communicates either with the rear porch, the dining-room, or the kitchen. Such a room we consider indispensable to the proper accommodation of a house in the country, as saving a world of up-and-down-stairs' labor to her who is usually charged with the domestic cares and supervision of the family. On the right of the main hall an ample staircase leads into the upper hall by a landing and broad stair at eight feet above the floor, and a right-angled flight from that to the main floor above. Under this main hall staircase, a door and stairs may lead into the cellar. Beyond the turning flight below, a door leads into the back hall, or entry, already mentioned, which is 13�4 feet in area, which also has a side passage of 8�4 feet, and a door leading to the rear porch, and another into the kitchen at its farther side, near the outer one. Opposite the turning flight of stairs, in the main hall, is also a door leading to the dining-room, 20�16 feet. This is lighted by a large double window at the end. A fireplace, or stove flue is in the center wall, and on each side a closet for plate, or table furniture. These closets come out flush with the chimney. At the extreme right corner a door leads into the rear entry--or this may be omitted, at pleasure. Another door in the rear wall leads into the kitchen, past the passage down into the cellar--or this may be omitted, if thought best. Still another door to the left, opens into a large dining closet of the back lean-to apartments, 8�8 feet. This closet is lighted by a window of proper architectural size, and fitted up with a suite of drawers, shelves, table, and cupboards, required for the preparation and deposit of the lighter family stores and edibles. From this closet is also a door leading into the kitchen, through which may be passed all the meats and cookery for the table, either for safe-keeping, or immediate service. Here the thrifty and careful housekeeper and her assistants may, shut apart, and by themselves, get up, fabricate, and arrange all their table delicacies with the greatest convenience and privacy, together with ease of access either to the dining-room or kitchen--an apartment most necessary in a liberally-arranged establishment. From the rear entry opens a door to the kitchen, passing by the _rear_ chamber stairs. This flight of stairs may be entered directly from the kitchen, leading either to the chamber, or under them, into the cellar, without coming into the passage connecting with the entry or dining-room, if preferred. In such case, a broad stair of thirty inches in width should be next the door, on which to turn, as the door would be at right angles with the stairs, either up or down. The kitchen is 20�16 feet, and 11 feet high. It has an outer door leading on the rear porch, and a window on each side of that door; also a window, under which is a sink, on the opposite side, at the end of a passage four feet wide, leading through the lean-to. It has also an open fireplace, and an oven by the side of it--old fashion. It may be also furnished with a cooking range, or stove--the smoke and fumes leading by a pipe into a flue into the chimney. On the lean-to side is a milk or dairy-room, 8�8 feet, lighted by a window. Here also the kitchen furniture and meats may be stored in cupboards made for the purpose. In rear of the kitchen, and leading from it by a door through a lighted passage next the rear porch, is the wash-room, 16�16 feet, lighted by a large window from the porch side. A door also leads out of the rear on to a platform into the wood-house. Another door leads from the wash-room into a bath-room in the lean-to 8�8 feet, into which warm water is drawn by a pipe and pump from the boiler in the wash-room; or, if preferred, the bath-room may be entered from the main kitchen, by the passage next the sink. This bath-room is lighted by a window. Next to the bath-room is a bedroom for a man servant who has charge of the fires, and heavy house-work, wood, &c., &c. This bedroom is also 8�8 feet, and lighted by a window in the lean-to. In front of this wash-room and kitchen is a porch, eight inches below the floor, six feet wide, with a railing, or not, as may be preferred. (The railing is made in the cut.) A platform, three feet wide, leads from the back door of the wash-room to a water-closet for the family _proper_. The wood-house is open in front, with a single post supporting the center of the roof. At the extreme outer angle is a water-closet for the domestics of the establishment. Adjoining the wood-house, and opening from it into the L before mentioned, is a workshop, and small-tool-house, 20�16 feet, lighted by a large double window at one end. In this should be a carpenter's work-bench and tool-chest, for the repairs of the farming utensils and vehicles. Overhead is a store-room for lumber, or whatever else may be necessary for use in that capacity. Next to this is a granary or feed-room, 20�10 feet, with a small chimney in one corner, where may be placed a boiler to cook food for pigs, poultry, &c., as the case may be. Here may also be bins for storage of grain and meal. Leading out of this is a flight of stairs passing to the chamber above, and a passage four feet wide, through the rear, into a yard adjoining. At the further end of the stairs a door opens into a poultry house, 16�10 feet, including the stairs. The poultry room is lighted at the extreme left corner, by a broad window. In this may be made roosts, and nesting places, and feeding troughs. A low door under the window may be also made for the fowls in passing to the rear yard. Adjoining the granary, and leading to it by a door, is the carriage-house, 20�20 feet, at the gable end of which are large doors for entrance. From the carriage-house is a broad passage of six feet, into the stables, which are 12 feet wide, and occupy the lean-to. This lean-to is eight feet high below the eaves, with two double stalls for horses, and a door leading into the _side_ yard, with the doors of the carriage-house. A window also lights the rear of the stables. A piggery 12 feet square occupies the remainder of the lean-to in rear of the poultry-house, in which two or three pigs can always be kept, and fatted on the offal of the house, for _small_ pork, at any season, apart from the swine stock of the farm. A door leads out of the piggery into the rear yard, where range also the poultry. As the _shed_ roof shuts down on to the pigsty and stables, no loft above them is necessary. In the loft over the granary, poultry, and carriage-house is deposited the hay, put in there through the doors which appear in the design. CHAMBER PLAN.--This is easily understood. At the head of the stairs, over the main hall, is a large passage leading to the porch, and opening by a door-window on the middle deck of the veranda, which is nearly level, and tinned, or coppered, water-tight, as are also the two sides. On either side of this upper hall is a door leading to the front sleeping chambers, which are well closeted, and spacious. If it be desirable to construct more sleeping-rooms, they can be partitioned laterally from the hall, and doors made to enter them. A rear hall is cut off from the front, lighted by a window over the lower rear porch, and a door leads into a further passage in the wing, four feet wide, which leads down a flight of stairs into the kitchen below. At the head of this flight is a chamber 20�12 feet, for the female domestic's sleeping-room, in which may be placed a stove, if necessary, passing its pipe into the kitchen chimney which passes through it. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN.] It is also lighted by a window over the lean-to, on the side. Back of this, at the end of the passage, is the sleeping-room, 16 feet square, for the "men-folks," lighted on both sides by a window. This may also be warmed, if desired, by a stove, the pipe passing into the kitchen chimney. The cellar may extend under the entire house and wing, as convenience or necessity may require. If it be constructed under the main body only, an offset should be excavated to accommodate the cellar stairs, three feet in width, and walled in with the rest. A wide, _outer_ passage, with a flight of steps should also be made under the rear nursery window, for taking in and passing out bulky articles, with double doors to shut down upon it; and partition walls should be built to support the partitions of the large rooms above. Many minor items of detail might be mentioned, all of which are already treated in the general remarks, under their proper heads, in the body of the work, and which cannot here be noticed--such as the mode of warming it, the construction of furnaces, &c. It may, by some builders, be considered a striking defect in the interior accommodation of a house of this character, that the chief entrance hall should not be extended through, from its front to the rear, as is common in many of the large mansions of our country. We object to the large, open hall for more than one reason, except, possibly, in a house for _summer_ occupation only. In the first place it is uncomfortable, in subjecting the house to an unnecessary draught of air when it is not needed, in cold weather. Secondly, it cuts the house into two distinct parts, making them inconvenient of access in crossing its wide surface. Thirdly, it is uneconomical, in taking up valuable room that can be better appropriated. For summer ventilation it is unnecessary; that may be given by simply opening the front door and a chamber window connected with the hall above, through which a current of fresh air will always pass. Another thing, the hall belongs to the front, or _dress_ part of the house, and should be _cut off_ from the more domestic and common apartments by a partition, although accessible to them, and not directly communicating with such apartments, which cannot of necessity, be in keeping with its showy and pretending character. It should contain only the _front_ flight of stairs, as a part of its appointments, besides the doors leading to its best apartments on the ground floor, which should be centrally placed--its rear door being of a less pretending and subordinate character. Thus, the hall, with its open doors, connecting the best rooms of the house on each side, with its ample flight of stairs in the background, gives a distinct expression of superiority in occupation to the other and humbler portions of the dwelling. In winter, too, how much more snug and comfortable is the house, shut in from the prying winds and shivering cold of the outside air, which the opposite outer doors of an open hall cannot, in their continual opening and shutting, altogether exclude! Our own experience, and, we believe, the experience of most housekeepers will readily concede its defects; and after full reflection we have excluded it as both unnecessary and inconvenient. Another objection has been avoided in the better class of houses here presented, which has crept into very many of the designs of modern builders; which is, that of using the living rooms of the family, more or less, as passages from the kitchen apartments in passing to and from the front hall, or chief entrance. Such we consider a decided objection, and hence arose, probably, the older plans of by-gone years, of making the main hall reach back to the kitchen itself. This is here obviated by a cutting up of the rear section of the hall, by which a passage, in all cases of the better kind of dwelling, is preserved, without encroaching upon the occupied rooms in passing out and in. To be sure, the front door is not the usual passage for the laborers or servants of the house, but they are subject, any hour of the day, to be called there to admit those who may come, and the continual opening of a private room for such purposes is most annoying. Therefore, as matter of convenience, and as a decided improvement on the designs above noticed, we have adhered strictly to the separate rear passage. The _garret_, also, as we have arranged our designs, is either altogether left out, or made a quite unimportant part of the dwelling. It is but a _lumber_ room, at best; and should be approached only by a flight of steps from a rear chamber or passage, and used as a receptacle for useless traps, or cast-off furniture, seldom wanted. It is hot in summer, and cold in winter, unfit for decent lodging to any human being in the house, and of little account any way. We much prefer running the chambers partially into the roof, which we think gives them a more comfortable expression, and admits of a better ventilation, by carrying their ceilings higher without the expense of high _body_ walls to the house, which would give them an otherwise naked look. If it be objected that thus running the chambers above the plates of the roof prevents the insertion of proper ties or beams to hold the roof plates together to prevent their spreading, we answer, that he must be a poor mechanic who cannot, in framing the chamber partitions so connect the opposite plates as to insure them against all such difficulty. A _sheltered, comfortable_ aspect is that which should distinguish every farm house, and the _cottage_ chamber is one of its chiefest characteristics; and this can only be had by running such apartments into the roof, as in our design. CONSTRUCTION. A house of this kind must, according to its locality, and the material of which it is built, be liable to wide differences of estimate in its cost; and from our own experience in such matters, any estimate here made we know cannot be reliable as a rule for other localities, where the prices of material and labor are different from our own. Where lumber, stone, and brick abound, and each are to be had at reasonable prices, the cost of an establishment of this kind would not vary much in the application of either one of these materials for the walls, if well and substantially constructed. There should be no _sham_, nor slight, in any part of the building. As already observed, the design shows a high degree of finish, which, if building for ourself, we should not indulge in. A plain style of cornice, and veranda finish, we should certainly adopt. But the roof should not be contracted in its projecting breadth over the walls, in any part of the structure--if anything, it should be more extended. The bay-window is an appendage of luxury, only. Great care should be had, in attaching its roof to the adjoining outer wall, to prevent leakage of any kind. If the walls be of brick, or stone, a beam or lintel of wood should be inserted in the wall over the window-opening, quite two inches--three would be better--back from its outer surface, to receive the casing of the window, that the drip of the wall, and the driving of the storms may fall _over_ the connecting joints of the window roof, beyond its point of junction with it. Such, also, should be the case with the intersection of the veranda or porch roof with the wall of the house, wherever a veranda, or porch is adopted; as, simply joined on to a _flush_ surface, as such appendages usually are--even if ever so well done--leakage and premature decay is inevitable. The style of finish must, of course, influence, in a considerable degree, its cost. It may, with the plainest finish, be done for $4,000, and from that, up to $6,000. Every one desirous to build, should apply to the best mechanics of his neighborhood for information on that point, as, in such matters, they are the best judges, and from experience in their own particular profession, of what the cost of building must be. The rules and customs of housekeeping vary, in different sections of the United States, and the Canadas. These, also, enter into the estimates for certain departments of building, and must be considered in the items of expenditure. The manner in which houses should be warmed, the ventilation, accommodation for servants and laborers, the appropriations to hospitality--all, will have a bearing on the expense, of which we cannot be the proper judge. A sufficient time should be given, to build a house of this character. A house designed and built in a hurry, is never a satisfactory house in its occupation. A year is little enough, and if two years be occupied in its design and construction, the more acceptable will probably be its finish, and the more comfort will be added in its enjoyment. GROUNDS, PLANTATIONS, AND SURROUNDINGS. A house of this kind should never stand in vulgar and familiar contact with the highway, but at a distance from it of one hundred to a thousand yards; or even, if the estate on which it is built be extensive, a much greater distance. Breadth of ground between the highway and the dwelling adds dignity and character to its appearance. An ample lawn, or a spreading park, well shaded with trees, should lay before it, through which a well-kept avenue leads to its front, and most frequented side. The various offices and buildings of the farm itself, should be at a respectable distance from it, so as not to interfere with its proper keeping as a genteel country residence. Its occupant is not to be supposed as under the necessity of toiling with his daily laborers in the fields, and therefore, although he may be strictly a man of business, he has sufficient employment in planning his work, and managing his estate through a foreman, in the various labor-occupations of the estate. His horse may be at his door in the earliest morning hours, that he may inspect his fields, and give timely directions to his laborers, or view his herds, or his flocks, before his breakfast hour; or an early walk may take him to his stables, his barns, or to see that his previous directions are executed. The various accommodation appurtenant to the dwelling, makes ample provision for the household convenience of the family, and the main business of the farm may be at some distance, without inconvenience to the owner's every-day affairs. Consequently, the indulgence of a considerable degree of ornament may be given, in the surroundings of his dwelling, which the occupant of a less extensive estate would neither require, nor his circumstances warrant. A natural forest of stately trees, properly thinned out, is the most appropriate spot on which to build a house of this character. But that not at hand, it should be set off with plantations of forest trees, of the largest growth, as in keeping with its own liberal dimensions. A capacious kitchen garden should lead off from the rear apartments, well stocked with all the family vegetables, and culinary fruits, in their proper seasons. A luxuriant fruit-garden may flank the least frequented side of the house. Neat and tasteful flower beds may lie beneath the windows of the rooms appropriated to the leisure hours of the family, to which the smaller varieties of shrubbery may be added, separated from the chief lawn, or park, only by a wire fence, or a simple railing, such as not to cut up and _checker_ its simple and dignified surface; and all these shut in on the rear from the adjoining fields of the farm by belts of large shrubbery closely planted, or the larger orchards, thus giving it a style of its own, yet showing its connection with the pursuits of the farm and its dependence upon it. These various appointments, however, may be either carried out or restricted, according to the requirements of the family occupying the estate, and the prevailing local taste of the vicinity in which it is situated; but no narrow or stingy spirit should be indicated in the general plan or in its execution. Every appointment connected with it should indicate a liberality of purpose in the founder, without which its effect is painfully marred to the eye of the man of true taste and judgment. Small yards, picketed in for small uses, have no business in sight of the grounds in front, and all minor concerns should be thrown into the rear, beyond observation from the main approach to the dwelling. The trees that shade the entrance park, or lawn, should be chiefly forest trees, as the oak, in its varieties, the elm, the maple, the chestnut, walnut, butternut, hickory, or beech. If the soil be favorable, a few weeping willows may throw their drooping spray around the house; and if exotic, or foreign trees be permitted, they should take their position in closer proximity to it than the natural forest trees, as indicating the higher care and cultivation which attaches to its presence. The Lombardy poplar, albeit a tree of disputed taste with modern planters, we would now and then throw in, not in stiff and formal rows, as guarding an avenue, but occasionally in the midst of a group of others, above which it should rise like a church spire from amidst a block of contiguous houses--a cheerful relief to the monotony of the rounder-headed branches of the more spreading varieties. If a stream of water meander the park, or spread into a little pond, trees which are partial to moisture should shadow it at different points, and low, water shrubs should hang over its border, or even run into its margin. Aquatic herbs, too, may form a part of its ornaments, and a boat-house, if such a thing be necessary, should, under the shade of a hanging tree of some kind, be a conspicuous object in the picture. An overhanging rock, if such a thing be native there, may be an object of great attraction to its features, and its outlet may steal away and be hid in a dense mass of tangled vines and brushwood. The predominating, _natural_ features of the place should be _cultivated_, not rooted out, and metamorphosed into something foreign and unfamiliar. It should, in short, be _nature_ with her _hair combed_ out straight, flowing, and graceful, instead of pinched, puffed, and curling--a thing of luxuriance and beauty under the hand of a master. The great difficulty with many Americans in getting up a new place of any considerable extent is, that they seem to think whatever is common, or natural in the features of the spot must be so changed as to show, above all others, their own ingenuity and love of expense in fashioning it to their peculiar tastes. Rocks must be sunk, or blasted, trees felled, and bushes grubbed, crooked water-courses straightened--the place gibbeted and put into stocks; in fact, that their own boasted handiwork may rise superior to the wisdom of Him who fashioned it in his own good pleasure; forgetting that a thousand points of natural beauty upon the earth on which they breathe are "When unadorned, adorned the most;" and our eye has been frequently shocked at finding the choicest gems of nature sacrificed to a wanton display of expense in perverting, to the indulgence of a mistaken fancy, that, which, with an eye to truth and propriety, and at a trifling expense, might have become a spot of abiding interest and contentment. DESIGN VI. A SOUTHERN OR PLANTATION HOUSE.--The proprietor of a plantation in the South, or South-west, requires altogether a different kind of residence from the farmer of the Northern, or Middle States. He resides in the midst of his own principality, surrounded by a retinue of dependents and laborers, who dwell distant and apart from his own immediate family, although composing a community requiring his daily care and superintendence for a great share of his time. A portion of them are the attachés of his household, yet so disconnected in their domestic relations, as to require a separate accommodation, and yet be in immediate contiguity with it, and of course, an arrangement of living widely different from those who mingle in the same circle, and partake at the same board. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 155-156.] The usual plan of house-building at the South, we are aware, is to have _detached_ servants' rooms, and offices, and a space of some yards of uncovered way intervene between the family rooms of the chief dwelling and its immediate dependents. Such arrangement, however, we consider both unnecessary and inconvenient; and we have devised a plan of household accommodation which will bring the family of the planter himself, and their servants, although under different roofs, into convenient proximity with each other. A design of this kind is here given. The style is mainly Italian, plain, substantial, yet, we think, becoming. The broad veranda, stretching around three sides, including the front, gives an air of sheltered repose to what might otherwise appear an ambitious structure; and the connected apartments beyond, show a quiet utility which divests it of an over attempt at display. Nothing has been attempted for appearance, solely, beyond what is necessary and proper in the dwelling of a planter of good estate, who wants his domestic affairs well regulated, and his family, and servants duly provided with convenient accommodation. The form of the main dwelling is nearly square, upright, with two full stories, giving ample area of room and ventilation, together with that appropriate indulgence to ease which the enervating warmth of a southern climate renders necessary. The servants' apartments, and kitchen offices are so disposed, that while connected, to render them easy of access, they are sufficiently remote to shut off the familiarity of association which would render them obnoxious to the most fastidious--all, in fact, under one shelter, and within the readiest call. Such should be the construction of a planter's house in the United States, and such this design is intended to give. A stable and carriage-house, in the same style, is near by, not connected to any part of the dwelling, as in the previous designs--with sufficient accommodation for coachman and grooms, and the number of saddle and carriage horses that may be required for either business or pleasure; and to it may be connected, in the rear, in the same style of building, or plainer, and less expensive, further conveniences for such domestic animals as may be required for family use. The whole stands in open grounds, and may be separated from each other by enclosures, as convenience or fancy may direct. The roofs of all the buildings are broad and sweeping, well protecting the walls from storm and frosts, as well as the glaring influences of the sun, and combining that comfortable idea of shelter and repose so grateful in a well-conditioned country house. It is true, that the dwelling might be more extensive in room, and the purposes of luxury enlarged; but the planter on five hundred, or five thousand acres of land can here be sufficiently accommodated in all the reasonable indulgences of family enjoyment, and a liberal, even an elegant and prolonged hospitality, to which he is so generally inclined. The chimneys of this house, different from those in the previous designs, are placed next the outer walls, thus giving more space to the interior, and not being required, as in the others, to promote additional warmth than their fireplaces will give, to the rooms. A deck on the roof affords a pleasant look-out for the family from its top, guarded by a parapet, and giving a finish to its architectural appearance, and yet making no ambitious attempt at expensive ornament. It is, in fact, a plain, substantial, respectable mansion for a gentleman of good estate, and nothing beyond it. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. This house stands 50�40 feet on the ground. The front door opens from the veranda into a hall, 24�14 feet, in which is a flight of stairs leading to the chambers above. On the left a door leads into a library, or business room, 17�17 feet, lighted by three windows. A fireplace is inserted in the outer wall. Another door leads into a side hall, six feet wide, which separates the library from the dining-room, which is also 17�17 feet in area, lighted and accommodated with a fireplace like the other, with a door leading into it from the side hall, and another door at the further right hand corner leading into the rear hall, or entry. On the right of the chief entrance hall, opposite the library, a door opens into the parlor or drawing-room, 23�19 feet in area, lighted by three windows, and having a fireplace in the side wall. A door leads from the rear side of the parlor into a commodious nursery, or family bedroom, 19�16 feet in size, lighted by a window in each outer wall. A fireplace is also inserted on the same line as in the parlor. From the nursery a door leads into and through a large closet, 9�7 feet, into the rear hall. This closet may also be used as a sleeping-room for the children, or a confidential servant-maid, or nurse, or devoted to the storage of bed-linen for family use. Further on, adjoining, is another closet, 7�6 feet, opening from the rear hall, and lighted by a window. Leading from the outer door of the rear hall is a covered passage six feet wide, 16 feet long, and one and a half stories high, leading to the kitchen offices, and lighted by a window on the left, with a door opening in the same side beyond, on to the side front of the establishment. On the right, opposite, a door leads on to the kitchen porch, which is six feet wide, passing on to the bath-room and water-closet, in the far rear. At the end of the connecting passage from the main dwelling, a door opens into the kitchen, which is 24�18 feet in size, accommodated with two windows looking on to the porch just described. At one end is an open fireplace with a cooking range on one side, and an oven on the other. At the left of the entrance door is a large, commodious store-room and pantry, 12�9 feet, lighted by a window; and adjoining it, (and may be connected with it by a door, if necessary,) a kitchen closet of the same size, also connected by a corresponding door from the opposite corner of the kitchen. Between these doors is a flight of stairs leading to the sleeping-rooms above, and a cellar passage beneath them. In the farther right corner of the kitchen a door leads into a smaller closet, 8�6 feet, lighted by a small window looking on to the rear porch at the end. A door at the rear of the kitchen leads out into the porch of the wash-room beyond, which is six feet wide, and another door into the wash-room itself, which is 20�16 feet, and furnished with a chimney and boilers. A window looks out on the extreme right hand, and two windows on to the porch in front. A door opens from its rear wall into the wood-house, 32�12 feet, which stands open on two sides, supported by posts, and under the extended roof of the wash-room and its porch just mentioned. A servants' water-closet is attached to the extreme right corner of the wood-house, by way of lean-to. The bath-room is 10�6 feet in area, and supplied with water from the kitchen boilers adjoining. The water-closet beyond is 6 feet square, and architecturally, in its roof, may be made a fitting termination to that of the porch leading to it. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN.] The main flight of stairs in the entrance hall leads on to a broad landing in the spacious upper hall, from which doors pass into the several chambers, which may be duly accommodated with closets. The passage connecting with the upper story of the servants' offices, opens from the rear section of this upper hall, and by the flight of rear stairs communicates with the kitchen and out-buildings. A garret flight of steps may be made in the rear section of the main upper hall, by which that apartment may be reached, and the upper deck of the roof ascended. The sleeping-rooms of the kitchen may be divided off as convenience may dictate, and the entire structure thus appropriated to every accommodation which a well-regulated family need require. [Illustration: CARRIAGE HOUSE.] The carriage-house is 48�24 feet in size, with a projection of five feet on the entrance front, the door of which leads both into the carriage-room and stables. On the right is a bedroom, 10�8 feet, for the grooms, lighted by a window; and beyond are six stalls for horses, with a window in the rear wall beyond them. A flight of stairs leads to the hayloft above. In the rear of the carriage-room is a harness-room, 12�4 feet, and a granary of the same size, each lighted by a window. If farther attachments be required for the accommodation of out-building conveniences, they may be continued indefinitely in the rear. MISCELLANEOUS. It may strike the reader that the house just described has a lavish appropriation of veranda, and a needless side-front, which latter may detract from the _precise_ architectural keeping that a dwelling of this pretension should maintain. In regard to the first, it may be remarked, that no feature of the house in a southern climate can be more expressive of easy, comfortable enjoyment, than a spacious veranda. The habits of southern life demand it as a place of exercise in wet weather, and the cooler seasons of the year, as well as a place of recreation and social intercourse during the fervid heats of the summer. Indeed, many southern people almost live under the shade of their verandas. It is a delightful place to take their meals, to receive their visitors and friends; and the veranda gives to a dwelling the very expression of hospitality, so far as any one feature of a dwelling can do it. No equal amount of accommodation can be provided for the same cost. It adds infinitely to the _room_ of the house itself, and is, in fact, indispensable to the full enjoyment of a southern house. The side front in this design is simply a matter of convenience to the owner and occupant of the estate, who has usually much office business in its management; and in the almost daily use of his library, where such business may be done, a side door and front is both appropriate and convenient. The _chief_ front entrance belongs to his family and guests, and should be devoted to their exclusive use; and as a light fence may be thrown off from the extreme end of the side porch, separating the front lawn from the rear approach to the house, the veranda on that side may be reached from its rear end, for business purposes, without intruding upon the lawn at all. So we would arrange it. Objections may be made to the _sameness_ of plan, in the arrangement of the lower rooms of the several designs which we have submitted, such as having the nursery, or family sleeping-room, on the main floor of the house, and the uniformity, in location, of the others; and that there are no _new_ and _striking_ features in them. The answer to these may be, that the room appropriated for the nursery, or bedroom, may be used for other purposes, equally as well; that when a mode of accommodation is already as convenient as may be, it is poorly worth while to make it less convenient, merely for the sake of variety; and, that utility and convenience are the main objects to be attained in any well-ordered dwelling. These two requisites, utility and convenience, attained, the third and principal one--comfort--is secured. Cellar kitchens--the most abominable nuisances that ever crept into a country dwelling--might have been adopted, no doubt, to the especial delight of some who know nothing of the experimental duties of housekeeping; but the recommendation of these is an offence which we have no stomach to answer for hereafter. Steep, winding, and complicated staircases might have given a new feature to one or another of the designs; dark closets, intricate passages, unique cubby-holes, and all sorts of inside gimcrackery might have amused our pencil; but we have avoided them, as well as everything which would stand in the way of the simplest, cheapest, and most direct mode of reaching the object in view: a convenient, comfortably-arranged dwelling within, having a respectable, dignified appearance without--and such, we trust, have been thus far presented in our designs. LAWN, AND PARK SURROUNDINGS. The trees and shrubbery which ornament the approach to this house, should be rather of the graceful varieties, than otherwise. The weeping-willow, the horse-chesnut, the mountain-ash, if suitable to the climate; or the china-tree of the south, or the linden, the weeping-elm, and the silver-maple, with its long slender branches and hanging leaves, would add most to the beauty, and comport more closely with the character of this establishment, than the more upright, stiff, and unbending trees of our American forests. The Lombardy-poplar--albeit, an object of fashionable derision with many tree-fanciers in these more _tasty_ days, as it was equally the admiration of our fathers, of forty years ago--would set off and give effect to a mansion of this character, either in a clump at the back-ground, as shown in the design, or occasionally shooting up its spire-like top through a group of the other trees. Yet, if built in a fine natural park or lawn of oaks, with a few other trees, such as we have named, planted immediately around it, this house would still show with fine effect. The style of finish given to this dwelling may appear too ornate and expensive for the position it is supposed to occupy. If so, a plainer mode of finish may be adopted, to the cheapest degree consistent with the manner of its construction. Still, on examination, there will be found little intricate or really expensive work upon it. Strength, substance, durability, should all enter into its composition; and without these elements, a house of this appearance is a mere bauble, not fit to stand upon the premises of any man of substantial estate. If a more extensive accommodation be necessary, than the size of this house can afford, its style will admit of a wing, of any desirable length, on each side, in place of the rear part of the side verandas, without prejudice to its character or effect. Indeed, such wings may add to its dignity, and consequence, as comporting with the standing and influence which its occupant may hold in the community wherein he resides. A man of mark, indeed, should, if he live in the country, occupy a dwelling somewhat indicating the position which he holds, both in society and in public affairs. By this remark, we may be treading on questionable ground, in our democratic country; but, practically, there is a fitness in it which no one can dispute. Not that extravagance, pretension, or any other _assumption_ of superiority should mark the dwelling of the distinguished man, but that his dwelling be of like character with himself: plain, dignified, solid, and, as a matter of course, altogether respectable. It is a happy feature in the composition of our republican institutions, both social and political, that we can afford to let the flashy men of the _day_--not of _time_--flaunter in all their purchased fancy in house-building, without prejudice to the prevailing sober sentiment of their neighbors, in such particulars. The man of money, simply, may build his "villa," and squander his tens of thousands upon it. He may riot within it, and fidget about it for a few brief years; he may even hang his coat of arms upon it, if he can fortunately do so without stumbling over a lapstone, or greasing his coat against the pans of a cook-shop; but it is equally sure that no child of his will occupy it after him, even if his own changeable fancy or circumstances permit him to retain it for his natural life. Such are the episodes of country house-building, and of frequent attempts at agricultural life, by those who affect it as a matter of ostentation or display. For the subjects of these, we do not write. But there is something exceedingly grateful to the feelings of one of stable views in life, to look upon an estate which has been long in an individual family, still maintaining its primitive character and respectability. Some five-and-twenty years ago, when too young to have any established opinions in matters of this sort, as we were driving through one of the old farming towns in Massachusetts, about twenty miles west of Boston, we approached a comfortable, well-conditioned farm, with a tavern-house upon the high road, and several great elms standing about it. The road passed between two of the trees, and from a cross-beam, lodged across their branches, swung a large square sign, with names and dates painted upon it--name and date we have forgotten; it was a good old Puritan name, however--in this wise: "John Endicott, 1652." "John Endicott, 1696." "John Endicott, 1749." "John Endicott, 1784." "John Endicott, 1817." As our eyes read over this list, we were struck with the stability of a family who for many consecutive generations had occupied, by the same name, that venerable spot, and ministered to the comfort of as many generations of travelers, and incontinently took off our hat in respect to the record of so much worth, drove our horse under the shed, had him fed, went in, and took a quiet family dinner with the civil, good-tempered host, and the equally kind-mannered hostess, then in the prime of life, surrounded with a fine family of children, and heard from his own lips the history of his ancestors, from their first emigration from England--not in the Mayflower, to whose immeasurable accommodations our good New England ancestors are so prone to refer--but in one of her early successors. All over the old thirteen states, from Maine to Georgia, can be found agricultural estates now containing families, the descendants of those who founded them--exceptions to the general rule, we admit, of American stability of residence, but none the less gratifying to the contemplation of those who respect a deep love of home, wherever it may be found. For the moral of our episode on this subject, we cannot refrain from a description of a fine old estate which we have frequently seen, minus now the buildings which then existed, and long since supplanted by others equally respectable and commodious, and erected by the successor of the original occupant, the late Dr. Boylston, of Roxbury, who long made the farm his summer residence. The description is from an old work, "The History of the County of Worcester, in the State of Massachusetts, by the Rev. Peter Whitney, 1793:" "Many of the houses (in Princeton,) are large and elegant. This leads to a particular mention, that in this town is the country seat of the Hon. Moses Gill, Esq., ('Honorable' meant something in those days,) who has been from the year 1775 one of the Judges of the Court of Common Pleas for the county of Worcester, and for several years a counsellor of this commonwealth. His noble and elegant seat is about one mile and a quarter from the meeting-house, to the south. The farm contains upwards of three thousand acres. The county road from Princeton to Worcester passes through it, in front of the house, which faces to the west. The buildings stand upon the highest land of the whole farm; but it is level round about them for many rods, and then there is a very gradual descent. The land on which these buildings stand is elevated between twelve hundred and thirteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, as the Hon. James Winthrop, Esq. informs me. The mansion house is large, being 50�50 feet, with four stacks of chimnies. The farm house is 40 feet by 36: In a line with this stand the coach and chaise-house, 50 feet by 36. This is joined to the barn by a shed 70 feet in length--the barn is 200 feet by 32. Very elegant fences are erected around the mansion house, the out-houses, and the garden. "The prospect from this seat is extensive and grand, taking in a horizon to the east, of seventy miles, at least. The blue hills in Milton are discernible with the naked eye, from the windows of this superb edifice, distant not less than sixty miles; as also the waters in the harbor of Boston, at certain seasons of the year. When we view this seat, these buildings, and this farm of so many hundred acres, now under a high degree of profitable cultivation, and are told that in the year 1766 it was a perfect wilderness, we are struck with wonder, admiration, and astonishment. The honorable proprietor thereof must have great satisfaction in contemplating these improvements, so extensive, made under his direction, and, I may add, by his own active industry. Judge Gill is a gentleman of singular vivacity and activity, and indefatigable in his endeavors to bring forward the cultivation of his lands; of great and essential service, by his example, in the employment he finds for so many persons, and in all his attempts to serve the interests of the place where he dwells, and in his acts of private munificence, and public generosity, and deserves great respect and esteem, not only from individuals, but from the town and country he has so greatly benefited, and especially by the ways in which he makes use of that vast estate wherewith a kind Providence has blessed him." Such was the estate, and such the man who founded and enjoyed it sixty years ago; and many an equal estate, founded and occupied by equally valuable men, then existed, and still exist in all our older states; and if our private and public virtues are preserved, will ever exist in every state of our union. Such pictures, too, are forcible illustrations of the _morals_ of correct building on the ample estates of many of our American planters and farmers. The mansion house, which is so graphically described, we saw but a short time before it was pulled down--then old, and hardly worth repairing, being built of wood, and of style something like this design of our own, bating the extent of veranda. The cost of this house may be from $5000 to $8000, depending upon the material of which it is constructed, the degree of finish given to it, and the locality where it is built. All these circumstances are to be considered, and the estimates should be made by practical and experienced builders, who are competent judges in whatever appertains to it. [Illustration: FARM HOUSE. Pages 173-174.] DESIGN VII. A PLANTATION HOUSE.--Another southern house is here presented, quite different in architectural design from the last, plain, unpretending, less ornate in its finish, as well as less expensive in construction. It may occupy a different site, in a hilly, wooded country of rougher surface, but equally becoming it, as the other would more fitly grace the level prairie, or spreading plain in the more showy luxury of its character. This house stands 46�44 feet on the ground, two stories high, with a full length veranda, 10 feet wide in front, and a half length one above it, connecting with the main roof by an open gable, under which is a railed gallery for summer repose or recreation, or to enjoy the scenery upon which it may open. The roof is broad and overhanging, thoroughly sheltering the walls, and giving it a most protected, comfortable look. Covering half the rear is a lean-to, with shed roof, 16 feet wide, communicating with the servants' offices in the wing, the hall of which opens upon a low veranda on its front, and leading to the minor conveniences of the establishment. The main servants' building is 30�20 feet, one and a half stories high, with a roof in keeping with the main dwelling, and a chimney in the center. In rear of this is attached a wood-house, with a shed roof, thus sloping off, and giving it a reposed, quiet air from that point of view. A narrow porch, 23 feet long and 8 feet wide, also shades the remaining rear part of the main dwelling, opening on to the approach in rear. [Illustration: GROUND PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door opens into a hall 34 feet long and 10 feet wide, with a flight of stairs. On the left of this opens a parlor or dining-room, 22�18 feet, lighted by two windows in front and one on the side, and connecting with the dining-room beyond, which is 18�16 feet, with two small dining closets between. The dining-room has two windows opening on to the rear veranda. Under the cross flight of stairs in the hall, a partition separates it from the rear hall, into which is a door. On the right of the entrance hall is a library, 18�18 feet, lighted by three windows. At the farther end is a closet, and by the side of it a small entry leading into the nursery or family bedroom, 18�15 feet in size, which also has a corresponding closet with the library. On the rear of the nursery is a flight of back stairs opening from it. Under these stairs, at the other end, a door opens to another flight leading into the cellar below. A door also leads out from the nursery into the rear passage, to the offices; another door on the further side of the room opens into the rear hall of the house. The nursery should have two windows, but the drawing, by an error, gives only one. From this rear hall a door opens on the rear veranda, and another into the passage to the rear offices. This passage is six feet wide and 34 feet long, opening at its left end on to the veranda, and on the right, to the servants' porch, and from its rear side into three small rooms, 10 feet square each, the outer one of which may be a business room for the proprietor of the estate; the next, a store-room for family supplies; and the other a kitchen closet. Each of these is lighted by a window on the rear. A door also leads from the rear passage into the kitchen, 20�16 feet in area, with a window looking out in front and two others on the side and rear, and a door into the wood-house. In this is placed a large chimney for the cooking establishment, oven, &c., &c. A flight of stairs and partition divides this from the wash-room, which is 14�14 feet, with two windows in the side, and a door into the wood-house. This wood-house is open on two sides, and a water-closet is in the far corner. The small veranda, which is six feet wide, fronting the kitchen apartments, opens into the bath-room, 9�6 feet, into which the water is drawn from the kitchen boilers in the adjoining chimney. Still beyond this is the entrance to the water-closets, 6�5 feet. [Illustration: CHAMBER PLAN.] The chamber plan is simple, and will be readily comprehended. If more rooms are desirable, they can be cut off from the larger ones. A flight of garret stairs may also be put in the rear chamber hall. The main hall of the chambers, in connection with the upper veranda, may be made a delightful resort for the summer, where the leisure hours of the family may be passed in view of the scenery which the house may command, and thus made one of its most attractive features. MISCELLANEOUS. We have given less veranda to this house than to the last, because its style does not require it, and it is a cheaper and less pains-taking establishment throughout, although, perhaps, quite as convenient in its arrangement as the other. The veranda may, however, be continued round the two ends of the house, if required. A screen, or belt of privet, or low evergreens may be planted in a circular form from the front right-hand corner of the dwelling, to the corresponding corner of the rear offices, enclosing a clothes drying yard, and cutting them off from too sightly an exposure from the lawn in front. The opposite end of the house, which may be termed its _business_ front, may open to the every-day approach to the house, and be treated as convenience may determine. For the _tree_ decoration of this establishment, evergreens may come in for a share of attraction. Their conical, tapering points will correspond well with its general architecture, and add strikingly to its effect; otherwise the remarks already given on the subject of park and lawn plantation will suffice. As, however, in the position where this establishment is supposed to be erected, land is plenty, ample area should be appropriated to its convenience, and no pinched or parsimonious spirit should detract from giving it the fullest effect in an allowance of ground. Nor need the ground devoted to such purposes be at all lost, or unappropriated; various uses can be made of it, yielding both pleasure and profit, to which a future chapter will refer; and it is one of the chief pleasures of retired residence to cultivate, in the right place, such incidental objects of interest as tend to gratify, as well as to instruct, in whatever appertains to the elevation of our thoughts, and the improvement of our condition. All these, in their place, should be drawn about our dwellings, to render them as agreeable and attractive as our ingenuity and labor may command. LAWNS, GROUNDS, PARKS, AND WOODS. Having essayed to instruct our agricultural friends in the proper modes of erecting their houses, and providing for their convenient accommodation within them, a few remarks may be pardoned touching such collateral subjects of embellishment as may be connected with the farm residence in the way of plantations and grounds in their immediate vicinity. We are well aware that small farms do not permit any considerable appropriation of ground to _waste_ purposes, as such spots are usually called which are occupied with wood, or the shade of open trees, near the dwelling. But no dwelling can be complete in all its appointments without trees in its immediate vicinity. This subject has perhaps been sufficiently discussed in preceding chapters; yet, as a closing course of remark upon what a farm house, greater or less in extent, should be in the amount of shade given to it, a further suggestion or two may be permitted. There are, in almost all places, in the vicinity of the dwelling, portions of ground which can be appropriated to forest trees without detriment to other economical uses, if applied in the proper way. Any one who passes along a high road and discovers the farm house, seated on the margin or in the immediate vicinity of a pleasant grove, is immediately struck with the peculiarly rural and picturesque air which it presents, and thinks to himself that he should love such a spot for his own home, without reflecting that he might equally as well create one of the same character. Sites already occupied, where different dispositions are made of contiguous ground, may not admit of like advantages; and such are to be continued in their present arrangement, with such course of improvement as their circumstances will admit. But to such as are about to _select_ the sites of their future homes, it is important to study what can best embellish them in the most effective shade and ornament. In the immediate vicinity of our large towns and cities it is seldom possible to appropriate any considerable breadth of land to ornamental purposes, excepting rough and unsightly waste ground, more or less occupied with rock or swamp; or plainer tracts, so sterile as to be comparatively worthless for cultivation. Such grounds, too, often lie bare of wood, and require planting, and a course of years to cover them with trees, even if the proprietor is willing, or desirous to devote them to such purpose. Still, there are vast sections of our country where to economize land is not important, and a mixed occupation of it to both ornament and profit may be indulged to the extent of the owner's disposition. All over the United States there are grand and beautiful sweeps and belts of cultivated country, interspersed with finely-wooded tracts, which offer the most attractive sites for the erection of dwellings on the farms which embrace them, and that require only the eye and hand of taste to convert them, with slight labor, into the finest-wooded lawns and forested parks imaginable. No country whatever produces finer trees than North America. The evergreens of the north luxuriate in a grandeur scarcely known elsewhere, and shoot their cones into the sky to an extent that the stripling pines and firs, and larches of England in vain may strive to imitate. The elm of New England towers up, and spreads out its sweeping arms with a majesty unwonted in the ancient parks or forests of Europe; while its maples, and birches, and beeches, and ashes, and oaks, and the great white-armed buttonwood, make up a variety of intervening growth, luxuriant in the extreme. Pass on through the Middle States, and into the far west, and there they still flourish with additional kinds--the tulip and poplar--the nut-trees, in all their wide variety, with a host of others equally grand and imposing, interspersed; and shrub-trees innumerable, are seen every where as they sweep along your path. Beyond the Alleghanies, and south of the great lakes, are vast natural parks, many of them enclosed, and dotted with herds of cattle ranging over them, which will show single trees, and clumps of forest that William the Conqueror would have given a whole fiefdom in his Hampshire spoliations to possess; while, stretching away toward the Gulf of Mexico, new varieties of tree are found, equally imposing, grand, and beautiful, throughout the whole vast range, and in almost every locality, susceptible of the finest possible appropriation to ornament and use. Many a one of these noble forests, and open, natural parks have been appropriated already to embellish the comfortable family establishment which has been built either on its margin, or within it; and thousands more are standing, as yet unimproved, but equally inviting the future occupant to their ample protection. The moral influences, too, of lawns and parks around or in the vicinity of our dwellings, are worthy of consideration. Secluded as many a country dweller may be, away from the throng of society, there is a sympathy in trees which invites our thoughts, and draws our presence among them with unwonted interest, and in frequent cases, assist materially in stamping the feelings and courses of our future lives--always with pure and ennobling sentiments-- "The groves were God's first temples." The thoughtful man, as he passes under their sheltering boughs, in the heat of summer, with uncovered brow, silently worships the Hand that formed them there, scarcely conscious that their presence thus elevates his mind to holy aspirations. Among them, the speculative man "Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones." Even children, born and educated among groves of trees, drink in early impressions, which follow them for good all their days; and, when the toils of their after life are passed, they love to return to these grateful coverts, and spend their remaining days amid the tranquillity of their presence. Men habituated to the wildest life, too, enjoy the woods, the hills, and the mountains, beyond all the captivation and excitement of society, and are nowhere at rest, but when in their communion. The love of forest scenery is a thing to be cultivated as a high accomplishment, in those whose early associations have not been among them. Indeed, country life is tame, and intolerable, without a taste, either natural or acquired, for fine landscape scenery; and in a land like this, where the country gives occupation to so great a proportion of its people, and a large share of those engaged in the active and exciting pursuits of populous towns, sigh and look forward to its enjoyment, every inducement should be offered to cultivate a taste for those things which make one of its chief attractions. Nor should seclusion from general society, and a residence apart from the bustling activity of the world, present a bar to the due cultivation of the taste in many subjects supposed to belong only to the throng of association. It is one of the advantages of rural life, that it gives us time to think; and the greatest minds of whose labors in the old world we have had the benefit, and of later times, in our own land, have been reared chiefly in the solitude of the country. Patrick Henry loved to range among the woods, admiring the leafy magnificence of nature, and to follow the meandering courses of the brooks, with his hook and line. Washington, when treading the vast solitudes of central Virginia, with his surveyor's instruments on his back, conceived the wonderful resources of the great empire of which he will ever be styled the "father." The dwelling of the late John C. Calhoun, sheltered by noble trees, stands on an elevated swell of a grand range of mountain land, and it was there that his prolific genius ripened for those burning displays of thought which drew to him the affections of admiring thousands. Henry Clay undoubtedly felt the germ of his future greatness while sauntering, in his boyhood days, through the wild and picturesque slashes of Hanover. Webster, born amid the rugged hills of New Hampshire, drew the delightful relish of rural life, for which he is so celebrated, from the landscapes which surrounded his early home, and laid the foundation of his mighty intellect in the midst of lone and striking scenery. Bryant could never have written his "Thanatopsis," his "Rivulet," and his "Green River," but from the inspiration drawn from his secluded youthful home in the mountains of Massachusetts. Nor, to touch a more sacred subject, could Jonathan Edwards ever have composed his masterly "Treatise on the Will," in a pent-up city; but owes his enduring fame to the thought and leisure which he found, while ministering, among the sublime mountains of the Housatonic, to a feeble tribe of Stockbridge Indians. And these random names are but a few of those whose love of nature early imbibed, and in later life enjoyed in their own calm and retired homes, amid the serene beauty of woods and waters, which might be named, as illustrations of the influence which fine scenery may exercise upon the mind, to assist in moulding it to greatness. The following anecdote was told us many years ago, by a venerable man in Connecticut, a friend of the elder Hillhouse, of New Haven, to whom that city is much indebted for the magnificent trees by which it has become renowned as "the City of the Elms:" While a member of the General Assembly of that state, when Hillhouse was in Congress, learning that he had just returned home from the annual session, our informant, with a friend, went to the residence of the statesman, to pay him a visit. He had returned only that morning, and on their way there, they met him near his house, with a stout young tree on his shoulder, just taken from a neighboring piece of forest, which he was about to transplant in the place of one which had died during his absence. After the usual salutations, our friend expressed his surprise that he was so soon engaged in tree-planting, before he had even had time to look to his private and more pressing affairs. "Another day may be too late," replied the senator; "my tree well planted, it will grow at its leisure, and I can then look to my own concerns at my ease. So, gentlemen, if you will just wait till the tree is set, we'll walk into the house, and settle the affairs of state in our own way." Walter Scott, whose deep love of park and forest scenery has stamped with his masterly descriptions, his native land as the home of all things beautiful and useful in trees and plantations, spent a great share of his leisure time in planting, and has written a most instructive essay on its practice and benefits. He puts into the mouth of "the Laird of Dumbiedikes," the advice, "Be aye sticking in a tree, Jock; it will be growing while you are sleeping." But Walter Scott had no American soil to plant his trees upon; nor do the grandest forest parks of Scotland show a tithe of the luxuriance and majesty of our American forests. Could he but have seen the variety, the symmetry, and the vast size of our oaks, and elms, and evergreens, a new element of descriptive power would have grown out of the admiration they had created within him; and he would have envied a people the possession of such exhaustless resources as we enjoy, to embellish their homes in the best imaginable manner, with such enduring monuments of grace and beauty. To the miscellaneous, or casual reader, such course of remark may appear merely sublimated nonsense. No matter; we are not upon stilts, talking _down_ to a class of inferior men, in a condescending tone, on a subject above their comprehension; but we are addressing men, and the sons of men, who are our equals--although, like ourself, upon their farms, taking their share in its daily toils, as well as pleasures--and can perfectly well understand our language, and sympathize with our thoughts. They are the thoughts of rural life everywhere. It was old Sam Johnson, the great lexicographer, who lumbered his unwieldy gait through the streets of cities for a whole life, and with all his vast learning and wisdom, had no appreciation of the charms of the country, that said, "Who feeds fat cattle should himself be fat;" as if the dweller on the farm should not possess an idea above the brutes around him. We wonder if he ever supposed a merchant should have any more brain than the parcel that he handled, or the bale which he rolled, or directed others to roll for him! But, loving the solitude of the farm, and finding a thousand objects of interest and beauty scattered in profusion, where those educated among artificial objects would see nothing beyond things, to them, vulgar and common-place, in conversing with our rural friends upon what concerns their daily comfort, and is to constitute the nursery of those who succeed them, and on the influences which may, in a degree, stamp their future character, we cannot forbear such suggestions, connected with the family Home, as may induce them to cultivate all those accessories around it, which may add to their pleasure and contentment. We believe it was Keats, who said, "A thing of Beauty is a joy for ever." And the thought that such "beauty" has been of our own creation, or that our own hands have assisted in its perpetuation, should certainly be a deep "joy" of our life. We have remarked, that the farm house is the chief nursery on which our broad country must rely for that healthy infusion of stamina and spirit into those men who, under our institutions, guide its destiny and direct its councils. They, in the great majority of their numbers, are natives of the retired homestead. It is, therefore, of high consequence, that good taste, intelligence, and correct judgment, should enter into all that surrounds the birth-place, and early scenes of those who are to be the future actors in the prominent walks of life, either in public or private capacity; and as the love of trees is one of the leading elements of enjoyment amid the outward scenes of country-life, we commend most heartily all who dwell in the pure air and bright sunshine of the open land to their study and cultivation. Every man who lives in the country, be he a practical farmer or not, should _plant_ trees, more or less. The father of a family should plant, for the benefit of his children, as well as for his own. The bachelor and the childless man should plant, if for nothing more than to show that he has left _some_ living thing to perpetuate his memory. Boys should early be made planters. None but those who love trees, and plant them, know the serene pleasure of watching their growth, and anticipating their future beauty and grandeur; and no one can so exquisitely enjoy their grateful shade, as he whose hand has planted and cared for them. Planting, too, is a most agreeable pastime to a reflecting mind. It may be ranked among the pleasures, instead of the toils of life. We have always so found it. There is no pleasanter sight of labor than to see a father, with his young lads about him, planting a tree. It becomes a landmark of their industry and good taste; and no thinking man passes a plantation of fine trees but inwardly blesses the man, or the memory of the man who placed them there. Aside from all this, trees properly distributed, give a value to an estate far beyond the cost of planting, and tending their growth, and which no other equal amount of labor and expense upon it can confer. Innumerable farms and places have been sold at high prices, over those of perhaps greater producing value, merely for the trees which embellished them. Thus, in a pecuniary light, to say nothing of the pleasure and luxury they confer, trees are a source of profitable investment. It is a happy feature in the improving rural character of our country, that tree-planting and tree preservation for some years past have attracted much more attention than formerly; and with this attention a better taste is prevailing in their selection. We have gained but little in the introduction of many of the foreign trees among us, for ornament. Some of them are absolutely barbarous in comparison with our American forest trees, and their cultivation is only a demonstration of the utter want of good taste in those who apply them. For ordinary purposes, but few exotics should be tolerated; and those chiefly in collections, as curiosities, or for arboretums--in which latter the farmer cannot often indulge; and for all the main purposes of shade, and use, and ornament, the trees of no country can equal our own. Varied as our country is, in soils and climates, no particular directions can be given as to the individual varieties of tree which are to be preferred for planting. Each locality has its own most appropriate kinds, and he who is to plant, can best make the selections most fitted to his use. Rapid-growing trees, when of fine symmetry, and free from bad habits in throwing up suckers; not liable to the attacks of insects; of early, dense, and long-continued foliage, are most to be commended; while their opposites in character should be avoided in all well-kept grounds. It requires, indeed, but a little thought and observation to guide every one in the selection which he should make, to produce the best effect of which the tree itself is capable. Giving the importance we have, to trees, and their planting, it may be supposed that we should discuss their position in the grounds to which they should be appropriated. But no specific directions can be given at large. All this branch of the subject must be left to the locality, position, and surface of the ground sought to be improved. A good tree can scarcely stand in a wrong place, when not injurious to a building by its too dense shade, or shutting out its light, or prospect. Still, the proper disposition of trees is a _study_, and should be well considered before they be planted. Bald, unsightly spots should be covered by them, when not devoted to more useful objects of the farm, either in pasturage or cultivation. A partial shading of the soil by trees may add to its value for grazing purposes, like the woodland pastures of Kentucky, where subject to extreme droughts, or a scorching sun. If the planter feels disposed to consult authorities, as to the best disposition of his trees, works on Landscape Gardening may be studied; but these can give only general hints, and the only true course is to strive to make his grounds look as much like nature herself as possible--for nature seldom makes mistakes in her designs. To conclude a course of remark, which the plain farmer, cultivating his land for its yearly profit alone, may consider as foreign to the subject of our work, we would not recommend any one to plant trees who is not willing to spend the necessary time to nurse and tend them afterward, till they are out of harm's way, and well established in a vigorous growth. All this must be taken into the account, for it is better to have even but a few trees, and those what trees should be, than a whole forest of stinted things, writhing and pining through a course of sickly existence. A chapter might also be written upon the proper mode of taking up and planting trees, but as this would lead us to a subject more directly belonging to another department, the proper authorities on that head must be consulted. FRUIT GARDEN--ORCHARDS. As the fruit garden and orchards are usually near appendages to the dwelling and out-buildings, a few remarks as to their locality and distribution may be appropriate. The first should _always_ be near the house, both for convenience in gathering its fruits, and for its due protection from the encroachments of those not entitled to its treasures. It should, if possible, adjoin the kitchen garden, for convenience of access; as fruit is, or should be, an important item in the daily consumption of every family where it can be grown and afforded. A sheltered spot, if to be had, should be devoted to this object; or if not, its margin, on the exposed side, should be set with the hardiest trees to which it is appropriated--as the apple. The fruit garden, proper, may also contain the smaller fruits, as they are termed, as the currant, gooseberry, raspberry, and whatever other shrub-fruits are grown; while the quince, the peach, the apricot, nectarine, plum, cherry, pear, and apple may, in the order they are named, stand in succession behind them, the taller and more hardy growth of each successive variety rising higher, and protecting its less hardy and aspiring neighbor. The soil for all these varieties of tree is supposed to be congenial, and our remarks will only be directed to their proper distribution. The aspect for the fruit garden should, if possible, front the south, south-east, or south-west, in a northerly climate. In the Middle and Southern States the exposure is of less consequence. Currants, gooseberries, raspberries, &c., should, for their most productive bearing, and the highest quality of their fruits, be set at least four feet apart, in the rows, and the rows six feet distant from each other, that there may be abundant room to cultivate them with the plow, and kept clean of weeds and grass. The quince, peach, apricot, nectarine, and plum should be 16 feet apart each way. The pear, if on quince stock, may be 12 feet apart, and if on its own stock, 20 to 24 feet; while the apple should always be 30 to 36 feet apart, to let in the requisite degree of sun and air to ripen as well as give growth, color, and flavor to its fruit. The tendency of almost all planters of fruit trees is to set them too close, and many otherwise fine fruit gardens are utterly ruined by the compact manner in which they are planted. Trees are great consumers of the atmosphere; every leaf is a lung, inhaling and respiring the gases, and if sufficient breathing room be not allowed them, the tree sickens, and pines for the want of it; therefore, every fruit tree, and fruit-bearing shrub should be so placed that the summer sun can shine on every part of its surface at some hour of the day. In such position, the fruit will reach its maximum of flavor, size, and perfection. The ground, too, should be rich; and, to have the greatest benefit of the soil, no crops should be grown among the trees, after they have arrived at their full maturity of bearing. Thus planted, and nursed, with good selections of varieties, both the fruit garden and the orchard become one of the most ornamental, as well as most profitable portions of the farm. In point of position, as affecting the appearance of the homestead, the fruit garden should stand on the _weather-side_ of the dwelling, so as, although protected, in its several varieties, by itself, when not altogether sheltered by some superior natural barrier, it should appear to shelter both the dwelling and kitchen gardens, which adjoin them. As this is a subject intended to be but incidentally touched in these pages, and only then as immediately connected in its general character with the dwelling house and its attachments, we refrain from going into any particulars of detail concerning it. It is also a subject to which we are strongly attached, and gladly would we have a set chat with our readers upon it; but as the discussion for so broad a field as we should have to survey, would be in many points arbitrary, and unfitting to local information as to varieties, and particular cultivation, we refer the reader, with great pleasure, to the several treatises of Downing, and Thomas, and Barry, on this interesting topic, with which the public are fortunately in possession; observing, only, that there is no one item of rural economy to which our attention can be given, which yields more of luxury, health, and true enjoyment, both to the body and the mind, than the cultivation of good fruits. HOW TO LAY OUT A KITCHEN GARDEN. The kitchen garden yields more necessaries and comforts to the family, than any other piece of ground on the premises. It is, of consequence, necessary that it be so located and planned as to be ready of access, and yield the greatest possible quantity of products for the labor bestowed upon it; and as locality and plan have much to do with the labor bestowed upon it and the productions it may yield, both these subjects should be considered. As to locality, the kitchen garden should lie in the _warmest_ and _most sheltered_ spot which may be convenient to the _kitchen_ of the house. It should, in connection with that, be convenient of access to the dung-yards of the stables. The size may be such as your necessities or your convenience may demand. The shape, either a parallelogram or a square; for it will be recollected, that this is a place allotted, not for a _show_ or _pleasure_ ground, but for _profit_. If the garden be large, this shape will better allow the use of the plow to turn up the soil, which, in a large garden, is a much cheaper, and, when properly done, a better mode than to spade it; and if small, and it be worked with the spade, _right_ lines are easier made with the spade than curved ones. One or more walks, at least eight feet wide, should be made, leading from a broad gate, or bars, through which a cart and horse, or oxen, may enter, to draw in manure, or carry out the vegetables; and if such walk, or walks, do not extend around the garden, which, if in a large one, they should do, a sufficient area should be thrown out at the farther extremity, to turn the cart upon. If the soil be free, and stony, the stones should be taken out _clean_, when large--and if small, down to the size of a hen's egg--and the surface made as level as possible, for a loose soil will need no draining. If the soil be a clay, or clayey loam, it should be underdrained two and a half feet, _to be perfect_, and the draining so planned as to lead off to a lower spot outside. This draining _warms_ the soil, opens it for filtration, and makes it friable. Then, properly fenced, thoroughly manured, and plowed deep, and left rough--no matter how rough--in the fall of the year, and as late before the setting in of winter as you dare risk it, that part of the preparation is accomplished. The _permanent_ or wide walks of the garden, after being laid out and graded, should never be plowed nor disturbed, except by the hoe and rake, to keep down the weeds and grass; yet, if a close, and well-shorn grass turf be kept upon them, it is perhaps the cheapest and most cleanly way of keeping the walks. They need only cutting off close with the hand-hook, in summer. We have known a great many people, after laying out a kitchen garden, and preparing it for use, fill it up with fruit trees, supposing that vegetables will grow quite as well with them as without. This is a wide mistake. _No tree larger than a currant or gooseberry bush should ever stand in a vegetable garden._ These fruits being partially used in the cooking department, as much in the way of vegetables, as of fruits, and small in size, may be permitted; and they, contrary to the usual practice, should always stand in _open_ ground, where they can have all the benefits of the sun and rain to ripen the fruit to perfection, as well as to receive the cultivation they need, instead of being placed under fences around the sides of the garden, where they are too frequently neglected, and become the resort of vermin, or make prolific harbors for weeds. Along the main walks, or alleys, the borders for perennial plants, as well as the currant and gooseberry bushes, should be made--for the plow should run parallel to, and not at right angles with them. Here may stand the rhubarbs, the sea kales, the various herbs, or even the asparagus beds, if a particular quarter be not set apart for them; and, if it be important, a portion of these main borders may be appropriated to the more common flowers and small shrubbery, if desired to cultivate them in a plain way; but not a peach, apricot, or any other larger tree than a currant or raspberry, should come within it. They not only shade the small plants, but suck up and rob them of their food and moisture, and keep off the sun, and prevent the circulation of air--than which nothing needs all these more than garden vegetables, to have them in high perfection. If it be necessary, by means of a cold exposure on the one side, to have a close plantation of shrubbery to screen the garden, let it be _outside_ the fence, rather than within it; but if within, let there be a _broad_ walk between such shrubbery and the garden beds, as their roots will extend under the vegetables, and rob them of their food. A walk, alley, or cartway, on the sides of the garden, is always better _next to the fence_, than to fill that space with anything else, as it is usually shaded for a portion of the day, and may be better afforded for such _waste_ purposes than the open, sunny ground within. It will be observed that _market gardeners_, men who always strive to make the most profit from their land and labor, and obtain the _best_ vegetables, cultivate them in open fields. Not a tree, nor even a bush is permitted to stand near the growing crop, if they can prevent it; and where one is not stinted in the area of his domain, their example should be followed. A word upon _plowing_ gardens. Clays, or clayey loams, should always be manured and plowed in the fall, just before the setting in of the winter frosts. A world of pounding and hammering of lumps, to make them fine, in spring, is saved by fall plowing, besides incorporating the manure more thoroughly with the soil, as well as freezing out and destroying the eggs of worms and insects which infest it. Thrown up deeply and roughly with the plow or spade, the frosts act mechanically upon the soil, and slack and pulverise it so thoroughly that a heavy raking in early spring, is all that becomes necessary to put it in the finest condition for seeds, and make it perhaps the very best and most productive of all garden soils whatever. A light sandy loam is better to lie compact in winter, and manured and turned up in early spring. Its friable nature leaves it always open and light, and at all times in the absence of frost, accessible to the spade or the hoe. On these accounts, it is usually the most desirable and convenient soil for the kitchen garden, and on the whole, generally preferred where either kind may be a matter simply of choice. FLOWERS. Start not, gentle reader! We are not about to inflict upon you a dissertation on Pelargoniums, Calla-Ethiopias, Japonicas, and such like unmentionable terms, that bring to your mind the green-house, and forcing-house, and all the train of expense and vexation attending them; but we desire to have a short familiar conversation about what is all around you, or if not around you, should be, and kept there, with very little pains or labor on your part. Still, if you dislike the subject, just hand this part of our book over to your excellent wife, or daughters, or sisters, as the case may be, and we will talk to them about this matter. Flowers have their objects, and were made for our use and pleasure; otherwise, God would never have strewed them, as he has, so bountifully along our paths, and filled the world with their fragrance and beauty. Like all else beautiful, which He made, and pronounced "good," flowers have been objects of admiration and love since man's creation; and their cultivation has ever been a type of civilization and refinement among all people who have left written records behind them. Flowers equally become the cottage and the palace, in their decoration. The humblest cottager, and the mightiest monarch, have equally admired their beauty and their odor; and the whole train of mortals between, have devoted a portion of their time and thoughts to the development of their peculiar properties. But let that pass. Plain country people as we are, there are enough of sufficient variety all around us, to engage our attention, and give us all that we desire to embellish our homes, and engage the time which we have to devote to them. Among the wild flowers, in the mountains and hills of the farthest North, on the margin of their hidden brooks, where "Floats the scarce-rooted watercress;" and on their barren sides, the tiny violet and the laurel bloom, each in their season, with unwonted beauty; and, sloping down on to the plains beneath, blush out in all their summer garniture, the wild rose and the honeysuckle. On, through the Middle States, the lesser flowers of early spring throw out a thousand brilliant dyes, and are surrounded by a host of summer plants, vieing with each other in the exuberance of their tints. On the Alleghanies, through all their vast range, grow up the magnificent dogwood, kalmia, and rhododendron, spangling mile upon mile of their huge sides and tops with white, and covering crags and precipices of untold space with their blushing splendor. Further west, on the prairies, and oak openings, and in the deep woods, too, of the great lakes, and of the Mississippi valley, with the earliest grass, shoot up, all over the land, a succession of flowers, which in variety and profusion of shape, and color, and odor, outvie all the lilies of the gardens of Solomon; and so they continue till the autumnal frosts cut down both grass and flower alike. Further south, along the piney coast, back through the hills and over the vast reach of cotton and sugar lands, another class of flowers burst out from their natural coverts in equal glory; and the magnolia, and the tulip-tree, and the wild orange throw a perfume along the air, like the odors of Palestine. In the deep lagoons of the southern rivers, too, float immense water-lilies, laying their great broad leaves, and expanded white and yellow flowers, upon the surface, which the waters of the Nile in the days of Cleopatra never equaled. And these are nature's wild productions only. Flowers being cultivated, not for profit, but for show and amusement, need not intrude upon the time which is required to the more important labors of the farm. A little time, given at such hours when it can be best spared, will set all the little flower-beds in order, and keep the required shrubbery of the place in trim--and should not be denied in any family who enjoy a taste for them. Even the simplest of their kind, when carefully disposed, produce a fine effect; and the hardy bulbous, and tuberous-rooted plants require but slight aid in producing the highest perfection of their bloom; while the fibrous-rooted perennials, and the flowering shrubs, bloom on from year to year, almost uncared for and untouched. The annuals require the most attention. Their seeds must be planted and gathered every year; they must be weeded and nursed with more care than the others; yet they richly repay all this trouble in their fresh bloom when the others are gone, and will carry their rich flowers far into the frosts of autumn, when their hardier companions have composed themselves for a winter's rest. The position of the flower-bed, or borders, may be various. As a matter of taste, however, they should be near the house, and in view of the windows of the most frequented rooms. They thus give more enjoyment in their sight, than when but occasionally seen in special visits; and such spots can usually be set apart for them. If not in the way of more important things, they should always be thus placed, where they are ever objects of interest and attraction. The ground which flowering plants occupy should be devoted to them alone, and the soil be made deep and rich. They should not be huddled up, nor crowded, but stand well apart, and have plenty of breathing-room for their branches and leaves, and space for the spread of their roots. They are consumers of the fertilizing gases, and require, equally with other plants, their due supply of manures--which also adds to the brilliance and size of their bloom, as well as to the growth of their stems. Their roots should be protected in winter by coarse litter thrown over them, particularly the earlier flowering plants, as it gives them an early and rapid start in the spring. In variety, we need scarcely recommend what may be most desirable. The crocus, and snowdrop are among (if not quite) the earliest in bloom; and to these follow the hyacinth, and daffodil, the jonquil, and many-varied family of Narcissus, the low-headed hearts-ease, or pansy; with them, too, comes the flowering-almond, the lilac, and another or two flowering shrubs. Then follow the tulips, in all their gorgeous and splendid variety of single, double, and fringed. To these follow the great peonies, in their full, dashing colors of crimson, white and pink, and the tree-like snow-ball, or guelder-rose. By the side of these hangs out the monthly-trumpet-honeysuckle, gracing the columns of your veranda, porch, or window, and the large Siberian honeysuckle, with its white and pink flowers; and along with them, the various Iris family, or fleur-de-lis, reminding one of France and the Bourbons, the Prussian lilac, and the early phloxes. Then blush out, in all their endless variety of shade and tint, from the purest white to the deepest purple, the whole vast family of roses; and in stature, from the humblest twig that leans its frail stem upon the ground, up to the hardy climber, whose delicious clusters hang over your chamber window; and a month of fragrance and beauty of these completes the succession of bulbs, and tubers, and perennial plants and shrubs--scores of which have not been noticed. Now commence the annuals, which may carry you a month further into the season, when the flaunting dahlia of every hue, and budding from its plant of every size, from the height of little Tommy, who is just toddling out with his mother to watch the first opening flower, up to the top of his father's hat, as he stands quite six feet, to hold the little fellow up to try to smell of another, which, like all the rest, has no sign of odor. Then come, after a long retinue of different things--among which we always count the morning-glory, or convolvulus, running up the kitchen windows,--the great sun-flower, which throws his broad disk high over the garden fence, always cheerful, and always glowing--the brilliant tribe of asters, rich, varied, and beautiful, running far into the autumnal frosts; and, to close our floral season, the chrysanthemum, which, well cared-for, blooms out in the open air, and, carefully taken up and boxed, will stay with us, in the house, till Christmas. Thus ends the blooming year. Now, if you would enjoy a pleasure perfectly pure, which has no alloy, save an occasional disappointment by casualty, and make home interesting beyond all other places, learn first to love, then to get, and next to cultivate flowers. FARM COTTAGES. Altogether too little attention has been paid in our country to these most useful appendages to the farm, both in their construction and appearance. Nothing adds more to the feeling of comfort, convenience, and _home_ expression in the farm, than the snug-built laborers' cottage upon it. The cottage also gives the farm an air of respectability and dignity. The laborer should, if not so sumptuously, be as comfortably housed and sheltered as his employer. This is quite as much to the interest of such employer as it is beneficial to the health and happiness of the laborer. Building is so cheap in America, that the difference in cost between a snugly-finished cottage, and a rickety, open tenement, is hardly to be taken into consideration, as compared with the higher health, and increased enjoyment of the laborer and his family; while every considerate employer knows that cheerfulness and contentment of disposition, which are perhaps more promoted by good home accommodations for the workingman than by any other influence, are strong incentives to increased labor on his part, and more fidelity in its application. A landed estate, of whatever extent, with its respectable farm house, in its own expressive style of construction, relieved and set off by its attendant cottages, either contiguous, or remote, and built in their proper character, leaves nothing wanting to fill the picture upon which one loves to gaze in the contemplation of country life; and without these last in due keeping with the chief structures of the estate, a blank is left in its completeness and finish. The little embellishments which may be given, by way of architectural arrangement, or the conveniences in accommodation, are, in almost all cases, appreciated by those who occupy them, and have an influence upon their character and conduct; while the trifling decorations which may be added in the way of shrubbery, trees, and flowering plants, costing little or nothing in their planting and keeping, give a charm to the humblest abode. The position of cottages on a farm should be controlled by considerations of convenience to the place of labor, and a proper economy in their construction; and hardly a site can be inappropriate which ensures these requirements. In the plans which are submitted, due attention has been paid to the comfort of those who inhabit them, as well as to picturesque effect in the cottage itself. Decency, order, and respectability are thus given to the estate, and to those who inhabit the cottages upon it, as well as to those whose more fortunate position in life has given the enjoyment of a higher luxury in the occupancy of its chief mansion. On all estates where the principal dwelling is located at any considerable distance from the public road, or where approached by a side road shut off from the highway by a gate, a small cottage, by way of lodge, or laborer's tenement, should be located at or near the entrance. Such appendage is not only ornamental in itself, but gives character to the place, and security to the enclosure; in guarding it from improper intrusion, as well as to receive and conduct into the premises those who either reside upon, or have business within it. It is thus a sort of sentry-box, as well as a laborer's residence. [Illustration: COTTAGE. Pages 211-212.] DESIGN I. This cottage is 10 feet high, from the sill to the plates, and may be built of wood, with a slight frame composed of sills and plates only, and planked up and down (vertically) and battened; or grooved and tongued, and matched close together; or it may be framed throughout with posts and studs, and covered with rough boards, and over these clapboards, and lathed and plastered inside. The first mode would be the cheapest, although not so warm and durable as the other, yet quite comfortable when warmed by a stove. On the second plan of building, it will cost near or quite double the amount of the first, if neatly painted. A small brick chimney should rest upon the floor overhead, in the side of which, at least a foot above the chamber floor, should be inserted an earthen or iron thimble, to receive the stovepipe and guard against fire; unless a flat stone, 14 to 16 inches square, and 2 to 4 inches thick, with a pipe-hole--which is the better plan--should rest on the floor immediately over the pipe. This stone should be, also, the foundation of the chimney, which should pass immediately up through the ridge of the roof, and, for effect, in the center longitudinally, of the house. Such position will not interfere with the location of the stove, which may be placed in any part of the room, the pipe reaching the chimney by one or more elbows. INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The main body of this cottage is 18�12 feet, with a lean-to, 8 feet wide, running its whole length in rear. This lean-to may be 8 or 9 inches lower, on the floor, than the main room, and divided into a passage, (leading to an open wood-house in rear, 10�12 feet, with a shed roof,) a large closet, and a bedroom, as may be required; or, the passage end may be left open at the side, for a wood shelter, or other useful purpose. The roof, which is raftered, boarded, and shingled in the usual mode, is well spread over the gables, as well as over the front and rear--say 18 inches. The porch in front will give additional convenience in summer, as a place to sit, or eat under, and its posts so fitted with grooves as to let in rough planks for winter enclosure in front and at one end, leaving the entrance only, at the least windy, or stormy side. The extra cost of such preparation, with the planks, which should be 1¼ or 1½ inches thick, and jointed, would not exceed ten or fifteen dollars. This would make an admirable wood-house for the winter, and a perfect snuggery for a small family. While in its summer dress, with the porch opened--the planks taken out and laid overhead, across the beams connecting the porch with the house--it would present an object of quiet comfort and beauty. A hop vine or honeysuckle might be trained outside the posts, and give it all the shade required. In a stony country, where the adjoining enclosures are of stone, this cottage may be built of stone, also, at about double the cost of wood. This would save the expense of paint, or wash of any kind, besides the greater character of durability and substance it would add to the establishment. Trees, of course, should shelter it; and any little out-buildings that may be required should be nestled under a screen of vines and shrubbery near by. This being designed as the humblest and cheapest kind of cottage, where the family occupy only a single room, the cost would be small. On the plan first named, stained with a coarse wash, it could be built for $100. On the second plan, well-framed of sills, plates, posts, studs, &c. &c., covered with vertical boarding and battens, or clapboarded, and well painted in oil, it might cost $150 to $200. Stone, or brick, without paint, would add but little, if anything in cost over the last sum. The ceiling of the main floor is 8 feet high, and a low chamber or garret is afforded above it, into which a swing-step ladder ascends; and when not in use, it may be hung to the ceiling overhead by a common hook and staples. DESIGN II. This cottage is a grade beyond the one just described, both in appearance and accommodation. It is 20�16 feet on the ground, with a rear wing 26�8 feet in area. The main body is 10 feet high, to the roof, vertically boarded and battened. A snug, half-open (or it may be closed, as convenience may require,) porch shelters the front door, 5�4 feet in area. The cottage has a square or hipped roof, of a 30° pitch from a horizontal line, which spreads full two feet over the walls and bracketed beneath. The rear wing retreats two feet from the wall line of the main building, and has also a hipped roof of the same pitch as the main one, with eight-feet posts. The open end of the wing advances 6 feet toward the front of the main part for wood-house and storage. The construction of this is in the same style as Design I. The windows are plain, two-sashed, of six lights each, 8�12 glass in front, and 8�10 in the rear. [Illustration: COTTAGE. Pages 217-218.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door opens into a common living room, 16�12 feet, with two windows, in which is a stove-chimney running up from the main floor next the partition, or placed over it in the chamber, and running up through the center of the roof. On one side of the living room is a bedroom, 10�8 feet, with two windows. Next to this bedroom is a large closet, 8�6 feet, with one window, and shelves, and tight cupboard within. These rooms are 9 feet high, and over them is a chamber, or garret, 20�16 feet, entered by a swing step ladder, as in Design No. I. This garret is lighted by a small dormer window in the rear roof, over the shed or lean-to. A bed may be located in this chamber, or it may serve as a storage and lumber-room. The wing contains a small kitchen, in case the living room be not occupied for that purpose, 10�8 feet, lighted by a side-window, and having a small chimney in the rear wall. It may contain, also, a small closet, 3 feet square. A door passes from this small kitchen into the wood-house, which is 16�8 feet, or with its advance L, 14 feet, in the extreme outer corner of which is a water-closet, 5�3 feet; thus, altogether, giving accommodation to a family of five or six persons. The construction of this cottage is shown as of wood. Other material, either brick or stone, may be used, as most convenient, at a not much increased cost. The expense of this building may be, say fifty per cent. higher than that of No. I, according to the finish, and may be sufficiently well done and painted complete for $300; which may be reduced or increased, according to the style of finish and the taste of the builder. A cellar may be made under this cottage, which can be reached by a trap-door from the living room, opening to a flight of steps below. DESIGN III. This cottage is still in advance of No. II, in style and arrangement, and may accommodate not only the farm laborer or gardener, but will serve for a small farmer himself, or a village mechanic. It is in the French style of roof, and allied to the Italian in its brackets, and gables, and half-terraced front. The body of the cottage is 22�20 feet, with twelve-feet posts; the roof has a pitch of 50° from a horizontal line, in its straight dimensions, curving horizontally toward the eaves, which, together with the gables, project 3 feet over the walls. The terrace in front is 5 feet wide. On the rear is a wood-house, 18�16 feet in area, open at the house end, and in front, with a roof in same style as the main house, and posts, 8 feet high, standing on the ground, 2 feet below the surface of the cellar wall, which supports the main building. [Illustration: COTTAGE. Pages 221-222.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door opens, in the center of the front wall, into a hall, 12�8 feet, with a flight of stairs on one side, leading to the chamber above; under the stairs, at the upper end, is a passage leading beneath them into the cellar. On one side of this hall is a bedroom 8�10 feet, lighted by a window in front, and part of the hooded double window on the side. On the inner side, a door leads from the hall into the living room or kitchen, 18�12 feet. On one side of this is a bedroom, or pantry, as may be most desirable, 9�6 feet, from which leads a close closet, 3 feet square. This bedroom has a window on one side, next the hall. A door from the kitchen leads into a closet, 3 feet wide, which may contain a sink, and cupboard for kitchen wares. The living room is lighted by a part of the double hooded window on one side, and another on the rear. A door leads into the wood-house, which is 12�16 feet, in the extreme corner of which is the water-closet, 5�3 feet. The rooms in this cottage are 9 feet high. A chimney leads up from the floor of the living room, which may receive, in addition to its own fireplace, or stove, a pipe from the stove in the hall, if one is placed there. The chamber has two feet of perpendicular wall, and the sharp roof gives opportunity for two good lodging rooms, which may be partitioned off as convenience may require, each lighted by a window in the gables, and a dormer one in the roof, for the passage leading into them. The hall may serve as a pleasant sitting or dining-room, in pleasant weather, opening, as it does, on to the terrace, which is mostly sheltered by the overhanging roof. The construction of this cottage may be of either stone, brick, or wood, and produce a fine effect. Although it has neither porch, nor veranda, the broad eaves and gables give it a well-sheltered appearance, and the hooded windows on the sides throw an air of protection over them, quite agreeable to the eye. The framing of this roof is no way different, in the rafters, from those made on straight lines, but the curve and projection is given by planks cut into proper shape, and spiked into the rafters, and apparently supported by the brackets below, which should be cut from two to three-inch plank, to give them a heavy and substantial appearance. The windows are in casement form, as shown in the design, but may be changed into the ordinary sash form, if preferred, which is, in this country, usually the better way. It will be observed, that we have in all cases adopted the usual square-sided form of glass for windows, as altogether more convenient and economical in building, simple in repairing, and, we think, quite as agreeable in appearance, as those out-of-the-way shapes frequently adopted to give a more picturesque effect. In a hilly, mountainous, and evergreen country, this style of cottage is peculiarly appropriate. It takes additional character from bold and picturesque scenery, with which it is in harmony. The pine, spruce, cedar, or hemlock, or the evergreen laurel, planted around or near it, will give it increased effect, while among deciduous trees and shrubs, an occasional Lombardy poplar, and larch, will harmonize with the boldness of its outline. Even where hill or mountain scenery is wanting, plantations such as have been named, would render it a pleasing style of cottage, and give agreeable effect to its bold, sharp roof and projecting eaves. In a snowy country, the plan of roof here presented is well adapted to the shedding of heavy snows, on which it can find no protracted lodgment. Where massive stone walls enclose the estate, this style of cottage will be in character, as comporting with that strong and solid air which the rustic appearance of stone alone can give. It may, too, receive the same amount of outer decoration, in its shrubbery and plantations, given to any other style of building of like accommodation, and with an equally agreeable effect. DESIGN IV. This cottage is still in advance of the last, in its accommodation, and is suitable for the small farmer, or the more liberal cottager, who requires wider room, and ampler conveniences than are allowed by the hitherto described structures. It is a first class dwelling, of its kind, and, in its details and finish, may be adapted to a variety of occupation, while it will afford a sufficient amount of expenditure to gratify a liberal outlay, to him who chooses to indulge his taste in a moderate extent of decoration and embellishment. The ground plan of this cottage is 30�22 feet, in light rural-Gothic style, one and a half stories high, the posts 14 feet in elevation. It has two chimneys, passing out through the roof on each side of the ridge, uniformly, each with the other. The roof has a pitch of 45° from a horizontal line, giving it a bold and rather dashing appearance, and deeply sheltering the walls. The side gables give variety to the roof, and light to the chambers, and add to the finish of its appearance; while the sharp arched double window in the front gable adds character to the design. [Illustration: COTTAGE. Pages 227-228.] The deep veranda in front covers three-quarters of its surface in length, and in the symmetry of its roof, and airiness of its columns, with their light braces, give it a style of completeness; and if creeping vines or climbing shrubs be trained upon them, will produce an effect altogether rural and beautiful. Or, if a rustic style of finish be adopted, to render it cheaper in construction, the effect may still be imposing, and in harmony with the purposes to which it is designed. In fact, this model will admit of a variety of choice in finish, from the plainest to a high degree of embellishment, as the ability or fancy of the builder may suggest. INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. From the veranda in the center of the front, a door opens into a hall, 17�7 feet, with a flight of stairs leading, in three different angles, to the chambers above. Opposite the front door is the passage into the living room, or parlor, 17�15 feet, lighted by three windows, two of which present an agreeable view of an adjacent stream and its opposite shores. At the line of partition from the hall, stands a chimney, with a fireplace, if desirable, or for a stove, to accommodate both this room and the hall with a like convenience; and under the flight of stairs adjoining opens a china closet, with spacious shelves, for the safe-keeping of household comforts. From this room, a door leads into a bedroom, 10�13 feet, lighted by a window opening into the veranda, also accommodated by a stove, which leads into a chimney at its inner partition. Next to this bedroom is the kitchen, 12�13 feet, accommodated with a chimney, where may be inserted an open fireplace, or a stove, as required. In this is a flight of back chamber and cellar stairs. This room is lighted by two windows--one in the side, another in the rear. A door leads from its rear into a large, roomy pantry, 8 feet square, situated in the wing, and lighted by a window. Next to this is a passage, 3 feet in width, leading to the wood-house, (in which the pantry just named is included,) 16�12 feet, with nine-feet posts, and roof pitched like the house, in the extreme corner of which is a water-closet, 5�3 feet. Cornering upon the wood-house beyond, is a small building, 15�12 feet, with ten-feet posts, and a roof in same style as the others--with convenience for a cow and a pig, with each a separate entrance. A flight of stairs leads to the hay-loft above the stables, in the gable of which is the hay-door; and under the stairs is the granary; and to these may be added, inside, a small accommodation for a choice stock of poultry. The chamber plan is the same as the lower floor, mainly, giving three good sleeping-rooms; that over the kitchen, being a _back_ chamber, need not have a separate passage into the upper hall, but may have a door passage into the principal chamber. The door to the front bedroom leads direct from the upper hall. Thus, accommodation is given to quite a numerous family. Closets may be placed in each of these chambers, if wanted; and the entire establishment made a most snug and compact, as well as commodious arrangement. COTTAGE OUTSIDE DECORATION. Nothing so perfectly sets off a cottage, in external appearance, as the presence of plants and shrubbery around it. A large tree or two, by giving an air of protection, is always in place; and creeping vines, and climbing shrubs about the windows and porch, are in true character; while a few low-headed trees, of various kinds, together with some simple and hardy annual and other flowers--to which should always be added, near by, a small, well-tended kitchen garden--fill up the picture. In the choice of what varieties should compose these ornaments, one can hardly be at a loss. Flanking the cottage, and near the kitchen garden, should be the fruit trees. The elm, maples, oak, and hickory, in all their varieties, black-walnut, butternut--the last all the better for its rich kernel--are every one appropriate for shade, as _large_ trees. The hop, morning-glory, running beans--all useful and ornamental as summer climbers; the clematis, bitter-sweet, ivy, any of the _climbing_ roses; the lilac, syringa, snow-ball, and the _standard_ roses; while marigolds, asters, pinks, the phloxes, peonies, and a few other of the thousand-and-one simple and charming annuals, biennials, and perennials, with now and then a gorgeous sunflower, flaunting in its broad glory, will fill up the catalogue. Rare and costly plants are not required, and indeed, are hardly in place in the grounds of an ordinary cottage, unless occupied by the professional gardener. They denote expense, which the laboring cottager cannot afford; and besides that, they detract from the simplicity of the life and purpose which not only the cottage itself, but everything around it, should express. There is an affectation of _cottage_ building, with some people who, with a seeming humility, really aim at higher flights of style in living within them, than truth of either design or purpose will admit. But as such cases are more among villagers, and those temporarily retiring from the city for summer residence, the farm cottage has little to do with it. Still, such fancies are contagious, and we have occasionally seen the ambitious cottage, with its covert expression of humility, insinuating itself on to the farm, and for the farmer's own family occupation, too, which at once spoiled, to the eye, the _substantial reality_ of the whole establishment. A farmer should discard all such things as _ornamental_ cottages. They do not belong to the farm. If he live in a cottage himself, it should be a _plain_ one; yet it may be very substantial and well finished--something showing that he means either to be content in it, in its character of plainness, or that he intends, at a future day, to build something better--when this may serve for the habitation of one of his laborers. The cottage should never occupy a principal, or prominent site on the farm. It should take a subordinate position of ground. This adds to its expression as subordinate in rank, among the lesser farm buildings. A cottage cannot, and should not aspire to be _chief_ in either position or character. Such should be the farm house proper; although unpretending, still, in style, above the cottage; and if the latter, in addition, be required on the farm, it should so appear, both in construction and finish; just what it is intended for--a tenement for economical purposes. There is another kind of cottage, the dwellers in which, these pages will probably never reach, that expresses, in its wild structure, and rude locality, the idea of Moore's pretty song-- "I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near." Yet, in some parts of our country, landlords may build such, for the accommodation of tenants, which they may make useful on the outskirts of their estates, and add indirectly to their own convenience and interest in so doing. This may be indulged in, _poetically_ too--for almost any thinking man has a spice of poetry in his composition--vagabondism, a strict, economizing utilitarian would call it. The name matters not. One may as well indulge his taste in this cheap sort of charitable expenditure, as another may indulge, in his dogs, and guns, his horses and equipages--and the first is far the cheapest. They, at the west and south, understand this, whose recreations are occasionally with their hounds, in chase of the deer, and the fox, and in their pursuit spend weeks of the fall and winter months, in which they are accompanied, and assisted, as boon companions for the time, by the rude tenants of the cottages we have described: "A cheerful, simple, honest people." Another class of cottage may come within the farm enclosures, half poetical, and half economical, such as Milton describes: "Hard by a cottage chimney smokes, From betwixt two aged oaks;" and occupied by a family pensioner and his infirm old wife--we don't think _all_ "poor old folks" ought to go to the alms-house, because they cannot work _every_ day of the year--of which all long-settled families of good estate have, now and then, one near to, or upon their premises. Thousands of kind and liberal hearts among our farming and planting brethren, whose impulses are-- "Open as the day to melting charity," are familiar with the wants of those who are thus made their dependents; and in their accommodation, an eye may be kept to the producing of an agreeable effect in locating their habitations, and to rudely embellish, rather than to mar the domain on which they may be lodged. In short, cottage architecture, in its proper character, may be made as effective, in all the ornament which it should give to the farm, as that of any other structure; and if those who have occasion for the cottage will only be content to build and maintain it as it should be, and leave off that perpetual aspiration after something unnatural, and foreign to its purpose, which so many cottage builders of the day attempt, and let it stand in its own humble, secluded character, they will save themselves a world of trouble, and pass for--what they now do not--men possessing a taste for truth and propriety in their endeavors. HOUSE AND COTTAGE FURNITURE. This is a subject so thoroughly discussed in the books, of late, that anything which may here be said, would avail but little, inasmuch as our opinions might be looked upon as "old-fashioned," "out of date," and "of no account whatever,"--for wonderfully modern notions in room-furnishing have crept into the farm house, as well as into town houses. Indeed, we confess to altogether ancient opinions in regard to household furniture, and contend, that, with a few exceptions, "modern degeneracy" has reached the utmost stretch of absurdity, in house-furnishing, to which the ingenuity of man can arrive. Fashions in furniture change about as often as the cut of a lady's dress, or the shape of her bonnet, and pretty much from the same source, too--the fancy shops of Paré, once, in good old English, Paris, the capital city of France. A farmer, rich or poor, may spend half his annual income, every year of his life, in taking down old, and putting up new furniture, and be kept uncomfortable all the time; when, if he will, after a quiet, good-tempered talk with his better-half, agree with her upon the list of _necessary_ articles to make them _really comfortable_; and then a catalogue of what shall comprise the _luxurious_ part of their furnishings, which, when provided, they will fixedly make up their mind to keep, and be content with, they will remain entirely free from one great source of "the ills which flesh is heir to." It is pleasant to see a young couple setting out in their housekeeping life, well provided with convenient and properly-selected furniture, appropriate to all the uses of the family; and then to keep, and use it, and enjoy it, like contented, sensible people; adding to it, now and then, as its wear, or the increasing wants of their family may require. Old, familiar things, to which we have long been accustomed, and habituated, make up a round share of our actual enjoyment. A family addicted to constant change in their household furniture, attached to nothing, content with nothing, and looking with anxiety to the next change of fashion which shall introduce something _new_ into the house, can take no sort of comfort, let their circumstances be ever so affluent. It is a kind of dissipation in which some otherwise worthy people are prone to indulge, but altogether pernicious in the indulgence. It detracts, also, from the apparent respectability of a family to find nothing _old_ about them--as if they themselves were of yesterday, and newly dusted out of a modern shop-keeper's stock in trade. The furniture of a house ought to look as though the family within it once had a grandfather--and as if old things had some veneration from those who had long enjoyed their service. We are not about to dictate, of what fashion household furniture should be, when selected, any further than that of a plain, substantial, and commodious fashion, and that it should comport, so far as those requirements in it will admit, with the approved modes of the day. But we are free to say, that in these times the extreme of absurdity, and unfitness for _use_, is more the fashion than anything else. What so useless as the modern French chairs, standing on legs like pipe-stems, _garote_-ing your back like a rheumatism, and frail as the legs of a spider beneath you, as you sit in it; and a tribe of equally worthless incumbrances, which absorb your money in their cost, and detract from your comfort, instead of adding to it, when you have got them; or a bedstead so high that you must have a ladder to climb into it, or so low as to scarcely keep you above the level of the floor, when lying on it. No; give us the substantial, the easy, the free, and enjoyable articles, and the rest may go to tickle the fancy of those who have a taste for them. Nor do these flashy furnishings add to one's rank in society, or to the good opinion of those whose consideration is most valuable. Look into the houses of those people who are the _really_ substantial, and worthy of the land. There will be found little of such frippery with them. Old furniture, well-preserved, useful in everything, mark the well-ordered arrangement of their rooms, and give an air of quietude, of comfort, and of hospitality to their apartments. Children cling to such objects in after life, as heir-looms of affection and parental regard. Although we decline to give specific directions about what varieties of furniture should constitute the furnishings of a house, or to illustrate its style or fashion by drawings, and content ourself with the single remark, that it should, in all cases, be strong, plain, and durable--no sham, nor ostentation about it--and such as is _made for use_: mere trinkets stuck about the room, on center tables, in corners, or on the mantel-piece, are the foolishest things imaginable. They are costly; they require a world of care, to keep them in condition; and then, with all this care, they are good for nothing, in any sensible use. We have frequently been into a country house, where we anticipated better things, and, on being introduced into the "parlor," actually found everything in the furniture line so dainty and "prinked up," that we were afraid to sit down on the frail things stuck around by way of seats, for fear of breaking them; and everything about it looked so gingerly and inhospitable, that we felt an absolute relief when we could fairly get out of it, and take a place by the wide old fireplace, in the common living room, comfortably ensconced in a good old easy, high-backed, split-bottomed chair--there was positive comfort in that, when in the "parlor" there was nothing but restraint and _dis_comfort. No; leave all this vanity to town-folk, who have nothing better--or who, at least, think they have--to amuse themselves with; it has no fitness for a country dwelling, whatever. All this kind of frippery smacks of the boarding school, the pirouette, and the dancing master, and is out of character for the farm, or the sensible retirement of the country. In connection with the subject of furniture, a remark may be made on the _room_ arrangement of the house, which might, perhaps, have been more fittingly made when discussing that subject, in the designs of our houses. Some people have a marvellous propensity for introducing into their houses a _suite_ of rooms, connected by wide folding-doors, which must always be opened into each other, furnished just alike, and devoted to extraordinary occasions; thus absolutely sinking the best rooms in the house, for display half a dozen times in the year, and at the sacrifice of the every-day comfort of the family. This is nothing but a bastard taste, of the most worthless kind, introduced from the city--the propriety of which, for city life, need not here be discussed. The presence of such arrangement, in a country house, is fatal to everything like domestic enjoyment, and always followed by great expense and inconvenience. No room, in any house, should be too good for occupation by the family themselves--not every-day, and common-place--but occupation at any and all times, when convenience or pleasure demand it. If a large room be required, let the single room itself be large; not sacrifice an extra room to the occasional extension of the choicer one, as in the use of folding-doors must be done. This "parlor" may be better furnished--and so it should be--than any other room in the house. Its carpet should be not too good to tread, or stand upon, or for the children to roll and tumble upon, provided their shoes and clothes be clean. Let the happy little fellows roll and tumble on it, to their heart's content, when their mother or elder sisters are with them--for it may be, perhaps, the most joyous, and most innocent pleasure of their lives, poor things! The hearth-rug should be in keeping with the carpet, also, and no floor-cloth should be necessary to cover it, for fear of soiling; but everything free and easy, with a comfortable, inviting, hospitable look about it. Go into the houses of our great men--such as live in the country--whom God made great, not money--and see how _they_ live. We speak not of statesmen and politicians alone, but great merchants, great scholars, great divines, great mechanics, and all men who, in mind and attainments, are head and shoulder above their class in any of the walks of life, and you find no starch, or flummery about them. We once went out to the country house--he lived there all the time, for that matter--of a distinguished banker of one of our great cities, to dine, and spend the day with him. He had a small farm attached to his dwelling, where he kept his horses and cows, his pigs, and his poultry. He had a large, plain two-story cottage house, with a piazza running on three sides of it, from which a beautiful view of the neighboring city, and water, and land, was seen in nearly all directions. He was an educated man. His father had been a statesman of distinguished ability and station at home, and a diplomatist abroad, and himself educated in the highest circles of business, and of society. His wife, too, was the daughter of a distinguished city merchant, quite his equal in all the accomplishments of life. His own wealth was competent; he was the manager of millions of the wealth of others; and his station in society was of the highest. Yet, with all this claim to pretension, his house did not cost him eight thousand dollars--and he built it by "days-work," too, so as to have it faithfully done; and the furniture in it, aside from library, paintings, and statuary, never cost him three thousand. Every room in it was a plain one, not more highly finished than many a farmer's house can afford. The furniture of every kind was plain, saving, perhaps, the old family plate, and such as he had added to it, which was all substantial, and made for use. The younger children--and of these, younger and older, he had several--we found happy, healthy, cheerful, and frolicking on the carpets; and their worthy mother, in the plainest, yet altogether appropriate garb, was sitting among them, at her family sewing, and kindly welcomed us as we took our seats in front of the open, glowing fireplace. "Why, sir," we exclaimed, rubbing our hands in the comfortable glow of warmth which the fire had given--for it was a cold December day--"you are quite plain, as well as wonderfully comfortable, in your country house--quite different from your former city residence!" "To be sure we are," was the reply; "we stood it as long as we could, amid the starch and the gimcracks of ---- street, where we rarely had a day to ourselves, and the children could never _go_ into the streets but they must be tagged and tasselled, in their dress, into all sorts of discomfort, merely for the sake of appearance. So, after standing it as long as we could, my wife and I determined we would try the country, for a while, and see what we could make of it. We kept our town-house, into which we returned for a winter or two; but gave it up for a permanent residence here, with which we are perfectly content. We see here all the friends we want to see; we all enjoy ourselves, and the children are healthy and happy." And this is but a specimen of thousands of families in the enjoyment of country life, including the families of men in the highest station, and possessed of sufficient wealth. Why, then, should the farmer ape the fashion, and the frivolity of the butterflies of town life, or permit his family to do it? It is the sheerest possible folly in him to do so. Yet, it is a folly into which many are imperceptibly gliding, and which, if not reformed, will ultimately lead to great discomfort to themselves, and ruin to their families. Let thoughtless people do as they choose. Pay no attention to their extravagance; but watch them for a dozen years, and see how they come out in their fashionable career; and observe the fate of their families, as they get "established" in the like kind of life. He who keeps aloof from such temptation, will then have no cause to regret that he has maintained his own steady course of living, and taught his sons and daughters that a due attention to their own comfort, with economical habits in everything relating to housekeeping, will be to their lasting benefit in future. But, we have said enough to convey the ideas in house-furnishing we would wish to impart; and the reader will do as he, or she, no doubt, would have done, had we not written a word about it--go and select such as may strike their own fancy. We received, a day or two since, a letter from a person at the west, entirely unknown to us, whose ideas so entirely correspond with our own, that we give it a place, as showing that a proper taste _does_ prevail among many people in this country, in regard to buildings, and house-furnishings; and which we trust he will pardon us for publishing, as according entirely with our own views, in conclusion: ----, ----, Ill., Dec. 18, 1851. DEAR SIR,--I received, a few days since, a copy of the first number of a periodical called the "Plough," into which is copied the elevation of a design for a farm house, purporting to be from a forthcoming work of yours, entitled "Rural Architecture." Although a perfect stranger to you, you will perhaps allow me to make one or two suggestions. I have seen no work yet, which seems fully to meet the wants of our country people in the matter of furniture. After having built their houses, they need showing how to furnish them in the cheapest, most neat, comfortable, convenient, and substantial manner. The furniture should be designed for use, not merely for show. I would have it plain, but not coarse--just enough for the utmost convenience, but nothing superfluous. The articles of furniture figured, and partially described in the late works on those subjects, are mostly of too elaborate and expensive a cast to be generally introduced into our country houses. There is too much _nabobery_ about them to meet the wants, or suit the taste of the plain American farmer. As to out-houses--the barn, stable, carriage and wagon-house, tool-house, piggery, poultry-house, corn-crib, and granary, (to say nothing of the "rabbit-warren" and "dovecote,")--are necessary appendages of the farm house. Now, as cheapness is one great desideratum with nearly all our new beginners in this western region, it seems to me, that such plans as will conveniently include the greatest number of these under the same roof, will be best suited to their necessities. I do not mean to be understood that, for the sake of the first cost, we should pay no regard to the appearance, or that we should slight our work, or suffer it to be constructed of flimsy or perishable materials: we should not only have an eye to taste and durability, but put in practice the most strict economy. I hope, in the above matters, you may be able to furnish something better suited to the necessities and means of our plain farmers, than has been done by any of your predecessors. I remain, &c., most respectfully yours, ----, ----. Having completed the series of Designs for dwelling houses, which we had proposed for this work, and followed them out with such remarks as were thought fitting to attend them, we now pass on to the second part of our subject: the out-buildings of the farm, in which are to be accommodated the domestic animals which make up a large item of its economy and management; together with other buildings which are necessary to complete its requirements. We trust that they will be found to be such as the occasion, and the wants of the farmer may demand; and in economy, accommodation, and extent, be serviceable to those for whose benefit they are designed. AN APIARY, OR BEE-HOUSE. Every farmer should keep bees--provided he have pasturage for them, on his own land, or if a proper range for their food and stores lie in his immediate vicinity. Bees are, beyond any other domestic _stock_, economical in their keeping, to their owners. Still they require care, and that of no inconsiderable kind, and skill, in their management, not understood by every one who attempts to rear them. They ask no food, they require no assistance, in gathering their daily stores, beyond that of proper housing in the cheapest description of tenement, and with that they are entirely content. Yet, without these, they are a contingent, and sometimes a troublesome appendage to the domestic stock of the farm. We call them _domestic_. In one sense they are so; in another, they are as wild and untamed as when buzzing and collecting their sweets in the vineyard of Timnath, where the mighty Sampson took their honey from the carcass of the dead lion; or, as when John the Baptist, clothed with camel's hair, ate "locusts and wild honey" in the arid wastes of Palestine. Although kept in partial bondage for six thousand years, the ruling propensity of the bee is to seek a home and shelter in the forest, when it emerges in a swarm from the parent hive; and no amount of domestic accommodation, or kindness of treatment, will induce it willingly to migrate from its nursery habitation to another by its side, although provided with the choicest comforts to invite its entrance. It will soon fly to the woods, enter a hollow and dilapidated tree, and carve out for itself its future fortunes, amid a world of labor and apparent discomfort. The bee, too, barring its industry, patience, and sweetened labors, is an arrant thief--robbing its nearest neighbors, with impunity, when the strongest, and mercilessly slaughtering its weaker brethren, when standing in the way of its rapacity. It has been extolled for its ingenuity, its patience, its industry, its perseverance, and its virtue. Patience, industry, and perseverance it has, beyond a doubt, and in a wonderful degree; but ingenuity, and virtue, it has none, more than the spider, who spins his worthless web, or the wasp, who stings you when disturbing his labors. Instinct, the bee has, like all animals; but of kind feeling, and gratitude, it has nothing; and with all our vivid nursery remembrance of good Doctor Watts' charming little hymn-- "How doth the little busy bee," &c. &c., we have long ago set it down as incorrigible to kind treatment, or charitable sympathy, and looked upon it simply as a thing to be treated kindly for the sake of its labors, and as composing one of that delightful family of domestic objects which make our homes attractive, pleasant, and profitable. The active labors of the bee, in a bright May or June morning, as they fly, in their busy order, back and forth from their hives, or the soothing hum of their playful hours, in a summer's afternoon, are among the most delightful associations of rural life; and as a luxury to the sight, and the ear, they should be associated with every farmer's home, and with every laborer's cottage, when practicable. And as their due accommodation is to be the object of our present writing, a plan is presented for that object. In many of the modern structures held out for imitation, the bee-house, or apiary, is an expensive, pretentious affair, got up in an ambitious way, with efforts at style, in the semblance of a temple, a pagoda, or other absurdity, the very appearance of which frightens the simple bee from its propriety, and in which we never yet knew a colony of them to become, and remain successful. The insect is, as we have observed, wild and untamable--a savage in its habits, and rude in its temper. It rejects all cultivated appearances, and seeks only its own temporary convenience, together with comfortable room for its stores, and the increase of its kind; and therefore, the more rustic and simple its habitation, the better is it pleased with its position. [Illustration: APIARY.] The bee-house should front upon a sheltered and sunny aspect. It should be near the ground, in a clean and quiet spot, free from the intrusion of other creatures, either human or profane, and undisturbed by noisome smells, and uncouth sounds--for it loathes all these instinctively, and loves nothing so much as the wild beauty of nature itself. The plan here presented is of the plainest and least expensive kind. Nine posts, or crutches, are set into the ground sufficiently deep to hold them firm, and to secure them from heaving out by the frost. The distance of these posts apart may be according to the size of the building, and to give it strength enough to resist the action of the wind. The front posts should be 9 feet high, above the ground; the rear posts should be 7 feet--that a man, with his hat on, may stand upright under them--and 6 feet from the front line. The two end posts directly in the rear of the front corner posts, should be 3 feet back from them, and on a line to accommodate the pitch of the roof from the front to the rear. A light plate is to be fitted on the top line of the front posts; a plate at each end should run back to the posts in rear, and then another cross-plate, or girt, from each one of these middle posts, to the post in rear of all, to meet the plate which surmounts this rear line of posts; and a parallel plate, or rafter, should be laid from the two intermediate posts at the ends, to connect them, and for a central support to the roof. Intermediate central posts should also be placed opposite those in front, to support the central plate, and not exceeding 12 feet apart. A shed roof, of boards, or shingles, tightly laid, should cover the whole, sufficiently projecting over the front, rear, and sides, to give the house abundant shelter, and make it architecturally agreeable to the eye--say 12 to 18 inches, according to its extent. A corner board should drop two feet below the plate, with such finish, by way of ornament, as may be desirable. The ends should be tightly boarded up against the weather, from bottom to top. The rear should also be tightly boarded, from the bottom up to a level with the stand inside, for the hives, and from 15 to 18 inches above that to the roof. Fitted into the space thus left in the rear, should be a light, though substantial, swing door, hung from the upper boarding, made in sections, extending from one post to the other, as the size of the house may determine, and secured with hooks, or buttons, as may be convenient. The outside of the structure is thus completed. The inside arrangement for the hives, may be made in two different ways, as the choice of the apiarian may govern in the mode in which his hives are secured. The most usual is the _stand_ method, which may be made thus: At each angle, equidistant, say 18 to 24 inches, inside, from the rear side and ends of the building--as shown in the ground plan--and opposite to each rear and end post, suspend perpendicularly a line of stout pieces of two-inch plank, 4 inches wide, well spiked on to the rafters above, reaching down within two feet of the ground--which is to hold up the bottom of the stand on which the hives are to rest. From each bottom end of these suspended strips, secure another piece of like thickness and width, horizontally back to the post in rear of it, at the side and ends. Then, lengthwise the building, and turning the angles at the ends, and resting on these horizontal pieces just described, lay other strips, 3�2 inches, set edgewise--one in front, and another in rear, inside each post and suspended strip, and close to it, and secured by heavy nails, so that there shall be a double line of these strips on a level, extending entirely around the interior, from the front at each end. This forms the hanging frame-work for the planks or boards on which the hives are to rest. Now for the hives. First, let as many pieces of sound one and a half, or two-inch plank as you have hives to set upon them, be cut long enough to reach from the boarding on the rear and ends of the building, to one inch beyond, and projecting over the front of the outer strip last described. Let these pieces of plank be well and smoothly planed, and laid lengthwise across the aforesaid strips, not less than four inches apart from each other--if a less number of hives be in the building than it will accommodate at four inches apart, no matter how far apart they may be--these pieces of plank are the _ferms_ for the hives, on which they are to sit. And, as we have for many years adopted the plan now described, with entire success, a brief description is given of our mode of hive, and the process for obtaining the surplus honey. We say surplus, for destroying the bees to obtain their honey, is a mode not at all according to our notions of economy, or mercy; and we prefer to take that honey only which the swarm may make, after supplying their own wants, and the stores for their increasing family. This process is given in the report of a committee of gentlemen appointed by the New York State Agricultural Society, on a hive which we exhibited on that occasion, with the following note attached, at their show at Buffalo, in 1848: "I have seen, examined, and used several different plans of _patent_ hive, of which there are probably thirty invented, and used, more or less. I have found all which I have ever seen, unsatisfactory, not carrying out in full, the benefits claimed for them. "The bee works, and lives, I believe, solely by instinct. I do not consider it an inventive, or very ingenious insect. To succeed well, its accommodations should be of the _simplest_ and _securest_ form. Therefore, instead of adopting the complicated plans of many of the patent hives, I have made, and used a simple box, like that now before you, containing a cube of one foot square _inside_--made of one and a quarter inch sound pine plank, well jointed and planed on all sides, and put together perfectly tight at the joints, with white lead ground in oil, and the inside of the hive at the bottom champered off to three-eighths of an inch thick, with a door for the bees in front, of four inches long by three-eighths of an inch high. I do this, that there may be a thin surface to come in contact with the shelf on which they rest, thus preventing a harbor for the bee-moth. (I have never used a patent hive which would exclude the bee-moth, nor any one which would so well do it as this, having never been troubled with that scourge since I used this tight hive.) On the top of the hive, an inch or two from the front, is made a passage for the bees, of an inch wide, and six to eight inches long, to admit the bees into an upper hive for surplus honey, (which passage is covered, when no vessel for that purpose is on the top.) For obtaining the honey, I use a common ten or twelve-quart water pail, inverted, with the bail turned over, in which the bees deposit their surplus, like the sample before you. The pail will hold about twenty pounds of honey. This is simple, cheap, and expeditious; the pail costing not exceeding twenty-five cents, is taken off in a moment, the bail replaced, and the honey ready for transportation, or market, and _always in place_. If there is time for more honey to be made, (my bees made two pails-full in succession this year,) another pail can be put on at once. "Such, gentlemen, in short, is my method. I have kept bees about twenty years. I succeed better on this plan than with any other." In addition to this, our hives are painted white, or other light color, on the outside, to protect them from warping, and as a further security against the bee-moth, or miller, which infests and destroys so many carelessly-made hives, as to discourage the efforts of equally careless people in keeping them. Inside the hive, on each end, we fasten, by shingle nails, about half-way between the bottom and top, a small piece of half-inch board, about the size of a common window button, and with a like notch in it, set upward, but stationary, on which, when the hive is to receive the swarm, a stick is laid across, to support the comb as it is built, from falling in hot weather. At such time, also, when new, and used for the first time, the under-side of the top is scratched with the tines of a table fork, or a nail, so as to make a rough surface, to which the new comb can be fastened. In addition to the pails on the top of the hives, to receive the surplus honey, we sometimes use a flat box, the size of the hive in diameter, and six or seven inches high _inside_, which will hold twenty-five to thirty pounds of honey. The pails we adopted as an article of greater convenience for transporting the honey. The other plan of arranging the hives alluded to, is suspending them between the strips before described, by means of _cleats_ secured on to the front and rear sides of the hive, say two-thirds the way up from the bottom. In such case, the strips running lengthwise the house must be brought near enough together to receive the hives as hung by the _cleats_, and the bottom boards, or forms, must be much smaller than those already described, and hung with wire hooks and staples to the sides, with a button on the rear, to close up, or let them down a sufficient distance to admit the air to pass freely across them, and up into the hive--Weeks' plan, in fact, for which he has a patent, together with some other fancied improvements, such as chambers to receive the boxes for the deposit of surplus honey. This, by the way, is the best "patent" we have seen; and Mr. Weeks having written an ingenious and excellent treatise on the treatment of the bee, we freely recommend his book to the attention of every apiarian who wishes to succeed in their management. As a rule, we have no confidence in _patent_ hives. We have seen scores of them, of different kinds, have tried several of great pretension to sundry virtues--such as excluding moths, and other marvelous benefits--and, after becoming the victim of bee empirics to the tune of many a dollar, have thrown aside the gimcracks, and taken again to a common-sense method of keeping our bees, as here described. The bees themselves, we feel bound to say, seem to hold these patent-right habitations in quite as sovereign contempt as ourself, reluctantly going into them, and getting out of them at the first safe opportunity. But, as a treatise on bee-keeping is not a part of this present work, we must, for further information, commend the inquirer on that subject to some of the valuable treatises extant, on so prolific a subject, among which we name those of Bevan, Weeks, and Miner. The bee-house should be thoroughly whitewashed _inside_ every spring, and kept clean of cobwebs, wasp's nests, and vermin; and it may be painted outside, a soft and agreeable color, in keeping with the other buildings of the farm. Its premises should be clean, and sweet. The grass around should be kept mowed close. Low trees, or shrubbery, should stand within a few yards of it, that the new swarms may light upon them when coming out, and not, for want of such settling places, be liable to loss from flying away. It should, also, be within sight and hearing, and at no great distance from a continually-frequented room in the dwelling--perhaps the kitchen, if convenient, that, in their swarming season, they may be secured as they leave the parent hive. The apiary is a beautiful object, with its busy tenantry; and to the invalid, or one who loves to look upon God's tiny creatures, it may while away many an agreeable hour, in watching their labors--thus adding pleasure to profit. The cost of a bee-house, on the plan given, may be from ten to fifty dollars, according to the price of material, and the amount of labor expended upon it. It should not be an expensive structure, in any event, as its purpose does not warrant it. If a gimcrack affair be wanted, for the purposes of ornament, or expense, any sum of money may be squandered upon it which the fancy of its builder may choose to spare. AN ICE-HOUSE. Among the useful and convenient appendages to the farm and country family establishment, is the ice-house. Different from the general opinion which prevailed in our country before ice became so important an article of commerce, and of home consumption, the building which contains it should stand above-ground, instead of below it. And the plainer and more simple it can be constructed, the better. The position of the ice-house may be that which is most convenient to the dwelling, or to the wants of those who use it. If it can be placed beneath the shade of trees, it will so far be relieved from the influence of the sun; but it should be so constructed that sunshine will not affect the ice within it, even if it stand unsheltered; and as it has, by the ice-merchants of our eastern cities, who put up large quantities for exportation abroad, and others in the interior, who furnish ice in quantity for home consumption, been proved to be altogether the better plan to build the ice-house entirely above ground, we shall present no other mode of construction than this. It may be added, that five years' experience with one of our own building, has confirmed our opinion of the superiority of this over any other plan which may be adopted. The design here presented is of the most economical kind, yet sufficiently ornamental to make it an agreeable appendage to any family establishment. The size may be 12 feet square--less than that would be too small for keeping ice well--and from that up to any required extent. The idea here given is simply the _principle_ of construction. The posts should be full eight feet high above the ground, to where the plate of the roof is attached, and built thus: [Illustration: ICE-HOUSE.] Mark out your ground the size you require for the house; then, commencing at one corner, dig, opposite each other, a double set of holes, one foot deep, and two and a half feet apart, on each side of the intended building, say three feet equidistant, so that when the posts stand up they will present a double set, one and a half feet apart. Then set in your posts, which should be of oak, chestnut, or some lasting wood, and pack the earth firmly around them. If the posts are sawed, they may be 4�6 inches in size, set edgeways toward each other. If not sawed, they may be round sticks cut from the woods, or split from the body of a tree, quartered--but sizable, so as to appear decent--and the insides facing each other as they stand up, lined to a surface to receive the planking. Of course, when the posts are set in the ground, they are to show a square form, or skeleton of what the building is to be when completed. When this is done, square off the top of each post to a level, all round; then frame, or spike on to each line of posts a plate, say six inches wide, and four to six inches deep, and stay the two plates together strongly, so as to form a double frame. Now, plank, or board up closely the _inside_ of each line of posts, that the space between them shall be a fair surface. Cut out, or leave out a space for a door in the center of the side where you want it, two and a half or three feet wide, and six and a half feet high, and board up the inner partition sides of this opening, so as to form a door-casing on each side, that the space between the two lines of posts may be a continuous box all around. Then fill up this space between the posts with moist tan-bark, or saw-dust, well packed from the ground up to the plates; and the body of the house is inclosed, sun-proof, and air-proof, to guard the ice. Now lay down, inside the building, some sticks--not much matter what, so that they be level--and on them lay loose planks or boards, for a floor. Cover this floor with a coating of straw, a foot thick, and it is ready to receive the ice. For the roof, take common 3�4 joists, as rafters; or, in place of them, poles from the woods, long enough, in a pitch of full 35° from a horizontal line, to carry the roof at least four feet over the outside of the plates, and secure the rafters well, by pins or spikes, to them. Then board over and shingle it, leaving a small aperture at the top, through which run a small pipe, say eight inches in diameter--a stove-crock will do--for a ventilator. Then set in, 4 little posts, say two feet high--as in the design--throw a little four-sided, pointed cap on to the top of these posts, and the roof is done. If you want to ornament the under side of the roof, in a rude way--and we would advise it--take some pieces of 3�4 scantling, such as were used for the roof, if the posts are of sawed stuff--if not, rough limbs of trees from the woods, to match the rough posts of the same kind, and fasten them to the posts and the under side of the roof, by way of brackets, as shown in the design. When the ice is put into the house, a close floor of boards should be laid on joists, which rest on the plates, loosely, so that this floor can be removed when putting in ice, and that covered five or six inches deep with tan, or saw-dust--straw will do, if the other can not be had--and the inside arrangement is complete. Two doors should be attached to the opening, where the ice is put in and taken out; one on the inner side of the lining, and the other on the outer side, both opening out. Tan, saw-dust, or straw should also be placed on the top of the ice, when put in, so as to keep the air from it as much as possible; and as the ice is removed, it will settle down upon, and still preserve it. Care must be taken to have a drain under the floor of the house, to pass off the water which melts from the ice, as it would, if standing there, injure its keeping. It will be seen, that, by an error in the cut of the ground plan, the inside line of posts does not show, as in the outer line, which they should do; nor is the outside door inserted, as is shown in the elevation. These defects, however, will be rectified by the builder. We have given considerable thought to this subject, and can devise no shape to the building more appropriate than this, nor one cheaper in construction. It may be built for fifty to a hundred dollars, according to the cost of material and labor, and the degree of finish given to it. It is hardly worth while to expatiate upon the convenience and economy of an ice-house, to an American. Those who love well-kept meats, fruits, butter, milk, and various etceteras for the table, understand its utility well; to say nothing of the cooling draughts, in the way of drinks, in hot weather, to which it adds--when not taken to extremes--such positive luxury. We commend the ice-house, _well-filled_, most heartily, to every good country housekeeper, as a matter of convenience, economy, and luxury, adding next to nothing to the living expenses, and, as an appendage to the main buildings, an item of little cost, and a considerable degree of ornament. If an under-ground ice-house be preferred to the plan here shown, a side hill, or bank, with a northerly exposure, is the best location for it; and the manner of building should be mainly like this, for the body of the house. The roof, however, should be only two-sided, and the door for putting in and taking out the ice may be in the gable, on the ground level. The drainage under the floor, and precautions for keeping the ice, should be quite as thorough as we have described; as, otherwise, the earth surrounding it on three sides, at least, of the house, will be a ready conductor of warmth, and melt the ice with great rapidity. If the under-ground plan is adopted, but little more than the roof will show, and of course, be of little ornament in the way of appearance. THE ASH-HOUSE AND SMOKE-HOUSE. These two objects may, both for convenience and economy, be well combined under one roof; and we have thus placed them in connection. The building is an exceedingly simple structure, made of stone, or brick; the body 10 feet high, and of such size as may be desirable, with a simple roof, and a plain, hooded chimney. [Illustration: ASH HOUSE AND SMOKE HOUSE.] In the ground plan will be seen a brick, or stone partition--which may extend to such height as may be necessary to contain the bulk of ashes required for storage within it--on one side of the building, to which a door gives access. The opposite side, and overhead, is devoted to the smoke-house, in which the various girts and hooks may be placed, for sustaining the meats to be smoked. The building should be tied together by joists at the plates, properly anchored into the walls, to prevent their spreading. A stove, or pans, or neither, as the method of keeping the smoke alive may govern, can be placed inside, to which the chimney in the roof may serve as a partial escape, or not, as required. The whole process is so simple, and so easily understood, that further explanation is unnecessary. A great advantage that a house of this construction has, is the convenience of storing the smoked meats for an indefinite time, even through the whole season, keeping them dark, dry, and cool; and permitting, at any time, a smoke to be made, to drive out the flies, if they find their way into it. The ashes can, of course, be removed at any time, by the door at which they are thrown in. THE POULTRY-HOUSE. As poultry is an indispensable appendage to the farm, in all cases, the poultry-house is equally indispensable, for their accommodation, and for the most profitable management of the fowls themselves, and most convenient for the production of their eggs and young. Indeed, without well-arranged quarters for the fowls of the farm, they are exceedingly troublesome, and of doubtful profit; but with the proper buildings devoted to them exclusively, they become one of the most interesting and agreeable objects with which either the farm or the country house is associated. It is hardly worth while to eulogize poultry. Their merits and virtues are written in the hearts of all provident housekeepers; and their beauty and goodness are familiar to every son and daughter of the rural homestead. We shall, then, proceed at once to discuss their proper accommodation, in the cheapest and most familiar method with which we are acquainted. The hen-house--for hens (barn-door fowls, we mean) are the first and chief stock, of the kind, to be provided for, and with them most of the other varieties can be associated--should be located in a warm, sheltered, and sunny place, with abundant grounds about it, where they can graze--hens eat grass--and scratch, and enjoy themselves to their heart's content, in all seasons, when the ground is open and they _can_ scratch into, or range over its surface. Some people--indeed, a good many people--picket in their gardens, to keep hens _out_; but we prefer an enclosure to keep the hens _in_, at all seasons when they are troublesome, which, after all, is only during short seasons of the year, when seeds are planted, or sown, and grain and vegetables are ripening. Otherwise, they may range at will, on the farm, doing good in their destruction of insects, and deriving much enjoyment to themselves; for hens, on the whole, are happy things. [Illustration: POULTRY LAWN.] We here present the elevation of a poultry-house in perspective, to show the _principle_ which we would adopt in its construction, and which may be extended to any required length, and to which may be added any given area of ground, or yard-room, which the circumstances of the proprietor may devote to it. It is, as will be seen, of a most rustic appearance, and built as cheaply, yet thoroughly, as the subject may require. Its length, we will say, is 20 feet, its breadth 16, and its height 10 feet, made of posts set into the ground--for we do not like sills, and floors of wood, because rats are apt to burrow under them, which are their worst enemies--and boarded up, either inside or outside, as in the case of the ice-house previously described, though not double. Plates are laid on these posts, to connect them firmly together; and the rafters rest on the plates, as usual. The chamber floor is 9 feet high, above the ground, and may be used either for laying purposes by the fowls, or reserved as a storage-room for their feed. The roof is broadly drawn over the body of the building, to shelter it, and through the point of the roof, in the center, is a ventilator, with a covered top, and a vane significant of its purpose. It is also sufficiently lighted, with glass windows, into which our draughtsman has put the diamond-paned glass, contrary to our notions; but, as he had, no doubt, an eye to the "picturesque," we let it pass, only remarking, that if we were building the house on our own account, there should be no such nonsense about it. The front windows are large, to attract the warmth of the winter's sun. A section of picket fence is also attached, and trees in the rear--both of which are necessary to a complete establishment; the first, to secure the poultry in the contiguous yards, and the trees to give them shade, and even roosting-places, if they prefer such lodgings in warm weather--for which we consider them eminently wholesome. The wooden floor is dispensed with, as was remarked, to keep rid of the vermin. If the ground be gravelly, or sandy, it will be sufficiently dry. If a heavy or damp soil be used, it should be under-drained, which will effectually dry it, and be better for the fowls than a floor of either wood, brick, or stone. Doors of sufficient size can be made on the yard sides of the house, near the ground, for the poultry to enter either the living or roosting apartments, at pleasure, and hung with butts on the upper side, to be closed when necessary. INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door opens into the main living room. At each end, and in the rear, are tiers of boxes, one foot wide, one and a half feet long, and one and a half feet high--the lowest tier elevated two feet above the ground--and built one tier above the other, and snugly partitioned between, with a hole at one corner of each, ten inches high, and eight inches wide, for passing in to them; and a shelf, or passage-board, nine inches wide, in front. These are the nesting boxes, and should be kept supplied with short, soft straw, or hay orts, for that purpose. Hens love secrecy in their domestic economy, and are wonderfully pleased with the opportunity to hide away, and conceal themselves while laying. Indeed, such concealment, or the supposition of it, we have no doubt promotes fecundity, as it is well known that a hen _can_ stop laying, almost at pleasure, when disturbed in her regular habits and settled plans of life. Burns says-- "The best laid schemes of _mice_ and _men_ Gang aft agley;" and why not hen's? We think so. If turkeys be kept in the premises, the females can also be accommodated in these boxes, as they are fond of laying in company with the hens, and frequently in the same nests, only that they require larger entrances into them; or, a tier of boxes may be made on the ground, for their convenience. A door leads from the rear of this room into the roosting apartment, through which is a passage to the back side of the building, and a door opposite, leading out into the yard. On each side of this passage are roosts, rising, each behind and above the other, 18 inches apart. The lowest roosts may be three feet from the ground, and the highest six feet, that they may easily fly from one to the other; and in this way they may all be approached, to catch the fowls, when required. For the roosts, slender poles, two to three inches in diameter--small trees, cut from the woods, with the bark on, are the best--may be used; and they should be secured through augur holes in board slats suspended from the floor joists overhead. This apartment should be cleaned out as often as once a fortnight, both for cleanliness and health--for fowls like to be clean, and to have pure air. A flight of stairs may be made in one corner of the front room, to go into the chamber, if preferred; but a swing ladder, hung by one end, with hinges, to the joists above, is, for such purpose, a more cleanly mode of access; which, when not in use, may be hooked up to the under side of the floor above; and a trap door, shutting into the chamber floor, and also hung on hinges, will accommodate the entrance. For feeding troughs, we have seen many ingenious contrivances, and among them, possibly, a Yankee patent, or two; but all these we put aside, as of little account. A common segar box, or any other cast-off thing, that will hold their food, is just as good as the most complicated invention; and, in common feeding, there is no better mode than to scatter abroad their corn, and let them pick it up at their pleasure--when spread on a clean surface. We think, also, that, except for fattening poultry, stated hours of feeding are best for the birds themselves, and that they be fed only such quantity as they will pick up clean. Water should, if possible, be kept constantly by them; and if a small running stream could pass through the yard, all the better. If it be desirable to have fresh eggs during winter--and that is certainly a convenience--a box stove may be set in the living room, and properly protected by a grating around it, for warming the living apartment. It may be remarked, however, that this winter-laying of hens is usually a _forcing_ business. A hen will lay but about a given number of eggs in a year; say a hundred--we believe this is about the number which the most observant of poultry-keepers allow them--and what she lays in winter must be subtracted from the number she would otherwise lay in the spring, summer, or autumn. Yet a warm house will, laying, aside, keep the fowls with less food, and in greater comfort, than if cold, and left to their own natural warmth. There is usually little difficulty in keeping hens, turkies, ducks, and geese together, in the same inclosure, during winter and early spring, before the grass grows. But geese and turkies require greater range during the warm season than the others, and should have it, both for convenience to themselves and profit to their owners. For winter quarters, low shelters may be made for the water-fowls in the yards, and the turkies will frequently prefer to share the shelter of the hens, on the roosts in the house. Guinea-hens--cruel, vindictive things, as they are--should never be allowed within a common poultry yard. Always quarrelsome, and never quiet, they should take to the farmyard, with the cattle, where they may range at will, and take their amusement in fisticuffs with each other, at pleasure. Neither should peacocks be allowed to come into the poultry inclosures, during the breeding season; they are anything but amiable in their manners to other birds. With the care and management of the poultry department, after thus providing for their accommodation, it is not our province to interfere; that is a subject too generally understood, to require further remark. Nor need we discuss the many varieties of poultry which, at the present time, so arrest the attention of many of our good country people; and we will leave so important a subject to the meditations of the "New England Poultry Society," who have taken the gallinaceous, and other tribes under their special cognizance, and will, doubtless, in due time, illumine the world with various knowledge in this department of rural economy, not yet "dreamt of in our philosophy." The recently published poultry books, too, with an amplitude and particularity in the discussion of the different breeds and varieties, which shuts all suspicions of _self-interest_ into the corner, have given such a fund of information on the subject, that any further inquiry may, with entire good will, be turned over to their pages. THE DOVECOTE. This is a department, in itself, not common among the farm buildings, in the United States; and for the reason, probably, that the domestic pigeon, or house-dove, is usually kept more for amusement than for profit--there being little actual profit about them--and is readily accommodated in the spare lofts of sheds and out-buildings devoted to other purposes. Pigeons, however, add to the variety and interest of the poultry department; and as there are many different breeds of them, they are general favorites with the juveniles of the family. Our present object is, not to propose any distinct building for pigeon accommodation; but to give them a location in other buildings, where they will be conveniently provided with room, and least annoying by their presence--for, be it known, they are oft-times a most serious annoyance to many crops of the farm, when kept in any considerable numbers, as well as in the waste and havoc they make in the stores of the barns and granaries. Although graceful and beautiful birds, generally clean and tidy in their personal habits out of doors, they are the filthiest housekeepers imaginable, and no building can be especially devoted to their use, if not often swept and cleaned, but what will soon become an intolerable nuisance within, and not much better without, and the ground immediately around the premises a dirty place. The common pigeon is a pugnacious cavalier, warring apparently upon mere punctilio, as we have often seen, in the distant strut-and-coo of a stranger bird to his mate, even if she be the very incarnation of "rejected addresses." On all these accounts, we would locate--unless a small and select family of fancy birds, perhaps--the pigeon stock at the principal farm-yard, and in the lofts of the cattle sheds, or the chambers of the stable. Wherever the pigeon accommodations are designed to be, a close partition should separate their quarters from the room occupied for other purposes, with doors for admission to those who have to do with them, in cleaning their premises, or to take the birds, when needed. A line of holes, five inches high, and four inches wide--the top of the hole slightly arched--should be made, say 18 inches apart, for the distance of room they are to occupy in the building. A foot above the top of these, another line may be made; and so on, tiering them up to the height intended to devote to them. A line of shelves, or lighting-boards, six to eight inches wide, should then be placed one inch below the bottom of these holes, and firmly braced beneath, and nailed to the weather-boarding of the house. Inside, a range of box should be made, of corresponding length with the line of holes, to embrace every entrance from the outside, 18 inches wide, and partitioned equidistant between each entrance, so as to give a square box of 18 inches to each pair of birds. The bottom board of each ascending tier of boxes will, of course, be the top of the boxes below, and these must be made _perfectly tight_, to prevent the offal of the upper ones from falling through, to the annoyance of their neighbors below. The back of these boxes should have a line of swing doors, hung with butts, or hinges, from the top, and fastened with buttons, or hooks, at the bottom, to allow admission, or examination, at any time, to those who have the care of them. This plan of door is indispensable, to clean them out--which should be done as often as once a week, or fortnight, at farthest--and to secure the birds as they may be wanted for the table, or other purposes--for it will be recollected that squabs, just feathered out, are considered a delicious dish, at the most sumptuous tables. It will be understood, that these boxes above described, are within a partitioned room, with a floor, in their rear, with sufficient space for the person in charge of them to pass along, and to hold the baskets, or whatever is to receive the offal of their boxes, as it is taken out. This offal is valuable, as a highly stimulating manure, and is sought for by the morocco tanners, at a high price--frequently at twenty-five cents a bushel. As pigeons are prolific breeders, laying and hatching six or seven times a year, and in warm climates oftener, they require a good supply of litter--short cut, soft straw is the best--which should be freely supplied at every new incubation, and the old litter removed. The boxes, too, should be in a warm place, snugly made, and well sheltered from the wind and driving storms; for pigeons, although hardy birds when grown, should be well protected while young. The common food of the pigeon is grain, of almost any kind, and worms, and other insects, which they pick up in the field. On the whole, they are a pleasant bird, when they can be conveniently kept, and are worth the trifling cost that their proper housing may demand. If our opinion were asked, as to the best, and least troublesome kind of pigeon to be kept, we should say, the finest and most hardy of the common kind, which are usually found in the collections throughout the country. But there are many _fancy_ breeds--such as the fan-tail, the powter, the tumbler, the ruffler, and perhaps another variety or two--all pretty birds, and each distinct in their appearance, and in some of their domestic habits. The most beautiful of the pigeon kind, however, is the Carrier. They are the very perfection of grace, and symmetry, and beauty. Their colors are always brilliant and changing, and in their flight they cleave the air with a rapidity which no other variety--indeed, which scarce any other bird, of any kind, can equal. History is full of examples of their usefulness, in carrying tidings from one country to another, in letters, or tokens, fastened to their necks or legs, for which they are trained by those who have thus used them; but which, now, the well known telegraph wire has nearly superseded. All these fancy breeds require great care in their management, to keep them pure in blood, as they will all mix, more or less, with the common pigeon, as they come in contact with them; and the selection of whatever kind is wanted to be kept, must be left to those who are willing to bestow the pains which their necessary care may demand. A PIGGERY. The hog is an animal for which we have no especial liking, be he either a tender suckling, nosing and tugging at the well-filled udder of his dam, or a well-proportioned porker, basking in all the plenitude of swinish luxury; albeit, in the use of his flesh, we affect not the Jew, but liking it moderately well, in its various preparations, as a substantial and savory article of diet. Still, the hog is an important item of our agricultural economy, and his production and proper treatment is a valuable study to all who rear him as a creature either of profit or convenience. In the western and southern states, a mild climate permits him to be easily reared and fed off for market, with little heed to shelter or protection; while in the north, he requires care and covering during winter. Not only this; in all places the hog is an unruly, mischievous creature, and has no business really in any other place than where he can he controlled, and kept at a moment's call. But, as tastes and customs differ essentially, with regard to his training and destiny, to such as agree with us in opinion, that his proper place is in the sty, particularly when feeding for pork, a plan of piggery is given, such as may be economical in construction, and convenient in its arrangement, both for the swine itself, and him who has charge of him. The design here given, is for a building, 36 feet long, and 24 feet wide, with twelve-feet posts; the lower, or living room for the swine, 9 feet high, and a storage chamber above, for the grain and other food required for his keeping. The roof has a pitch of 40° from a horizontal line, spreading over the sides and gables at least 20 inches, and coarsely bracketed. The entrance front projects 6 feet from the main building, by 12 feet in length. Over its main door, in the gable, is a door with a hoisting beam and tackle above it, to take in the grain, and a floor over the whole area receives it. A window is in each gable end. A ventilator passes up through this chamber and the roof, to let off the steam from the cooking vats below, and the foul air emitted by the swine, by the side of which is the furnace-chimney, giving it, on the whole, as respectable an appearance as a pigsty need pretend to. [Illustration: PIGGERY.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. At the left of the entrance is a flight of stairs, (_b_,) leading to the chamber above. On the right is a small area, (_a_,) with a window to light it. A door from this leads into the main room, (_c_,) where stands a chimney, (_d_,) with a furnace to receive the fuel for cooking the food, for which are two kettles, or boilers, with wooden vats, on the top, if the extent of food demands them; these are secured with broad wooden covers, to keep in the steam when cooking. An iron valve is placed in the back flue of the furnace, which may fall upon either side, to shut off the fire from either of the kettles, around which the fire may revolve; or, the valve may stand in a perpendicular position, at will, if both kettles be heated at the same time. But, as the most economical mode is to cook one kettle while the other is in process of feeding out, and _vice versa_, scarcely more than one at a time will be required in use. Over each kettle is a sliding door, with a short spout to slide the food into them, when wanted. If necessary, and it can be conveniently done, a well may be sunk under this room, and a pump inserted at a convenient place; or if equally convenient, a pipe may bring the water in from a neighboring stream, or spring. On three sides of this room are feeding pens, (_e_,) and sleeping partitions, (_f_,) for the swine. These several apartments are accommodated with doors, which open into separate yards on the sides and in rear, or a large one for the entire family, as may be desired. CONSTRUCTION. The frame of this building is of strong timber, and stout for its size. The sills should be 8 inches square, the corner posts of the same size, and the intermediate posts 8�6 inches in diameter. In the center of these posts, grooves should be made, 2 inches wide, and deep, to receive the _plank_ sides, which should be 2 inches thick, and let in from the level of the chamber by a flush cutting for that purpose, out of the grooves inside, thus using no nails or spikes, and holding the planks tight in their place, that they may not be rooted out, or rubbed off by the hogs, and the inner projection of the main posts left to serve as rubbing posts for them--for no creature so loves to rub his sides, when fatting, as a hog, and this very natural and praiseworthy propensity should be indulged. These planks, like the posts, should, particularly the lower ones, be of _hard_ wood, that they may not be eaten off. Above the chamber floor, thinner planks may be used, but all should be well jointed, that they may lie snug, and shut out the weather. The center post in the floor plan of the engraving is omitted, by mistake, but it should stand there, like the others. Inside posts at the corners, and in the sides of the partitions, like the outside ones, should be also placed and grooved to receive the planking, four and a half feet high, and their upper ends be secured by tenons into mortices in the beams overhead. The troughs should then, if possible, be made of _cast iron_, or, in default of that, the hardest of white oak plank, strongly spiked on to the floor and sides; and the apartment may then be called hog-proof--for a more unquiet, destructive creature, to a building in which he is confined, does not live, than the hog. The slide, or spout to conduct the swill and other feed from the feeding-room into the trough, should be inserted through the partition planks, with a steep _slant_ the whole length of the trough, that the feed may be readily thrown into any or all parts of it. This slide should be of two-inch white-oak plank, and bound along the bottom by a strip of hoop-iron, to prevent the pigs from eating it off--a habit they are prone to; then, firmly spiked down to the partition planks, and through the ends, to the adjoining studs, and the affair is complete. With what experience we have had with the hog, and that by no means an agreeable one, we can devise no better method of accommodation than this here described, and it certainly is the cheapest. But the timber and lumber used must be sound and strong; and then, properly put together, it may defy their most destructive ingenuity. Of the separate uses to which the various apartments may be put, nothing need be said, as the circumstances of every farmer will best govern them. One, to three hundred dollars, according to price of material and labor, will build this piggery, besides fitting it up with furnace and boilers. It may be contracted, or enlarged in size, as necessity may direct; but no one, with six to twenty porkers in his fatting pens, a year, will regret the expense of building a convenient appurtenance of this kind to his establishment. A word may be pardoned, in relation to the too universal practice of permitting swine to prowl along the highways, and in the yards and lawns of the farm house. There is nothing so slovenly, wasteful, and destructive to one's thrift, and so demoralizing, in a small way, as is this practice. What so revolting to one, of the least tidy nature whatever, as a villainous brute, with a litter of filthy pigs at her heels, and the slimy ooze of a mud-puddle reeking and dripping from their sides? See the daubs of mud marking every fence-post, far and near, along the highway, or where-ever they run! A burrow is rooted up at every shady point, a nuisance at every corner you turn, and their abominable snouts into everything that is filthy, or obscene--a living curse to all that is decent about them. An Ishmaelite among the farm stock, they are shunned and hated by every living thing, when at large. But, put the creature in his pen, with a ring in his nose, if permitted to go into the adjoining yard, and comfortably fed, your pig, if of a civilized breed, is a quiet, inoffensive--indeed, gentlemanly sort of animal; and as such, he is entitled to our toleration--regard, we cannot say; for in all the pages of our reading, we learn, by no creditable history, of any virtuous sympathies in a hog. FARM BARNS. The farm barn, next to the farm house, is the most important structure of the farm itself, in the Northern and Middle States; and even at the south and southwest, where less used, they are of more importance in the economy of farm management than is generally supposed. Indeed, to our own eyes, a farm, or a plantation appears incomplete, without a good barn accommodation, as much as without good household appointments--and without them, no agricultural establishment can be complete in all its proper economy. The most _thorough_ barn structures, perhaps, to be seen in the United States, are those of the state of Pennsylvania, built by the German farmers of the lower and central counties. They are large, and expensive in their construction; and, in a strictly economical view, perhaps more costly than required. Yet, there is a substance and durability in them, that is exceedingly satisfactory, and, where the pecuniary ability of the farmer will permit, may well be an example for imitation. In the structure of the barn, and in its interior accommodation, much will depend upon the branches of agriculture to which the farm is devoted. A farm cultivated in grain chiefly, requires but little room for stabling purposes. Storage for grain in the sheaf, and granaries, will require its room; while a stock farm requires a barn with extensive hay storage, and stables for its cattle, horses, and sheep, in all climates not admitting such stock to live through the winter in the field, like the great grazing states west of the Alleghanies. Again, there are wide districts of country where a mixed husbandry of grain and stock is pursued, which require barns and out-buildings accommodating both; and to supply the exigencies of each, we shall present such plans as may be appropriate, and that may, possibly, by a slight variation, be equally adapted to either, or all of their requirements. It may not be out of place here, to remark, that many _designers_ of barns, sheds, and other out-buildings for the accommodation of farm stock, have indulged in fanciful arrangements for the convenience and comfort of animals, which are so complicated that when constructed, as they sometimes are, the practical, common-sense farmer will not use them; and, in the _learning_ required in their use, are altogether unfit for the use and treatment they usually get from those who have the daily care of the stock which they are intended for, and for the rough usage they receive from the animals themselves. A very pretty, and a very plausible arrangement of stabling, and feeding, and all the etceteras of a barn establishment, may be thus got up by an ingenious theorist at the fireside, which will work to a charm, as he dilates upon its good qualities, untried; but, when subjected to experiment will be utterly worthless for practical use. All this we, in our practice, have gone through; and after many years experience, have come to the conclusion that the simplest plan of construction, consistent with an economical expenditure of the material of food for the consumption of stock, is by far the most preferable. Another item to be considered in this connection, is the comparative value of the stock, the forage fed to them, and the _labor_ expended in feeding and taking care of them. We will illustrate: Suppose a farm to lie in the vicinity of a large town, or city. Its value is, perhaps, a hundred dollars an acre. The hay cut upon it is worth fifteen dollars a ton, at the barn, and straw, and coarse grains in proportion, and hired labor ten or twelve dollars a month. Consequently, the manager of this farm should use all the economy in his power, by the aid of cutting-boxes, and other machinery, to make the least amount of forage supply the wants of his stock; and the internal economy of his barn arranged accordingly; because labor is his cheapest item, and food the dearest. Then, for any contrivance to work up his forage the closest--by way of machinery, or manual labor--by which it will serve the purposes of keeping his stock, is true economy; and the making, and saving of manures is an item of the first importance. His buildings, and their arrangements throughout, should, on these accounts, be constructed in accordance with his practice. If, on the other hand, lands are cheap and productive, and labor comparatively dear, a different practice will prevail. He will feed his hay from the mow, without cutting. The straw will be either stacked out, and the cattle turned to it, to pick what they like of it, and make their beds on the remainder; or, if it is housed, he will throw it into racks, and the stock may eat what they choose. It is but one-third, or one-half the labor to do this, that the other mode requires, and the saving in this makes up, and perhaps more than makes up for the increased quantity of forage consumed. Again, climate may equally affect the mode of winter feeding the stock. The winters may be mild. The hay may be stacked in the fields, when gathered, or put into small barns built for hay storage alone; and the manure, scattered over the fields by the cattle, as they are fed from either of them, may be knocked to pieces with the dung-beetle, in the spring, or harrowed and bushed over the ground; and with the very small quantity of labor required in all this, such practice will be more economical than any other which can be adopted. It is, therefore, a subject of deliberate study with the farmer, in the construction of his out-buildings, what plans he shall adopt in regard to them, and their fitting up and arrangement. With these considerations before us, we shall submit such plans of barn structures as may be adapted for general use, where shelters for the farm crops, and farm stock, are required; and which may, in their interior arrangement, be fitted for almost any locality of our country, as the judgment and the wants of the builder may require. DESIGN I. This is a design of barn partially on the Pennsylvania plan, with under-ground stables, and a stone-walled basement on three sides, with a line of posts standing open on the yard front, and a wall, pierced by doors and windows, retreating 12 feet under the building, giving, in front, a shelter for stock. Two sheds, by way of wings, are run out to any desired length, on each side. The body of this barn, which is built of wood, above the basement, is 60�46 feet; the posts 18 feet high, above the sills; the roof is elevated at an angle of 40° from a horizontal line, and the gables hooded, or truncated, 14 feet wide at the verge, so as to cover the large doors at the ends. The main roof spreads 3 to 4 feet over the body of the barn, and runs from the side eaves in a _straight_ line, different from what is shown in the engraving, which appears of a gambrel or hipped fashion. The sides are covered with boards laid vertically, and battened with narrow strips, 3 inches wide. The large doors in the ends are 14 feet wide, and 14 feet high. A slatted blind window is in each gable, for ventilation, and a door, 9�6 feet, on the yard side. [Illustration] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. A main floor, _A_, 12 feet wide, runs the whole length through the center of the barn. _S, S_, are the large doors. _H, H,_ are trap doors, to let hay or straw down to the alleys of the stables beneath. _B_, is the principal bay for hay storage, 16 feet wide, and runs up to the roof. _C_, is the bay, 26�16 feet, for the grain mow, if required for that purpose. D, is a granary, 13�16 feet, and 8 feet high. _E_, a storage room for fanning mill, cutting-box, or other machinery, or implements, of same size and height as the granary. _F_, is a passage, 8 feet wide, leading from the main floor to the yard door, through which to throw out litter. Over this passage, and the granary, and store-room, may be stored grain in the sheaf, or hay. The main floor will accommodate the thrashing-machine, horse-power, cutting box, &c., &c., when at work. A line of movable sleepers, or poles, may be laid across the floor, 10 feet above it, on a line of girts framed into the main posts, for that purpose, over which, when the sides of the barn are full, either hay or grain may be deposited, up to the ridge of the roof, and thus afford large storage. And if the demands of the crops require it, after the sides and over the floor is thus filled, the floor itself may, a part of it, be used for packing away either hay or grain, by taking off the team after the load is in, and passing them out by a retreating process, on the side of the cart or wagon; and the vehicle, when unloaded, backed out by hand. We have occasionally adopted this method, when crowded for room for increased crops, to great advantage. It requires somewhat more labor, to be sure, but it is much better than stacking out; and a well-filled barn is a good sight to look upon. [Illustration: MAIN FLOOR PLAN.] Underneath the body of the barn are the stables, root cellar, calf houses, or any other accommodation which the farm stock may require; but, for the most economical objects, is here cut up into stables. At the ends, _l, l_, are passages for the stock to go into their stalls; and also, on the sides, for the men who attend to them. The main passage through the center double line of stalls is 8 feet wide; and on each side are double stalls, 6½ feet wide. From the two end walls, the cattle passages are 5 feet wide, the partition between the stalls running back in a _slant_, from 5 feet high at the mangers to the floor, at that distance from the walls. The mangers, _j, j_, are 2 feet wide, or may be 2½ feet, by taking an additional six inches out of the rear passage. The passage is, between the mangers, 3 feet wide, to receive the hay from the trap doors in the floor above. [Illustration: UNDER-GROUND PLAN AND YARD.] The most economical plan, for room in tying cattle in their stalls, is to fasten the rope, or chain, whichever is used, (the wooden stanchion, or _stanchel_, as it is called, to open and shut, enclosing the animal by the neck, we do not like,) into a ring, which is secured by a strong staple into the post which sustains the partition, just at the top of the manger, on each side of the stall. This prevents the cattle in the same stall from interfering with each other, while the partition effectually prevents any contact from the animals on each side of it, in the separate stalls. The bottom of the mangers, for grown cattle, should be a foot above the floor, and the top two and a half feet, which makes it deep enough to hold their food; and the whole, both sides and bottom, should be made of two-inch, sound, strong plank, that they may not be broken down. The back sides of the stalls, next the feeding alleys, should be full 3½ feet high; and if the cattle are large, and disposed to climb into their mangers with their fore-feet, as they sometimes do, a pole, of 2½ or 3 inches in diameter, should be secured across the front of the stall, next the cattle, and over the mangers--say 4½ feet above the floor, to keep them out of the manger, and still give them sufficient room for putting their heads between that and the top of the manger, to get their food. Cattle thus secured in double stalls, take up less room, and lie much warmer, than when in single stalls; besides, the expense of fitting them up being much less--an experience of many years has convinced us on this point. The doors for the passage of the cattle in and out of the stables, should be five feet wide, that they may have plenty of room. In front of these stables, on the outside, is a line of posts, the feet of which rest on large flat stones, and support the outer sill of the barn, and form a recess, before named, of 12 feet in width, under which may be placed a line of racks, or mangers for outside cattle, to consume the orts, or leavings of hay rejected by the in-door stock; or, the manure may be housed under it, which is removed from the stables by wheel-barrows. The low line of sheds which extend from the barn on each side of the yard, may be used for the carts, and wagons of the place; or, racks and mangers may be fitted up in them, for outside cattle to consume the straw and coarse forage; or, they may be carried higher than in our plan, and floored overhead, and hay, or other food stored in them for the stock. They are so placed merely to give the idea. There may be no more fitting occasion than this, perhaps, to make a remark or two on the subject of managing stock in stables of any kind, when kept in any considerable numbers; and a word may not be impertinent to the subject in hand, as connected with the construction of stables. There is no greater benefit to cattle, after coming into winter quarters, than a straight-forward regularity in everything appertaining to them. Every animal should have its own particular stall in the stable, where it should _always be kept, and in no other_. The cattle should be fed and watered at certain hours of the day, as near as may be. When let out of the stables for water, unless the weather is very pleasant, when they may be permitted to lie out an hour or two, they should be immediately put back, and not allowed to range about with the outside cattle. They are more quiet and contented in their stables than elsewhere, and eat less food, than if permitted to run out; and are every way more comfortable, if properly bedded and attended to, as every one will find, on trying it. The habit of many people, in turning their cattle out of the stables in the morning, in all weathers--letting them range about in a cold yard, hooking and thorning each other--is of no possible benefit, unless to rid themselves of the trouble of cleaning the stables, which pays twice its cost in the saving of manure. The outside cattle, which occupy the yard, are all the better, that the stabled ones do not interfere with them. They become habituated to their own quarters, as the others do to their's, and all are better for being each in their own proper place. It may appear a small matter to notice this; but it is a subject of importance, which every one may know who tries it. It will be seen that a driving way is built up to the barn doors at the ends; this need not be expensive, and will add greatly to the ease and convenience of its approach. It is needless to remark, that this barn is designed to stand on a shelving piece of ground, or on a slope, which will admit of its cellar stables without much excavation of the earth; and in such a position it may be economically built. No estimate is given of its cost, which must depend upon the price of materials, and the convenience of stone on the farm. The size is not arbitrary, but may be either contracted or extended, according to the requirements of the builder. [Illustration] DESIGN II. Here is presented the design of a barn built by ourself, about sixteen years since, and standing on the farm we own and occupy; and which has proved so satisfactory in its use, that, save in one or two small particulars, which are here amended, we would not, for a stock barn, alter it in any degree, nor exchange it for one of any description whatever. For the farmer who needs one of but half the size, or greater, or less, it may be remarked that the extent of this need be no hindrance to the building of one of any size--as the general _design_ may be adopted, and carried out, either in whole or in part, according to his wants, and the economy of its accommodation preserved throughout. The _principle_ of the structure is what is intended to be shown. The _main_ body of this barn stands on the ground, 100�50 feet, with eighteen-feet posts, and a broad, sheltering roof, of 40° pitch from a horizontal line, and truncated at the gables to the width of the main doors below. The sills stand 4 feet above the ground, and a raised driving way to the doors admits the loads of grain and forage into it. The manner of building the whole structure would be, to frame and put up the main building as if it was to have no attachment whatever, and put on the roof, and board up the gable ends. Then frame, and raise adjoining it, on the long sides, and on the rear end--for the opposite gable end to that, is the entrance front to the barn--a continuous lean-to, 16 feet wide, attaching it to the posts of the barn, strongly, by girts. These ranges of lean-to stand on the ground level, nearly--high enough, however, to let a terrier dog under the floors, to keep out the rats--but quite 3 feet below the sills of the barn. The outer posts of the lean-to's should be 12 feet high, and 12½ feet apart, from center to center, except at the extreme corners, which would be 16 feet. One foot below the roof-plates of the main building, and across the rear gable end, a line of girts should be framed into the posts, as a _rest_ for the upper ends of the lean-to rafters, that they may pass under, and a foot below the lower ends of the main roof rafters, to make a break in the roof of one foot, and allow a line of eave gutters under it, if needed, and to show the lean-to line of roof as distinct from the other. The stables are 7 feet high, from the lower floor to the girts overhead, which connect them with the main line of barn posts; thus giving a loft of 4 feet in height at the eaves, and of 12 feet at the junction with the barn. In this loft is large storage for hay, and coarse forage, and bedding for the cattle, which is put in by side windows, level with the loft floor--as seen in the plate. In the center of the rear, _end_ lean-to, is a large door, corresponding with the front entrance to the barn, as shown in the design, 12 feet high, and 14 feet wide, to pass out the wagons and carts which have discharged their loads in the barn, having entered at the main front door. A line of board, one foot wide, between the line of the main and lean-to roofs, is then nailed on, to shut up the space; and the rear gable end boarded down to the roof of the lean-to attached to it. The front end, and the stables on them vertically boarded, and battened, as directed in the last design; the proper doors and windows inserted, and the outside is finished. [Illustration: FLOOR PLAN.] INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. Entering the large door, (_a_,) at the front end, 14 feet wide, and 14 feet high, the main floor (_g_,) passes through the entire length of the barn, and rear lean-to, 116 feet--the last 16 feet through the lean-to--and sloping 3 feet to the outer sill, and door, (_a_,) of that appendage. On the left of the entrance is a recess, (_e_,) of 20�18 feet, to be used as a thrashing floor, and for machinery, cutting feed, &c., &c.--5 feet next the end being cut off for a passage to the stable. Beyond this is a bay, (_b_,) 18�70 feet, for the storage of hay, or grain, leaving a passage at the further end, of 5 feet wide, to go into the further stables. This bay is bounded on the extreme left, by the line of outside posts of the barn. On the right of the main door is a granary, (_d_,) 10�18 feet, two stories high, and a flight of steps leading from the lower into the upper room. Beyond this is another bay, (_b_,) corresponding with the one just described on the opposite side. The passages at the ends of the bays, (_e_, _e_,) have steps of 3 feet descent, to bring them down on to a level with the stable floors of the lean-to. A passage in each of the two long side lean-to's, (_e_, _e_,) 3 feet wide, receives the hay forage for cattle, or other stock, thrown into them from the bays, and the lofts over the stables; and from them is thrown into the mangers, (_h_, _h_.) The two apartments in the extreme end lean-to, (_f_, _f_,) 34�16 feet each, may be occupied as a hospital for invalid cattle, or partitioned off for calves, or any other purpose. A calving house for the cows which come in during the winter, is always convenient, and one of these may be used for such purpose. The stalls, (_i_, _i_,) are the same as described in Design I, and back of them is the passage for the cattle, as they pass in and out of their stalls. The stable doors, (_j_, _j_,) are six in number. Small windows, for ventilation, should be cut in the rear of the stalls, as marked, and for throwing out the manure, with sliding board shutters. This completes the barn accommodation--giving twenty-eight double stalls, where fifty-six grown cattle may be tied up, with rooms for twenty to thirty calves in the end stables. If a larger stock is kept, young cattle may be tied up, with their heads to the bays, on the main floor, beyond the thrashing floor, which we practice. This will hold forty young cattle. The manure is taken out on a wheel-barrow, and no injury done to the floor. They will soon eat out a place where their forage can be put, and do no injury beyond that to the hay in the bays, as it is too closely packed for them to draw it out any farther. In this way we can accommodate more than a hundred head of cattle, of assorted ages. The hay in the bays may drop three feet below the level of the main floor, by placing a tier of rough timbers and poles across them, to keep it from the ground, and many tons of additional storage be thus provided. We have often stored one hundred and fifty tons of hay in this barn; and it will hold even more, if thoroughly packed, and the movable girts over the main floor be used, as described in Design I. The chief advantages in a barn of this plan are, the exceeding convenience of getting the forage to the stock. When the barn is full, and feeding is first commenced, with a hay knife, we commence on each side next the stables, on the top of the bays, cut a _well_ down to the alley way in front of the mangers, which is left open up to the stable roof. This opens a passage for the hay to be thrown into the alleys, and in a short time it is so fed out on each side, that, the sides of the main barn being open to them, the hay can be thrown along their whole distance, and fed to the cattle as wanted; and so at the rear end stables, in the five-foot alley adjoining them. If a root cellar be required, it may be made under the front part of the main floor, and a trap-door lead to it. For a milk dairy, this arrangement is an admirable one--we so used it for four years; or for stall-feeding, it is equally convenient. One man will do more work, so far as feeding is concerned, in this barn, than two can do in one of almost any other arrangement; and the yards outside may be divided into five separate inclosures, with but little expense, and still be large enough for the cattle that may want to use them. It matters not what kind of stock may be kept in this barn; it is convenient for all alike. Even sheep may be accommodated in it with convenience. But low, open sheds, inclosed by a yard, are better for them; with storage for hay overhead, and racks and troughs beneath. This barn is built of wood. It may be well constructed, with stone underpinning, without mortar, for $1,000 to $1,500, as the price of materials may govern. And if the collection of the water from the roofs be an object, cheap gutters to carry it into one or more cisterns may be added, at an expense of $200 to $300. As before observed, a barn may be built on this principle, of any size, and the stables, or lean-to's may only attach to one side or end; or they may be built as mere sheds, with no storage room over the cattle. The chief objection to stabling cattle in the _body_ of the barn is, the continual decay of the most important timbers, such as sills, sleepers, &c., &c., by the leakage of the stale, and manure of the cattle on to them, and the loss of so much valuable storage as they would occupy, for hay and grain. By the plan described, the stables have no attachment to the sills, and other durable barn timbers below; and if the stable sills and sleepers decay, they are easily and cheaply replaced with others. Taking it altogether, we can recommend no better, nor, as we think, so good, and so cheap a plan for a _stock_ barn, as this. We deem it unnecessary to discuss the subject of water to cattle yards, as every farm has its own particular accommodations, or inconveniences in that regard; and the subject of leading water by pipes into different premises, is too well understood to require remark. Where these can not be had, and springs or streams are not at hand, wells and pumps must be provided, in as much convenience as the circumstances of the case will admit. Water is absolutely necessary, and that in quantity, for stock uses; and every good manager will exercise his best judgment to obtain it. BARN ATTACHMENTS. It may be expected, perhaps, that in treating so fully as we have of the several kinds of farm building, a full cluster of out-buildings should be drawn and exhibited, showing their relative positions and accommodation. This can not be done, however, except as a matter of "fancy;" and if attempted, might not be suited to the purposes of a single individual, by reason of the particular location where they would be situated, and the accommodation which the buildings might require. Convenience of access to the barns, from the fields where the crops are grown, a like convenience to get out manures upon those fields, and a ready communication with the dwelling house, are a part of the considerations which are to govern their position, or locality. Economy in labor, in the various avocations at the barn, and its necessary attachments; and the greatest convenience in storage, and the housing of the various stock, grains, implements, and whatever else may demand accommodation, are other considerations to be taken into the account, all to have a bearing upon them. Compactness is always an object in such buildings, when not obtained at a sacrifice of some greater advantage, and should be one of the items considered in placing them; and in their construction, next to the arrangement of them in the most convenient possible manner for their various objects, a due regard to their architectural appearance should be studied. Such appearance, where their objects are apparent, can easily be secured. _Utility_ should be their chief point of expression; and no style of architecture, or finish, can be really _bad_, where this expression is duly consulted, and carried out, even in the humblest way of cheapness, or rusticity. We have heretofore sufficiently remarked on the folly of unnecessary pretension in the farm buildings, of any kind; and nothing can appear, and really be more out of place, than ambitious structures intended only for the stock, and crops. Extravagant expenditure on these, any more than an extravagant expenditure on the dwelling and its attachments, does not add to the _selling_ value of the farm, nor to its economical management, in a productive capacity; and he who is about to build, should make his proposed buildings a study for months, in all their different requirements and conveniences, before he commences their erection. Mistakes in their design, and location, have cost men a whole after life of wear-and-tear of temper, patience, and labor, to themselves, and to all who were about them; and it is better to wait even two or three years, to fully mature the best plans of building, than by hurrying, to mis-locate, mis-arrange, and miss, in fact, the very best application in their structure of which such buildings are capable. A word might also be added about barn-_yards_. The planning and management of these, also, depends much upon the course the farmer has to pursue in the keeping of his stock, the amount of waste litter, such as straw, &c., which he has to dispose of, and the demands of the farm for animal and composted manures. There are different methods of constructing barn-yards, in different parts of the country, according to climate and soils, and the farmer must best consult his own experience, the most successful examples about him, and the publications which treat of that subject, in its connection with farm husbandry, to which last subject this item more properly belongs. RABBITS. It may appear that we are extending our "Rural Architecture" to an undue length, in noticing a subject so little attended to in this country as Rabbit accommodations. But, as with other small matters which we have noticed, this may create a new source of interest and attachment to country life, we conclude to give it a place. It is a matter of surprise to an American first visiting England, to see the quantities of game which abound at certain seasons of the year in the London and other markets of that country, in contrast with the scanty supply, or rather no supply at all, existing in the markets of American cities. The reason for such difference is, that in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, every acre of the soil is appropriated to some profitable use, while we, from the abundance of land in America, select only the best for agricultural purposes, and let the remainder go barren and uncared for. Lands appropriated to the rearing of game, when fit for farm pasturage or tillage, is unprofitable, generally, with us; but there are thousands of acres barren for other purposes, that might be devoted to the breeding and pasturage of rabbits, and which, by thus appropriating them, might be turned to profitable account. All the preparation required is, to enclose the ground with a high and nearly close paling fence, and the erection of a few rude hutches inside, for winter shelter and the storage of their food. They will burrow into the ground, and breed with great rapidity; and in the fall and winter seasons, they will be fat for market with the food they gather from the otherwise worthless soil over which they run. Rocky, bushy, and evergreen grounds, either hill, dale, or plain, are good for them, wherever the soils are dry and friable. The rabbit is a gross feeder, living well on what many grazing animals reject, and gnawing down all kinds of bushes, briars, and noxious weeds. The common domestic rabbits are probably the best for market purposes, and were they to be made an object of attention, immense tracts of mountain land in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and the New York and New England highlands could be made available for this object. Some may think this a small business. So is making pins, and rearing chickens, and bees. But there are an abundance of people, whose age and capacity are just fitted for it, and for want of other employment are a charge upon their friends or the public; and now, when our cities and large towns are so readily reached by railroads from all parts of the country, our farmers should study to apply their land to the production of everything that will find a profitable market. Things unthought of, a few years ago, now find a large consumption in our large cities and towns, by the aid of railroads; and we know of no good reason, why this production and traffic should not continue to an indefinite extent. When the breeding of rabbits is commenced, get a good treatise on the breeding and rearing of them, which may be found at many of the bookstores. As the rearing of rabbits, and their necessary accommodation, is not a subject to which we have given much personal attention, we applied to Francis Rotch, Esq., of Morris, Otsego county, New York, who is probably the most accomplished rabbit "fancier" in the United States, for information, with which he has kindly furnished us. His beautiful and high-bred animals have won the highest premiums, at the shows of the New York State Agricultural Society. He thus answers: "I now forward you the promised plan from Mr. Alfred Rodman, of Dedham, Massachusetts, which, I think, will give you the information you wish upon these subjects. "Rabbits kept for profit in the vicinity of a city, and where there are mills, may be raised at a very small cost; and when once known as an article of food, will be liberally paid for by the epicure, for their meat is as delicate as a chicken's, and their fat mild, and very rich. "I am surprised they are not more generally kept, as a source of amusement, and for the purposes of experiment. "There is, I think, in many, a natural fondness for animals, but not easily indulged without more room than is often to be found in city residences. Fowls, and pigeons, trespass on our neighbors, and are a frequent cause of trouble. This objection does not hold good against the rabbit, which occupies so small a space, that where there is an outhouse there may be a rabbitry. _English_ children are encouraged in their fondness for animals, as tending to good morals and good feelings, and as offering a _home_ amusement, in contradistinction to _street_ associations." [Illustration: Drawn from life, by Mr. FRANCIS ROTCH.] Mr. Rotch continues: "I have just finished the enclosed drawing of a 'fancy rabbit,' which I hope will answer your purpose, as an illustration of what the little animal should be in form, color, marking, and carriage, according to the decisions of the various societies in and out of London, who are its greatest admirers and patrons. These amateurs hold frequent meetings for its exhibition, at which premiums are awarded, and large prizes paid for such specimens as come up to their standard of excellence. This standard is, of course, conventional; and, as might be expected, is a combination of form and color very difficult to obtain--based, it is true, on the most correct principles of general breeding; but much of _fancy_ and beauty is added to complete the requisites of a prize rabbit. For instance, the head must be small and clean; the shoulders wide and full; the chest broad and deep; the back wide, and the loin large. Thus far, these are the characteristics of all really _good_ and _improved_ animals; to which are to be added, on the score of 'fancy,' an eye round, full, and bright; an ear _long_, broad, and pendant, of a soft, delicate texture, dropping nearly perpendicularly by the side of the head--this is termed its 'carriage.' The color must be in rich, unmixed _masses_ on the body, spreading itself over the back, side, and haunch, but breaking into spots and patches on the shoulder, called the 'chain;' while that on the back is known as the 'saddle.' The head must be full of color, broken with white on the forehead and cheeks; the marking over the bridge of the nose and down on both sides into the lips, should be dark, and in shape somewhat resembling a butterfly, from which this mark takes its name; the ear, however, must be uniform in color. Add to all this, a large, full dewlap, and you will have a rabbit fit to '_go in and win_.' "The most esteemed colors are black and white; yellow and white; tortoise-shell and white; blue and white, and gray and white. These are called 'broken colors,' while those of _one_ uniform color are called 'selfs.'" It will be observed that Mr. Rotch here describes a beautiful "fancy" variety of "lop-eared" rabbits, which he brought from England a few years since. They were, originally, natives of Madagascar. He continues: "The domestic rabbit, in all its varieties, has always been, and still is, a great favorite, in many parts of the European continent: "In Holland, it is bred with reference to color only, which must be a pure white, with dark ears, feet, legs, and tail; this distribution has a singular effect, but, withal, it is a pretty little creature. The French breed a long, rangy animal, of great _apparent_ size, but deficient in depth and breadth, and of course, wanting in constitution; no attention is paid to color, and its marking is matter of accident. The White Angola, with its beautiful long fur and red eyes, is also a great favorite in France. "In England, the rabbit formerly held the rank of 'farm stock!' and thousands of acres were exclusively devoted to its production; families were supported, and rents, rates, and taxes were paid from its increase and sale. The '_gray-skins_' went to the hatter, the '_silver-skins_' were shipped to China, and were dressed as furs; while the flesh was a favorite dish at home. This was the course pursued in Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, and many other counties, with their light sandy soils, before the more general introduction of root culture, and the rotation of crops, gave an increased value to such land. Since then, however, I remember visiting a farm of Lord Onslow's, in Surrey, containing about 1,400 acres. It was in the occupation of an eminent flock-master and agriculturist, who kept some hundreds of hutched rabbits for the sake of their manure, which he applied to his turnep crop; added to this, their skins and carcasses were quite an item of profit, notwithstanding the care of them required an old man and boy, with a donkey and cart. The food used was chiefly brewer's grains, miller's waste, bran and hay, with clover and roots, the cost of keeping not exceeding two pence a week. The hutches stood under a long shed, open on all sides, for the greater convenience of cleaning and feeding. I was told that the manure was much valued by the market gardeners round London, who readily paid 2s. 6d. a bushel at the rabbitries. These rabbitries are very numerous in all the towns and cities of England, and form a source of amusement or profit to all classes, from the man of fortune to the day laborer. Nor is it unfrequent that this latter produces a rabbit from an old tea-chest, or dry-goods box, that wins the prize from its competitor of the mahogany hutch or ornamental rabbitry. "The food of the rabbit embraces great variety, including grain of all kinds, bran, pea-chaff, miller's waste, brewer's grains, clover and other hay, and the various weeds known as plantain, dock, mallow, dandelion, purslain, thistles, &c., &c. "The rabbit thus easily conforms itself to the means, condition, and circumstances of its owner; occupies but little space, breeds often, comes early to maturity, and is withal, a healthy animal, requiring however, to be kept clean, and to be _cautiously_ fed with _succulent_ food, which must always be free from dew or rain--water is unnecessary to them when fed with 'greens.' My own course of feeding is, one gill of oats in the morning, with a medium-sized cabbage leaf, or what I may consider its _equivalent_ in any other vegetable food, for the rabbit in confinement must be, as already stated, cautiously fed with what is succulent. At noon, I feed a handfull of cut hay or clover chaff, and in the evening the same as in the morning. To does, when suckling, I give what they will eat of both green and dry food. The cost to me is about three cents per week, per head. "I by no means recommend this as the best, or the most economical mode of feeding, but it happens to suit my convenience. Were I in a town, or near mills, I should make use of other and cheaper substitutes. My young rabbits, when taken from the doe, say at eight, ten, or twelve weeks old, are turned out together till about six months old, when it becomes necessary to take them up, and put them in separate hutches, to prevent their fighting and destroying each other. The doe at that age is ready to breed; her period of gestation is about thirty-one or two days, and she produces from three or four to a dozen young at a 'litter'. It is not well to let her raise more than six, or even four at once--the fewer, the larger and finer the produce. "Young rabbits are killed for the table at any age, from twelve weeks to twelve months old, and are a very acceptable addition to the country larder. The male is not allowed to remain with the doe, lest he should destroy the young ones. "Hutches are made singly, or in stacks, to suit the apartment, which should be capable of thorough ventilation. The best size is about three feet long, two feet deep, and fourteen inches high, with a small apartment partitioned off from one end, nearly a foot wide, as a breeding place for the doe. A wire door forms the front, and an opening is left behind for cleaning; the floor should have a descent to the back of the hutch of two inches. All edges should be tinned, to save them from being gnawed. "Having now given the leading characteristics and qualities which constitute a good 'fancy lop-eared rabbit,' and its general management, allow me to remark on the striking difference observable between Americans and the people of many other countries, as to a fondness for animals, or what are termed 'fancy pets,' of and for which we, as a people, know and care very little. Indeed, we scarcely admit more than a selfish fellowship with the dog, and but too seldom does our attachment even for this faithful companion, place him beyond the reach of the _omnipotent dollar_. "The operatives, mechanics, and laborers, in other countries, seem to have a perfect passion for such pursuits, and take the greatest interest and pride in breeding and perfecting the lesser animals, though often obliged to toil for the very food they feed to them. Here, too, home influences are perceived to be good, and are encouraged by the employer, as supplying the place of other and much more questionable pursuits and tastes." We here present the elevation, and floor plan of Mr. Rodman's rabbitry, together with the front and rear views of the hutches within them: [Illustration: ELEVATION. MAIN FLOOR PLAN.] No. 1 is the gable end elevation of the building, with a door and window. No. 2 is the main-floor plan, or living room for the rabbits. EXPLANATION. A, the doe's hutches, with nest boxes attached. B, hutches three feet long, with movable partitions for the young rabbits; the two lower hutches are used for the stock bucks. C, a tier of grain boxes on the floor for feeding the rabbits--the covers sloping out toward the room. D, small trapdoor, leading into the manure cellar beneath. E, large trapdoor leading into root cellar. F, troughs for leading off urine from rear of hutches into the manure cellar at K, K. G, wooden trunk leading from chamber above No. 3, through this into manure cellar. H, trap opening into manure cellar. I, stairs leading into loft No. 3, with hinged trapdoor overhead; when open, it will turn up against the wall, and leave a passage to clear out the hutches. NOTE.--The grain boxes are one foot high in front, and fifteen inches at the back, with sloping bottoms, and sloping covers. The floors of the hutches have a slope of two inches back. The hutches are furnished, at the back of the floor, with pieces of zinc, to keep them free from the drippings from above. The hutches are 16 inches high, 3 feet long, and 2 feet deep. The foregoing plans and explanations might perhaps be sufficient for the guidance of such as wish to construct a rabbitry for their own use; but as a complete arrangement of all the rooms which may be conveniently appropriated to this object, to make it a complete thing, may be acceptable to the reader, we conclude, even at the risk of prolixity, to insert the upper loft, and cellar apartments, with which we have been furnished; hoping that our youthful friends will set themselves about the construction of a branch of rural employment so home-attaching in its associations. [Illustration: LOFT OR GARRET.] No. 3 is the loft or chamber story, next above the main floor. EXPLANATION. A, place for storing hay. B, stairs leading from below. C, room for young rabbits. D, trapdoor into trunk leading to manure cellar. E, partition four feet high. This allows of ventilation between the two windows, in summer, which would be cut off, were the partition carried all the way up. [Illustration: CELLAR.] No. 4 is the cellar under the rabbitry. EXPLANATION. A, manure cellar. B, root cellar. C, stairs leading to first, or main floor. D, stairs leading outside. E, window--lighting both rooms of cellar. No. 5 is a front section of rabbit hutches, eight in number, two in a line, four tiers high, one above another, with wire-screened doors, hinges, and buttons for fastening. A, the grain trough, is at the bottom. No. 6 is the floor section of the hutches, falling, as before mentioned, two inches from front to rear. [Illustration: FRONT OF HUTCH. REAR OF HUTCH.] A, is the door to lift up, for cleaning out the floors. B, is the zinc plate, to carry off the urine and _running_ wash of the floors. C, is the trough for carrying off this offal into the manure cellars, through the trunk, as seen in No. 2. No. 7 is a rear section of hutches, same as in No. 5, with the waste trough at the bottom leading into the trench before described, with the cross section, No. 8, before described in No. 6. A, a grated door at the back of the hutch, for ventilation in summer, and covered with a thin board in winter. B, a flap-door, four inches wide, which is raised for cleaning out the floor; under this door is a space of one inch, for passing out the urine of the rabbits. C, are buttons for fastening the doors. D, the backs of the bedrooms, without any passage out on back side. This matter of the rabbitry, and its various explanations, may be considered by the plain, matter-of-fact man, as below the dignity of people pursuing the _useful_ and _money-making_ business of life. Very possible. But many boys--for whose benefit they are chiefly introduced--and _men_, even, may do worse than to spend their time in such apparent trifles. It is better than going to a horse-race. It is better even than going to a trotting match, where _fast men_, as well as _fast_ horses congregate. It is better, too, than a thousand other places where boys _want_ to go, when they have nothing to interest them at home. One half of the farmer's boys, who, discontented at home, leave it for something more congenial to their feelings and tastes, do so simply because of the excessive dullness, and want of interest in objects to attract them there, and keep them contented. Boys, in America at least, are apt to be _smart_. So their parents think, at all events; and too smart they prove, to stay at home, and follow the beaten track of their fathers, as their continual migration from the paternal roof too plainly testifies. This, in many cases, is the fault of the parents themselves, because they neglect those little objects of interest to which the minds and tastes of their sons are inclined, and for want of which they _imagine_ more attractive objects abroad, although in the search they often fail in finding them. We are a progressive people. Our children are not always content to be what their fathers are; and parents must yield a little to "the spirit of the age" in which they live. And boys _pay_ too, as they go along, if properly treated. They should be made companions, not servants. Many a joyous, hearty spirit, who, when properly encouraged, comes out a whole man at one-and-twenty, if kept in curb, and harnessed down by a hard parent, leaves the homestead, with a curse and a kick, determined, whether in weal or in woe, never to return. Under a different course of treatment, he would have fixed his home either at his birthplace, or in its immediate vicinity, and in a life of frugality, usefulness, and comparative ease, blessed his parents, his neighborhood, and possibly the world, with a useful example--all, perhaps, grown out of his youthful indulgence in the possession of a rabbit-warren, or some like trifling matter. This may appear to be small morals, as well as small business. We admit it. But those who have been well, and indulgently, as well as methodically trained, may look back and see the influence which all such little things had upon their early thoughts and inclinations; and thus realize the importance of providing for the amusements and pleasures of children in their early years. The dovecote, the rabbitry, the poultry-yard, the sheep-fold, the calf-pen, the piggery, the young colt of a favorite mare, the yoke of yearling steers, or a fruit tree which they have planted, and nursed, and called it, or the fruit it bears, _their own_,--anything, in fact, which they can call _theirs_--are so many objects to bind boys to their homes, and hallow it with a thousand nameless blessings and associations, known only to those who have been its recipients. Heaven's blessings be on the family homestead! "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!" sung the imaginary maid of Milan, the beautiful creation of John Howard Payne, when returning from the glare and pomp of the world, to her native cottage in the mountains of Switzerland. And, although all out of date, and conventionally vulgar this sentiment may be _now_ considered, such is, or should be the subdued, unsophisticated feeling of all natives of the farm house, and the country cottage. We may leave the quiet roof of our childhood; we may mix in the bustling contentions of the open world; we may gain its treasures; we may enjoy its greatness, its honors, and its applause; but there are times when they will all fade into nothing, in comparison with the peace, and quietude, and tranquil happiness of a few acres of land, a comfortable roof, and contentment therewith! DAIRY BUILDINGS. Wherever the dairy is made an important branch of farm production, buildings for its distinct accommodation are indispensable. The dairy is as much a _manufactory_ as a cotton mill, and requires as much conveniences in its own peculiar line. We therefore set apart a building, on purpose for its objects; and either for cheese, or butter, separate conveniences are alike required. We commence with the [Illustration: CHEESE DAIRY HOUSE.] CHEESE DAIRY HOUSE. This building is one and a half stories high, with a broad, spreading roof of 45° pitch; the ground plan is 10 feet between joists, and the posts 16 feet high. An ice-house, made on the plan already described, is at one end, and a wood-shed at the opposite end, of the same size. This building is supposed to be erected near the milking sheds of the farm, and in contiguity to the feeding troughs of the cows, or the piggery, and adapted to the convenience of feeding the whey to whichever of these animals the dairyman may select, as both, or either are required to consume it; and to which it may be conveyed in spouts from the dairy-room. INTERIOR ARRANGEMENT. The front door is protected by a light porch, (_a_,) entering by a door, (_b_,) the main dairy room. The cheese presses, (_c_, _c_,) occupy the left end of the room, between which a passage leads through a door, (_l_,) into the wood-shed, (_h_,) open on all sides, with its roof resting on four posts set in the ground. The large cheese-table, (_d_,) stands on the opposite end, and is 3 feet wide. In the center of the room is a chimney, (_e_,) with a whey and water boiler, and vats on each side. A flight of stairs, (_f_,) leading into the storage room above, is in the rear. A door, (_b_,) on the extreme right, leads into the ice-house, (_g_.) There are four windows to the room--two on each side, front and rear. In the loft are placed the shelves for storing the cheese, as soon as sufficiently prepared on the temporary table below. This loft is thoroughly ventilated by windows, and the heat of the sun upon it ripens the cheese rapidly for market. A trapdoor, through the floors, over which is hung a tackle, admits the cheese from below, or passes it down, when prepared for market. The cheese house should, if possible, be placed on a sloping bank, when it is designed to feed the whey to pigs; and even when it is fed to cows, it is more convenient to pass it to them on a lower level, than to carry it out in buckets. It may, however, if on level ground, be discharged into vats, in a cellar below, and pumped out as wanted. A cellar is convenient--indeed, almost indispensable--under the cheese dairy; and water should be so near as to be easily pumped, or drawn, into the vats and kettles used in running up the curd, or for washing the utensils used in the work. When the milk is kept over night, for the next morning's curd, temporary tables may be placed near the ice-room, to hold the pans or tubs in which it may be set, and the ice used to temper the milk to the proper degree for raising the cream. If the dairy be of such extent as to require larger accommodation than the plan here suggested, a room or two may be partitioned off from the main milk and pressing-room, for washing the vessels and other articles employed, and for setting the milk. Every facility should be made for neatness in all the operations connected with the work. Different accommodations are required, for making the different kinds of cheese which our varied markets demand, and in the fitting up of the dairy-house, no _positive_ plan of arrangement can be laid down, suited alike to all the work which may be demanded. The dairyman, therefore, will best arrange all these for the particular convenience which he requires. The main plan, and style of building however, we think will be generally approved, as being in an agreeable architectural style, and of convenient construction and shape for the objects intended. THE BUTTER DAIRY. This, if pursued on the same farm with the cheese dairy, and at different seasons of the year, may be carried on in the lower parts of the same building. But as it is usually a distinct branch of business, when prosecuted as the chief object on a farm, it should have accommodations of its own kind, which should be fitted up specially for that purpose. We cannot, perhaps, suggest a better model of a building for the butter dairy, than the one just submitted for the cheese-house, only that there is no necessity for the upper story; and the posts of the main building should not stand more than nine feet above the sills. A good, walled cellar, well lighted, as a room for setting the milk, is indispensable, with a broad, open flight of steps, from the main floor above, into it. Here, too, should stand the stone slabs, where the butter is worked, and the churns, to be driven by hand, or water, or animal power, as the two latter may be provided, and introduced into the building by belt, shaft, or crank. If running water can be brought on to the milk-shelves, from a higher level, which, for this purpose, should have curbs two or three inches high on their sides, it can flow in a constant gentle current over them, among the pans, from a receiving vat, in which ice is deposited, to keep the milk at the proper temperature--about 55° Fahrenheit--for raising the cream; and if the quantity of milk be large, the shelves can be so arranged, by placing each tier of shelf lower than the last, like steps, that the water may pass among them all before it escapes from the room. Such a mode of applying water and ice, renders the entire process of cream-rising almost certain in all weathers, and is highly approved wherever it has been practiced. The low temperature of the room, by the aid of water and ice, is also beneficial to the butter packed in kegs, keeping it cool and sweet--as much like a spring-house as possible, in its operation. The washing and drying of pans, buckets, churns, and the heating of water, should all be done in the room above, where the necessary kettles are set, and kept from contact with the cool atmosphere of the lower room. The latter apartment should have a well-laid stone or brick floor, filled and covered with a strong cement of water lime, and sloping gradually to the outer side, where all the water may pass off by a drain, and everything kept sweet and clean. The buttermilk may, as in the case of the whey, in the cheese dairy, be passed off in spouts to the pigsty, which should not be far distant. As all this process of arrangement, however, must conform somewhat to the shape of the ground, the locality, and the facilities at hand where it may be constructed; it is hardly possible to give any one system of detail which is applicable to an uniform mode of structure; and much will be left to the demands and the skill of the dairyman himself, in the plan he may finally adopt. THE WATER RAM. As water, and that of a good quality, and in abundant quantity, is indispensable to the various demands of the farm, it is worth some pains to provide it in the most economical manner, and at the most convenient points for use. In level grounds, wells are generally dug, and the water drawn up by buckets or pumps. In a hilly country, springs, and streams from higher grounds, may be brought in by the aid of pipes, the water flowing naturally, under its own head, wherever it may be wanted, away from its natural stream. [Illustration: WATER RAM.] But, of all contrivances to elevate water from a _lower_ fountain, or current, to a _higher_ level, by its _own action_, the Water Ram is the most complete in its operation, and perfect in its construction, of anything within our knowledge. And as it may not be generally known to our readers, at our request, Messrs. A. B. ALLEN & CO., of New York--who keep them of all sizes for sale, at their agricultural warehouse, No's. 189 and 191, Water-street--have kindly furnished us with the following description of the machine, given by W. & B. Douglass, of Middletown, Connecticut, manufacturers of the article: "H, spring or brook. C, drive, or supply-pipe, from brook to ram. G, discharge pipe, conveying water to house or other point required for use. B, D, A, E, I, the Ram. J, the plank or other foundation to which the machine is secured for use. "The various uses of the ram are at once obvious, viz., for the purposes of irrigating lands, and supplying dwellings, barnyards, gardens, factories, villages, engines, railroad stations, &c., with running water. "The simplicity of the operation of this machine, together with its effectiveness, and very apparent durability, renders it decidedly the most important and valuable apparatus yet developed in hydraulics, for forcing a portion of a running stream of water to any elevation, proportionate to the fall obtained. It is perfectly applicable where no more than eighteen inches fall can be had; yet, the greater the fall applied, the more powerful the operation of the machine, and the higher the water may be conveyed. The relative proportions between the water raised, and wasted, is dependent entirely upon the relative height of the spring or source of supply above the ram, and the elevation to which it is required to be raised. The quantity raised varying in proportion to the height to which it is conveyed, with a given fall; also, the distance which the water has to be conveyed, and consequent length of pipe, has some bearing on the quantity of water raised and discharged by the ram; as, the longer the pipe through which the water has to be forced by the machine, the greater the friction to be overcome, and the more the power consumed in the operation; yet, it is common to apply the ram for conveying the water distances of one and two hundred rods, and up elevations of one and two hundred feet. Ten feet fall from the spring, or brook, to the ram, is abundantly sufficient for forcing up the water to any elevation under say one hundred and fifty feet in height, above the level of the point where the ram is located; and the same ten feet fall will raise the water to a much higher point than above last named, although in a _diminished_ quantity, in proportion as the height is increased. When a sufficient quantity of water is raised with a given fall, it is not advisable to increase said fall, as in so doing the force with which the ram works is increased, and the amount of labor which it has to perform greatly augmented, the wear and tear of the machine proportionably increased, and the durability of the same lessened; so that economy, in the expense of keeping the ram in repair, would dictate that no greater fall should be applied, for propelling the ram, than is sufficient to raise a requisite supply of water to the place of use. To enable any person to make the calculation, as to what fall would be sufficient to apply to the ram, to raise a sufficient supply of water to his premises, we would say, that in conveying it any ordinary distance, of say fifty or sixty rods, it may be safely calculated that about one-seventh part of the water can be raised and discharged at an elevation above the ram five times as high as the fall which is applied to the ram, or one-fourteenth part can be raised and discharged, say ten times as high as the fall applied; and so in that proportion, as the fall or rise is varied. Thus, if the ram be placed under a head or fall of five feet, of every seven gallons drawn from the spring, one may be raised twenty-five feet, or half a gallon fifty feet. Or with ten feet fall applied to the machine, of every fourteen gallons drawn from the spring, one gallon may be raised to the height of one hundred feet above the machine; and so in like proportion, as the fall or rise is increased or diminished. "It is presumed that the above illustrations of what the machine will do under certain heads and rise, will be sufficient for all practical purposes, to enable purchasers of the article to determine, with a sufficient degree of nicety, as to the head or fall to apply to the ram for a given rise and distance, which they may wish to overcome in raising water from springs or brooks to their premises, or other places where water is required. Yet, we have the pleasure of copying the following article, which we find in the 'American Agriculturist,' a very valuable journal published by C. M. Saxton, 152 Fulton-street, New York, which may serve to corroborate our statements as to what our ram will accomplish under given circumstances: "'The following is a correct statement of a water ram I have had in successful operation for the last six months: "'1. The fall from the surface of the water in the spring is four feet. 2. The quantity of water delivered per ten minutes, at my house, is three and a quarter gallons, and that discharged at the ram twenty-five gallons. Thus, nearly one-seventh part of the water is saved. 3. The perpendicular height of the place of delivery above the ram is nineteen feet--say fifteen feet above the surface of the spring. 4. The length of the pipe leading from the ram to the house is one hundred and ninety feet. 5. The pipe leading from the ram to the house has three right angles, rounded by curves. 6. The ram is of Douglass' make, of a small size. 7. The length of the drive or supply-pipe is sixty feet. Its inner diameter one inch. 8. The depth of water in the spring, over the drive pipe, is six inches. 9. The inner diameter of the pipe, conducting the water from the ram to the house, is three-eighths of an inch. "'I consider it very essential that the drive or supply-pipe should be laid as straight as possible, as in the motion of the water in this pipe consists the power of the ram. V. H. HALLOCK. North-East Center, N.Y., April 2d, 1849.'" We have seen several of these rams at work; and in any place where the required amount of fall can be had, with sufficient water to supply the demand, we are entirely satisfied that no plan so cheap and efficient can be adopted, by which to throw it to a higher level, and at a distance from the point of its flow. We heartily commend it to all who need a thing of the kind, and have at hand the facilities in the way of a stream for its use. It is hardly worth while to add, that by the aid of the ram, water can be thrown into every room in the dwelling house, as well as into the various buildings, and yards, and fields of the farm, wherever it may be required. RAT-PROOF GRANARY. This plan, and description, we take from an agricultural periodical published in New York--"The Plow." We can recommend no plan of a better kind for the objects required. It is an old-fashioned structure, which many of our readers will recognize--only, that it is improved in some of its details. [Illustration: GRANARY] The illustration above needs but little description. The posts should be stone, if procurable, one foot square, and four feet long, set one-third in the ground, and capped with smooth flat stones, four to six inches thick, and two feet, at least, across. If wooden posts are used, make them sixteen inches square, and set them in a hole previously filled, six inches deep, with charcoal, or rubble stone and lime grouting, and fill around the posts with the same. Four inches from the top, nail on a flange of tin or sheet iron, six inches wide, the projecting edge of which may be serrated, as a further preventive against the depredating rascals creeping around. The steps are hinged to the door-sill, and should have a cord and weight attached to the door, so that whenever it is shut, the steps should be up also; this would prevent the possibility of carelessness in leaving them down for the rats to walk up. The sides should be made of slats, with large cracks between, and the floor under the corn-crib, with numerous open joints; no matter if shattered corn falls through, let the pigs and chickens have it; the circulation of the air through the pile of corn, will more than pay for all you will lose through the floor. If you intend to have sweet grain, be sure to have a ventilator in the roof, and you may see by the vane on the top of it, how the wind will always blow favorably for you. IMPROVED DOMESTIC ANIMALS. Having completed the series of subjects which we had designed for this work, we are hardly content to send it out to the public, without inviting the attention of our farmers, and others who dwell in the country and occupy land, to the importance of surrounding themselves with the best breeds of domestic animals, as an item of increased profit in their farm management, and as a subject of interest and satisfaction to themselves in the embellishment of their grounds. We have addressed ourselves through these pages to the good sense of men who, in their general character and pursuits, comprise the most stable class of our population. We have endeavored to impress upon them the importance of providing all the conveniences and comforts to themselves, in their dwellings, as well as the due provision for their animals and crops, in the rougher farm buildings, which their circumstances will admit; and we trust they have been shown that it is proper economy so to do. We have, in addition to these, somewhat dilated upon objects of embellishment, in the way of grounds to surround them, and trees to beautify them, which will in no way interfere with a just economy, and add greatly to the pleasure and interest of their occupation. We now want them to introduce into those grounds such domestic animals as shall add to their ornament, and be far more profitable to themselves, than the inferior things which are called the common, or native stock of the country. Without this last lesson, half our object would be lost. Of what avail will be the best provision for the conveniences of a family, and the labors of the farm, if the farm be badly cultivated, and a worthless or inferior stock be kept upon it? The work is but half done at best; and the inferiority of the last will only become more conspicuous and contemptible, in contrast with the superior condition of the first. It is not intended to go into an examination of the farm-stock of our country at large, nor into their modes of treatment; but, to recommend such varieties of animals as are profitable in their breeding and keeping, both to the professional farmer in his vocation, and to such as, beyond this, find them an object of convenience, or of pleasure. We, in America, are comparatively a young people. Yet, we have surmounted _necessity_. We have arrived at the period when we enjoy the fruits of competence--some of us, the luxuries of wealth. A taste for superior domestic animals has been increasing, and spreading over the United States for many years past; so that now, a portion of our farmers and country people understand somewhat of the subject. It has been thoroughly demonstrated, that good farm stock is better, and more profitable than poor stock. Still, a taste for good stock, and the advantages of keeping them, over the common stock of the country, is not _generally_ understood; and that taste has to be cultivated. It is not altogether a thing of nature, any more than other faculties which require the aid of education to develope. We have known many people who had a fine perception in many things: an eye for a fine house, pleasant grounds, beautiful trees, and all the surroundings which such a place might command; and when these were complete, would place about it the veriest brutes, in the way of domestic animals, imaginable. The resident of the city, who lives at his country-house in summer, and selects a picture of mean or inferior quality, to hang up in his house by way of ornament, would be laughed at by his friends; yet he may drive into his grounds the meanest possible creature, in the shape of a cow, a pig, or a sheep, and it is all very well--for neither he nor they know any better; yet, the one is quite as much out of place as the other. The man, too, who, in good circumstances, will keep and drive a miserable horse, is the ridicule of his neighbors, because everybody knows what a good horse is, and that he should be well kept. Yet, the other stock on his farm may be the meanest trash in existence, and it creates no remark. On the contrary, one who at any _extra_ cost has supplied himself with stock of the choicer kinds, let their superiority be ever so apparent, has often been the subject of ribaldry, by his unthinking associates. And such, we are sorry to say, is still the case in too many sections of our country. But, on the whole, both our public spirit, and our intelligence, is increasing, in such things. Now, we hold it to be a _practical_ fact, that no farm, or country place, can be complete in its appointments, without good stock upon it; and it is useless for any one to suppose that his farm, or his place, is _finished_, without it. The man who has a fine lawn, of any extent, about his house, or a park adjoining, should have something to graze it--for he cannot afford to let it lie idle; nor is it worth while, even if he can afford it, to be mowing the grass in it every fortnight during the summer, to make it sightly. Besides this, grass will grow under the trees, and that too thin, and short, for cutting. This ground must, of course, be pastured. Now, will he go and get a parcel of mean scrubs of cattle, or sheep, to graze it, surrounding his very door, and disgracing him by their vulgar, plebeian looks, and yielding him no return, in either milk, beef, mutton, or wool? Of course not, if he be a wise, or a provident man, or one who has any true taste in such matters. He will rather go and obtain the best stock he can get, of breeds suited to the climate, and soil, which will give him a profitable return, either in milk, or flesh, or their increase, for his outlay; and which will also embellish his grounds, and create an interest in his family for their care, and arrest the attention of those who visit him, or pass by his grounds. Of the proper selection of this branch of his stock, we shall now discourse. [Illustration] In cattle, if your grounds be rich, and your grass abundant, the short-horns are the stock for them. They are "the head and front," in appearance, size, and combination of good qualities--the very aristocracy of all neat cattle. A well-bred, and well developed short-horn cow, full in the qualities which belong to her character, is the very perfection of her kind. Her large, square form; fine orange, russet, or nut-colored muzzle; bright, prominent, yet mild, expressive eye; small, light horn; thin ears; clean neck; projecting brisket; deep, and broad chest; level back, and loin; broad hips; large, and well-spread udder, with its silky covering of hair, and clean, taper, wide-standing teats, giving twenty to thirty quarts of rich milk in a day; deep thigh, and twist; light tail; small, short legs; and, added to this, her brilliant and ever-varying colors of all, and every-intermingling shades of red, and white, or either of them alone; such, singly, or in groups, standing quietly under the shade of trees, grazing in the open field, or quietly resting upon the grass, are the very perfection of a cattle picture, and give a grace and beauty to the grounds which no living thing can equal. Here stands a short-horn cow, in all the majesty of her style and character! We add, also, a short-horn bull, which exhibits, in a high degree, the vigor, stamina, and excellence of his kind. Nor, in this laudation of the short-horns, are we at all mistaken. Go into the luxuriant blue-grass pastures of Kentucky; the rich, and wide-spread grazing regions of central, and lower Ohio; the prairies of Indiana, and Illinois, just now beginning to receive them; the sweet, and succulent pastures of central and western New York, or on the Hudson river; and now and then, a finely-cultivated farm in other sections of the United States, where their worth has become established; and they present pictures of thrift, of excellence, of beauty, and of profit, that no other neat cattle can pretend to equal. As a family cow, nothing can excel the short-horn, in the abundance and richness of her milk, and in the profit she will yield to her owner; and, on every place where she can be supplied with abundance of food, she stands without a rival. From the short-horns, spring those magnificent fat oxen and steers, which attract so much admiration, and carry off the prizes, at our great cattle shows. Thousands of them, of less or higher grade in blood, are fed every year, in the Scioto, the Miami, and the other great feeding valleys of the west, and in the fertile corn regions of Kentucky, and taken to the New York and Philadelphia markets. As a profitable beast to the grazier, and the feeder, nothing can equal them in early maturity and excellence. For this purpose, the short-horns are steadily working their way all over the vast cattle-breeding regions of the west; and, for the richness and abundance of her milk, the cow is eagerly introduced into the dairy, and milk-producing sections of the other states, where she will finally take rank, and maintain her superiority over all others, on rich and productive soils. [Illustration: DEVON COW. DEVON BULL.] On lighter soils, with shorter pastures; or on hilly and stony grounds, another race of cattle may be kept, better adapted to such localities, than those just described. They are the Devons--also an English breed, and claimed there as an aboriginal race in England; and if any variety of cattle, exhibiting the blood-like beauty, and fineness of limb, the deep, uniformity of color, and the gazelle-like brilliancy of their eye, can claim a remote ancestry, and a pure descent, the Devons can make such claim, beyond almost any other. They were introduced--save now and then an isolated animal at an earlier day--into the United States some thirty-two or three years ago, about the same time with the short-horns; and like them, have been added to, and improved by frequent importations since; until now, probably our country will show some specimens equal in quality to their high general character in the land of their nativity. Unlike the short-horn, the Devon is a much lighter animal, with a like fine expression of countenance; an elevated horn; more agile in form; yet finer in limb, and bone; a deep mahogany-red in color; and of a grace, and beauty in figure excelled by no other breed whatever. The Devon cow is usually a good milker, for her size; of quiet temper; docile in her habits; a quick feeder; and a most satisfactory animal in all particulars. From the Devons, spring those beautifully matched red working-oxen, so much admired in our eastern states; the superiors to which, in kindness, docility, endurance, quickness, and honesty of labor, no country can produce. In the _quality_ of their beef, they are unrivaled by any breed of cattle in the United States; but in their early maturity for that purpose, are not equal to the short-horns. We here present a cut of a Devon cow; but with the remark, that she presents a deficiency of bag, and stands higher on the leg, than she ought to do; and her leanness in flesh gives her a less graceful appearance than is her wont, when in good condition. We present, also, the cut of a Devon bull. This figure does not do him full justice, the head being drawn in, to give the cut room on the page. Several beautiful herds of Devons are to be found in New York, in Maryland, in Connecticut, and in Massachusetts; and some few in other states, where they can be obtained by those who wish to purchase. And it is a gratifying incident, to learn that both the breeds we have named are increasing in demand, which has created a corresponding spirit in those who breed them, to bestow their best attention in perfecting their good qualities. Another branch of domestic stock should also excite the attention of those who wish to embellish their grounds, as well as to improve the quality of their mutton--obtaining, withal, a fleece of valuable wool. These are the Southdown, and the Cotswold, Leicester, or other improved breeds of long-wooled sheep. There is no more peaceful, or beautiful small animal to be seen, in an open park, or pleasure ground, or in the paddock of a farm, than these; and as they have been of late much sought after, they will be briefly noticed. [Illustration: SOUTHDOWN RAM. SOUTHDOWN EWE.] [Illustration: LONG-WOOLED RAM. LONG-WOOLED EWE.] The Southdown, a cut of which we present, is a fine, compact, and solid sheep, with dark face and legs; quiet in its habits, mild in disposition, of a medium quality, and medium weight of fleece; and yielding a kind of mutton unsurpassed in flavor and delicacy--equal, in the estimation of many, to the finest venison. The carcass of a Southdown wether, when well fatted, is large, weighing, at two to three years old, a hundred to a hundred and twenty pounds. The ewe is a prolific breeder, and a good nurse. They are exceedingly hardy, and will thrive equally well in all climates, and on all our soils, where they can live. There is no other variety of sheep which has been bred to that high degree of perfection, in England. The great Southdown breeder, Mr. Webb, of Batraham, has often received as high as fifty, to one hundred guineas, in a season, for the _use_ of a single ram. Such prices show the estimation in which the best Southdowns are held there, as well as their great popularity among the English farmers. They are extensively kept in the parks, and pleasure grounds of the wealthy people, where things of profit are usually connected with those devoted to luxury. For this cut of the Southdown ewe, we are indebted to the kindness of Luther Tucker, Esq., of the Albany "Cultivator." The Cotswold, New Oxford, and Leicester sheep, of the long-wooled variety, are also highly esteemed, in the same capacity as the Southdowns. They are large; not so compactly built as the Southdowns; producing a heavy fleece of long wool, mostly used for combing, and making into worsted stuffs. They are scarcely so hardy, either, as the Southdowns; nor are they so prolific. Still, they have many excellent qualities; and although their mutton has not the fine grain, nor delicacy, of the other, it is of enormous weight, when well fattened, and a most profitable carcass. It has sometimes reached a weight of two hundred pounds, when dressed. They are gentle, and quiet in their habits; white in the face and legs; and show a fine and stately contrast to the Southdowns, in their increased size, and breadth of figure. They require, also, a somewhat richer pasture; but will thrive on any good soil, yielding sweet grasses. For the cut of the Cotswold ewe, we are also indebted to Mr. Tucker, of "The Cultivator." To show the contrast between the _common_ native sheep, and the improved breeds, of which we have spoken, a true portrait of the former is inserted, which will be readily recognized as the creature which embellishes, in so high a degree, many of the wild nooks, and rugged farms of the country! [Illustration: A COMMON SHEEP.] That the keeping of choice breeds of animals, and the cultivation of a high taste for them, is no _vulgar_ matter, with even the most exalted intellects, and of men occupying the most honorable stations in the state, and in society; and that they concern the retired gentleman, as well as the practical farmer, it is only necessary to refer to the many prominent examples in Great Britain, and our own country, within the last fifty years. The most distinguished noblemen of England, and Scotland, have long bred the finest of cattle, and embellished their home parks with them. The late Earl Spencer, one of the great patrons of agricultural improvement in England, at his death owned a herd of two hundred of the highest bred short-horns, which he kept on his home farm, at Wiseton. The Dukes of Bedford, for the last century and a half, have made extraordinary exertions to improve their several breeds of cattle. The late Earl of Leicester, better known, perhaps, as Mr. Coke, of Holkham, and the most celebrated farmer of his time, has been long identified with his large and select herds of Devons, and his flocks of Southdowns. The Duke of Richmond has his great park at Goodwood stocked with the finest Southdowns, Short-horns, and Devons. Prince Albert, even, has caught the infection of such liberal and useful example, and the royal park at Windsor is tenanted with the finest farm stock, of many kinds; and he is a constant competitor at the great Smithfield cattle shows, annually held in London. Besides these, hundreds of the nobility, and wealthy country gentlemen of Great Britain, every year compete with the intelligent farmers, in their exhibitions of cattle, at the royal and provincial shows, in England, Scotland, and Ireland. In the United States, Washington was a great promoter of improvement in farm stock, and introduced on to his broad estate, at Mount Vernon, many foreign animals, which he had sent out to him at great expense; and it was his pride to show his numerous and distinguished guests, his horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs. Henry Clay, of Kentucky, was among the first promoters of the improvement of domestic animals in the fertile region, of which his own favorite Ashland is the center; and to his continued efforts in the breeding of the finest short-horns, and mules, is the state of Kentucky greatly indebted for its reputation in these descriptions of stock. Daniel Webster has introduced on to his estate, at Marshfield, the finest cattle, and sheep suited to its soil and climate, and takes much pride in showing their good qualities. Indeed, we have never heard either of these two last remarkable men more eloquent, than when discoursing of their cattle, and of their pleasure in ranging over their pastures, and examining their herds and flocks. They have both been importers of stock, and liberal in their dissemination among their agricultural friends and neighbors. Public-spirited, patriotic men, in almost every one of our states, have either imported from Europe, or drawn from a distance in their own country, choice animals, to stock their own estates, and bred them for the improvement of their several neighborhoods. Merchants, and generous men of other professions, have shown great liberality, and the finest taste, in importing, rearing, and distributing over the country the best breeds of horses, cattle, sheep, and pigs. Their own beautiful home grounds are embellished with them, in a style that all the dumb statuary in existence can not equal in interest--models of grace, and beauty, and utility, which are in vain sought among the sculpture, or paintings of ancient time. And many a plain and unpretending farmer of our country, emulating such laudable examples, now shows in his luxuriant pastures, and well-filled barns and stables, the choicest specimens of imported stock; and their prizes, won at the cattle shows, are the laudable pride of themselves, and their families. Nor is this laudable taste, confined to _men_ alone. Females of the highest worth, and domestic example, both abroad and at home, cultivate a love for such objects, and take much interest in the welfare of their farm stock. We were at the annual state cattle show, in one of our large states, but a short time since, and in loitering about the cattle quarter of the grounds, met a lady of our acquaintance, with a party of her female friends, on a tour of inspection among the beautiful short-horns, and Devons, and the select varieties of sheep. She was the daughter of a distinguished statesman, who was also a large farmer, and a patron of great liberality, in the promotion of fine stock in his own state. She was bred upon the farm, and, to rare accomplishments in education, was possessed of a deep love for all rural objects; and in the stock of the farm she took a peculiar interest. Her husband was an extensive farmer, and a noted breeder of fine animals. She had her own farm, too, and cattle upon it, equally as choice as his, in her own right; and they were both competitors at the annual exhibitions. Introduced to her friends, at her request, we accompanied them in their round of inspection. There were the beautiful cows, and the younger cattle, and the sheep--all noticed, criticised, and remarked upon; and with a judgment, too, in their various properties, which convinced us of her sound knowledge of their physiology, and good qualities, which she explained to her associates with all the familiarity that she would a tambouring frame, or a piece of embroidery. There was no squeamish fastidiousness; no affectation of prudery, in this; but all natural as the pure flow of admiration in a well-bred lady could be. At her most comfortable, and hospitable residence, afterward, she showed us, with pride, the several cups, and other articles of plate, which her family had won as prizes, at the agricultural exhibitions; and which she intended to preserve, as heir-looms to her children. This is not a solitary example; yet, a too rare one, among our fair countrywomen. Such a spirit is contagious, and we witness with real satisfaction, their growing taste in such laudable sources of enjoyment: contrary to the _parvenue_ affectation of a vast many otherwise sensible and accomplished females of our cities and towns--comprising even the wives and daughters of farmers, too--who can saunter among the not over select, and equivocal representations, among the paintings and statuary of our public galleries; and descant with entire freedom, on the various attitudes, and artistical merits of the works before them; or gaze with apparent admiration upon the brazen pirouettes of a public dancing girl, amid all the equivoque of a crowded theater; and yet, whose delicacy is shocked at the exhibitions of a cattle show! Such females as we have noticed, can admire the living, moving beauty of animal life, with the natural and easy grace of purity itself, and without the slightest suspicion of a stain of vulgarity. From the bottom of our heart, we trust that a reformation is at work among our American women, in the promotion of a taste, and not only a taste, but a genuine _love_ of things connected with country life. It was not so, with the mothers, and the wives, of the stern and earnest men, who laid the foundations of their country's freedom and greatness. They were women of soul, character, and stamina; who grappled with the _realities_ of life, in their labors; and enjoyed its pleasures with truth and honesty. This over-nice, mincing delicacy, and sentimentality, in which their grand-daughters indulge, is but the off-throw of the boarding-school, the novelist, and the prude--mere "leather and prunella." Such remarks may be thought to lie beyond the line of our immediate labor. But in the discussion of the collateral subjects which have a bearing upon country life and residence, we incline to make a clean breast of it, and drop such incidental remark as may tend to promote the enjoyment, as well as instruction, of those whose sphere of action, and whose choice in life is amid the pure atmosphere, and the pure pleasures of the country. WATER-FOWLS. If a stream flow through the grounds, in the vicinity of the house; or a pond, or a small lake be near, a few varieties of choice water-fowls may be kept, adding much to the interest and amusement of the family. Many of the English nobility, and gentry, keep swans for such purpose. They are esteemed a bird of much grace and beauty, although silent, and of shy, unsocial habits, and not prolific in the production of their young. For such purposes as they are kept in England, the great African goose, resembling the China, but nearly double in size, is a preferable substitute in this country. It is a more beautiful bird in its plumage; equally graceful in the water; social, and gentle in its habits; breeding with facility, and agreeable in its voice, particularly at a little distance. The African goose will attain a weight of twenty to twenty-five pounds. Its body is finely formed, heavily feathered, and its flesh is of delicate flavor. The top of the head, and the back of its neck, which is long, high, and beautifully arched, is a dark brown; its bill black, with a high protuberance, or knob, at its junction with the head; a dark hazel eye, with a golden ring around it; the under part of the head and neck, a soft ash-color; and a heavy dewlap at the throat. Its legs and feet are orange-colored; and its belly white. Taken altogether, a noble and majestic bird. [Illustration: CHINA GOOSE.] The small brown China goose is another variety which may be introduced. She is nearly the color of the African, but darker; has the same black bill, and high protuberance on it, but without the dewlap under the throat; and has black legs and feet. She is only half the size of the other; is a more prolific layer,--frequently laying three or four clutches of eggs in a year; has the same character of voice; an equally high, arched neck, and is quite as graceful in the water. The neck of the goose in the cut should be one-third longer, to be an accurate likeness. The White China is another variety, in size and shape like the last, but perfectly white, with an orange colored bill and legs. Indeed, no swan can be more beautiful than this, which is of the same pure, clean plumage, and, in its habits and docility, equally a favorite with the others we have described. The Bremen goose is still another variety, of about the same size as the African, but in shape and appearance, not unlike the common goose, except in color, which is pure white. Young geese of this breed, at nine months old, frequently weigh twenty pounds, alive. We have had them of that weight, and for the table, none can be finer. They are equally prolific as the common goose, but, as a thing of ornament, are far behind the African and the China. Still, they are a stately bird, and an acquisition to any grounds where water-fowls are a subject of interest, convenience, or profit. All these birds are more domestic, if possible, than the common goose, and we have found them less troublesome, not inclined to wander abroad, and, in all the qualities of such a bird, far more agreeable. We have long kept them, and without their presence, should consider our grounds as incomplete, in one of the most attractive features of animated life. It is too much a fault of our farming population, that they do not pay sufficient attention to many little things which would render their homes more interesting, both to themselves, if they would only think so, and to their families, most certainly. If parents have no taste for such objects as we have recommended, or even others more common, they should encourage their children in the love of them, and furnish them for their amusement. The very soul of a farmer's home is to cluster every thing about it which shall make it attractive, and speak out the character of the country, and of his occupation, in its full extent. Herds and flocks upon the farm are a matter of course; and so are the horses, and the pigs. But there are other things, quite as indicative of household abundance, and domestic enjoyment. The pigeons, and the poultry of all kinds, and perhaps the rabbit warren, which are chiefly in charge of the good housewife, and her daughters, and the younger boys, show out the domestic feeling and benevolence of character in the family, not to be mistaken. It is a sign of enjoyment, of domestic contentment, and of mental cultivation, even, that will lead to something higher, and more valuable in after life; and it is in such light that it becomes an absolute _duty_ of the farmer who seeks the improvement and education of his children, to provide them with all these little objects, to engage their leisure hours and promote their happiness. How different a home like this from one--which is, really, not a home--where no attention is paid to such minor attractions; where a few starveling things, by way of geese, perhaps, picked half a dozen times a year, to within an inch of their lives, mope about the dirty premises, making their nightly sittings in the door yard, if the house has one; a stray turkey, or two, running, from fear of the untutored dogs, into the nearest wood, in the spring, to make their rude nests, and bring out half a clutch of young, and creeping about the fields through the summer with a chicken or two, which the foxes, or other vermin, have spared, and then dogged down in the winter, to provide a half got-up Christmas-dinner; and the hens about the open buildings all the year, committing their nuisances in every possible way! There need be no surer indication than this, of the utter hopelessness of progress for good, in such a family. A WORD ABOUT DOGS. We always loved a dog; and it almost broke our little heart, when but a trudging schoolboy, in our first jacket-and-trowsers, our kind mother made us take back the young puppy that had hardly got its eyes open, which we one day brought home, to be kept until it was fit to be taken from its natural nurse. We are now among the boys, John, Tom, and Harry; and intend to give them the benefit of our own experience in this line, as well as to say a few words to the elder brothers,--and fathers, even,--if they do not turn up their noses in contempt of our instruction, on a subject so much beneath their notice. We say that we love dogs: not _all_ dogs, however. But we love some dogs--of the right breeds. There is probably no other civilized country so dog-ridden as this, both in "Mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of _low_ degree." Goldsmith, kind man that he was, must have been a capital judge of dogs, like many other poetical gentlemen. Still, other men than poets are sometimes good judges, and great lovers of dogs; but the mass of people are quite as well satisfied with one kind of dog as with another, so that it be a dog; and they too often indulge in their companionship, much to the annoyance of good neighborhood, good morals, and, indeed, of propriety, thrift, and common justice. Of all these we have nothing to say--here, at least. Ours is a "free country"--for dogs, if for nothing else. Nor shall we discuss the various qualities, or the different breeds of dogs for sporting purposes. We never go out shooting; nor do we take a hunt--having no taste that way. Perhaps in this we are to be pitied; but we are content as it is. Therefore we shall let the hounds, and pointers, and setters, the springers, and the land and the water spaniels, all alone. The mastiffs, and the bull dogs, too, we shall leave to those who like them. The poodle, and the little lap-dog of other kinds, also, we shall turn over to the kindness of those who--we are sorry for them, in having nothing better to interest themselves about--take a pleasure in keeping and tending them. We want to mix in a little _usefulness_, as well as amusement, in the way of a dog; and after a whole life, thus far, of dog companionship, and the trial of pretty much every thing in the line of a dog--from the great Newfoundland, of a hundred pounds weight, down to the squeaking little whiffet, of six--we have, for many years past, settled down into the practical belief that the small ratting terrier is the only one, except the shepherd dog, we care to keep; and of these, chiefly, we shall speak. There are many varieties of the Terrier. Some are large, weighing forty or fifty pounds, rough-haired, and savage looking. There is the bull-terrier, of less size, not a kindly, well-disposed creature to strangers; but irascibly inclined, and unamiable in his deportment; still useful as a watch-dog, and a determined enemy to all vermin, whatever. Then, again, are the small rat-terriers, as they are termed, weighing from a dozen to twenty pounds; some with rough, long, wiry hair; a fierce, whiskered muzzle; of prodigious strength for their size; wonderful instinct and sagacity; kind in temper; and possessing valuable qualities, bating a lack of beauty in appearance. They are of all colors, but are generally uniform in their color, whatever it be. Another kind, still, is the smooth terrier, of the same sizes as the last; a very pretty dog indeed; with a kinder disposition to mankind; yet equally destructive to vermin, and watchful to the premises which they inhabit, or of whatever else is put under their charge. The fidelity of the terrier to his master is wonderful; equal, if not superior to any other dog whatever. In courage and perseverance, in hardihood, and feats of daring, he has hardly an equal; and in general _usefulness,_ no dog can compare with him. [Illustration: THE SMOOTH TERRIER.] Sir Walter Scott, who was a great friend to dogs, as well as a nice and critical judge of their qualities, used to tell this story:--When a young man, first attending, as an advocate, the Jedburgh assizes, a notorious burglar engaged Sir Walter to defend him on his trial for housebreaking in the neighborhood. The case was a hard one; the proof direct and conclusive; and no ingenuity of the defence could avoid the conviction of the culprit. The matter was settled beyond redemption; and before he left for his imprisonment, or transportation, the thief requested Sir Walter to come into his cell. On meeting, the fellow frankly told his counsel that he felt very grateful to him for his efforts to clear him; that he had done the best he could; but the proof was too palpable against him. He would gladly reward Sir Walter for his services; but he had no money, and could only give him a piece of advice, which might, perhaps, be serviceable hereafter. Sir Walter heard him, no doubt, with some regret at losing his fee; but concluding to hear what he had to say. "You are a housekeeper, Mr. Scott. For security to your doors, use nothing but a common lock--if rusty and old, no matter; they are quite as hard to pick as any others. (Neither Chubbs' nor Hobbs' _non-pickable_ locks were then invented.) Then provide yourself with a small rat terrier, and keep him in your house at night. There is no safety in a mastiff, or bull-dog, or in a large dog of any breed. They can always be appeased and quieted, and burglars understand them; but a terrier can neither be terrified nor silenced; nor do we attempt to break in where one is known to be kept." Sir Walter heeded the advice, and, in his housekeeping experience, afterward, confirmed the good qualities of the terrier, as related to him by the burglar. He also commemorated the conversation by the following not exceedingly poetical couplet: "A terrier dog and a rusty key, Was Walter Scott's first Jedburgh fee." The terrier has a perfect, thorough, unappeasable instinct for, and hatred to all kinds of vermin. He takes to rats and mice as naturally as a cat. He will scent out their haunts and burrows. He will lie for hours by their places of passage, and point them with the sagacity of a pointer at a bird. He is as quick as lightning, in pouncing upon them, when in sight, and rarely misses them when he springs. A single bite settles the matter; and where there are several rats found together, a dog will frequently dispatch half a dozen of them, before they can get twenty feet from him. A dog of our own has killed that number, before they could get across the stable floor. In the grain field, with the harvesters, a terrier will catch hundreds of field-mice in a day; or, in the hay field, he is equally destructive. With a woodchuck, a raccoon, or anything of their size--even a skunk, which many dogs avoid--he engages, with the same readiness that he will a rat. The night is no bar to his vigils. He has the sight of an owl, in the dark. Minks, and weasels, are his aversion, as much as other vermin. He will follow the first into the water, till he exhausts him with diving, and overtakes him in swimming. He is a hunter, too. He will tree a squirrel, or a raccoon, as readily as the best of sporting dogs. He will catch, and hold a pig, or anything not too large or heavy for him. He will lie down on your garment, and watch it for hours; or by anything else left in his charge. He will play with the children, and share their sports as joyfully as a dumb creature can do; and nothing can be more affectionate, kind, and gentle among them. He is cleanly, honest, and seldom addicted to tricks of any kind. We prefer the high-bred, smooth, English terrier, to any other variety. They are rather more gentle in temper, and very much handsomer in appearance, than the rough-haired kind; but perhaps no better in their useful qualities. We have kept them for years; we keep them now; and no reasonable inducement would let us part with them. A year or two ago, having accidentally lost our farm terrier, and nothing remaining on the place but our shepherd dog, the buildings soon swarmed with rats. They were in, and about everything. During the winter, the men who tended the horses, and cattle, at their nightly rounds of inspection, before going to bed, would kill, with their clubs, three or four, in the barns and stables, every evening. But still the rats increased, and they became unendurable. They got into the grain-mows, where they burrowed, and brought forth with a fecundity second only to the frogs of Egypt. They gnawed into the granaries. They dug into the dairy. They entered the meat barrels. They carried off the eggs from the hen-nests. They stole away, and devoured, the young ducks, and chickens. They literally came into the "kneading troughs" of the kitchen. Oh! the rats were intolerable! Traps were no use. Arsenic was innocuous--they wouldn't touch it. Opportunity favored us, and we got two high-bred, smooth, English terriers--a dog, and a slut. Then commenced such a slaughter as we seldom see. The rats had got bold. The dogs caught them daily by dozens, as they came out from their haunts, fearless of evil, as before. As they grew more shy, their holes were watched, and every morning dead rats were found about the premises. The dogs, during the day, pointed out their holes. Planks were removed, nests were found, and the rats, young and old, killed, _instanter_. Hundreds on hundreds were slaughtered, in the first few weeks; and in a short time, the place was mostly rid of them, until enough only are left to keep the dogs "in play," and to show that in spite of all precaution, they will harbor wherever there is a thing to eat, and a possible place of covert for them to burrow. To have the terrier in full perfection, it is important that the breed be _pure_. We are so prone to mix up everything we get, in this country, that it is sometimes difficult to get anything exactly as it should be; but a little care will provide us, in this particular. He should be properly trained, too, when young. That is, to mind what is said to him. His intelligence will be equal to all your wants in the _dog_-line; but he should not be _fooled_ with. His instincts are _sure_. And, with a good education, the terrier will prove all you need in a farm, and a watch-dog. We speak from long experience, and observation. [Illustration: THE SHEPHERD DOG.] The shepherd dog is another useful--almost indispensable--creature, on the sheep, or dairy farm. This cut is an accurate representation of the finest of the breed. To the flock-master, he saves a world of labor, in driving and gathering the flocks together, or from one field, or place, to another. To the sheep-drover, also, he is worth a man, at least; and in many cases, can do with a flock what a man can not do. But for this labor, he requires training, and a strict, thorough education, by those who know how to do it. He is a peaceable, quiet creature; good for little else than driving, and on a stock farm will save fifty times his cost and keeping, every year. He is a reasonably good watch-dog, also; but he has neither the instinct, nor sagacity of the terrier, in that duty. To keep him in his best estate, for his own peculiar work, he should not be troubled with other labors, as it distracts his attention from his peculiar duties. We had a remarkably good dog, of this kind, a few years since. He was worth the services of a stout boy, in bringing up the cattle, and sheep, until an idle boy or two, in the neighborhood, decoyed him out in "_cooning_," a few nights during one autumn--in which he proved a most capital hunter; and after that, he became worthless, as a cattle dog. He was always rummaging around among the trees, barking at birds, squirrels, or any live thing that he could find; and no man could coax him back to the dull routine of his duty. A shepherd dog should never go a-hunting. We would not be understood as condemning everything else, excepting the dogs we have named, for farm use. The Newfoundland, and the mastiff, are enormously large dogs, and possessed of some noble qualities. They have performed feats of sagacity and fidelity which have attracted universal admiration; but, three to one, if you have them on your farm, they will kill every sheep upon it; and their watchfulness is no greater than that of the shepherd dog, or the terrier. We have spoken of such as we have entire confidence in, and such as we consider the best for useful service. There are some kinds of cur dog that are useful. They are of no _breed_ at all, to be sure; but have, now and then, good qualities; and when nothing better can be got, they will do for a make-shift. But as a rule, we would be equally particular in the _breed_ of our dog, as we would in the breed of our cattle, or sheep. There are altogether too many dogs kept, in the country, and most usually by a class of people who have no need of them, and which prove only a nuisance to the neighborhood, and a destruction to the goods of others. Thousands of useful sheep are annually destroyed by them; and in some regions of the country, they can not be kept, by reason of their destruction by worthless dogs, which are owned by the disorderly people about them. In a western state, some time ago, in conversing with a large farmer, who had a flock of perhaps a hundred sheep running in one of his pastures, and who also kept a dozen hounds, for hunting, we asked him whether the dogs did not kill his sheep? "To be sure they do," was his reply; "but the dogs are worth more than the sheep, for they give us great sport in hunting deer, and foxes; and the sheep only give us a little mutton, now and then, and some wool for the women to make into stockings!" 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Other errors are individually noted. _Table of Contents_ Indentation of the Contents does not always correspond to chapters and subchapters of the body text, and many entries have different names. All secondary indentations were added by the transcriber, representing text sections that have no distinct header. There is no separate list of illustrations. PREFATORY ... 9 _in body text, "Prefatory" covers pgs. ix-xv_ Miscellaneous Details _indented in printed Contents, as if a subsection of "Design II"_ Tree Planting in the Highway _indented in printed Contents, as if a subsection of "Design IV"_ Design VII ... Miscellaneous ... Lawns, Grounds, Parks, and Woods _printed Contents shows Miscellaneous as a chapter heading, with Lawns... indented as a subsection_ Fruit Garden ... Kitchen Garden ... Flowers _all shown in body text as separate chapters_ Explanations (under Rabbits) _not indented in printed Contents_ The Butter Dairy _shown in body text as a separate chapter_ The Water Ram ... 337 _text reads "237"_ Short Horn Bull ... 349 Short Horn Cow ... 352 _pages reversed: bull is on 352, cow on 349_ _Body Text_ [frontispiece] _illustration is shown again on page 85_ its huge chimneys, its wide fire-places the huge, deep fire-places _hyphens in original: normal for text is "fireplaces"_ The Swiss chalêt _error for "châlet"?_ their good farming neighbors didn't call on them _text reads "did'nt"_ an entrance door near the wood house _form "wood house" unchanged: normal for text is "wood-house" (but note title page)_ Within doors it is a work-shop too. _hyphen in original: normal for text is "workshop"_ so perfectly in keeping was it with propriety. _text has final comma_ In the front and rear roofs of this wing is a dormer window _text reads "dormar"_ small-tool-house _hyphens in original_ The Lombardy-poplar--albeit, an object of fashionable derision _hyphen in original: normal for text is "Lombardy poplar"_ four stacks of chimnies _spelling unchanged_ dogwood, kalmia, and rhododendron _text reads "rhodendendron"_ while the fibrous-rooted perennials _text reads "perenials"_ a seeming humility _text reads "humilty"_ tool-house, piggery, poultry-house, corn-crib _text reads "con-crib"_ about the size of a common window button _text unchanged: error for "batten"?_ to support the comb as it is built _text reads "as t is" with blank space_ and why not hen's? _apostrophe in original_ what she lays in winter must be subtracted _text reads "substracted"_ should then be placed one inch below _text reads "theu"_ the collections throughout the country _text reads "throughout the the"_ he applied to his turnep crop _spelling unchanged_ require the aid of education to develope. _spelling unchanged_ the finest Southdowns, Short-horns, and Devons _capitalization as in original: normal for text is "short-horns"_ but irascibly inclined _text reads "irrascibly"_ He will tree a squirrel _text reads "sqirrel"_ _Advertising Pages_ Punctuation of book titles is unchanged. The Complete Farmer and American Gardener ... 2 vols. _numeral "2" unclear_ Rural Architecture ... Piggeries ... _text reads "Pigeries"_ Experimental Researches on the Food of Animals ... Thompson ... _name usually found as "Thomson"_ The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America ... colored, 15.00. _no $ sign_ The Plants of Boston and Vicinity. _text reads "o Boston" with empty space_ Downing' Horticulturist. _missing "s" in "Downing's"_ The Muck Manual ... By Samuel L. Dana ... _text reads "Da a" with empty space_ The Dog and Sportsman ... cts. _price missing, with no extra space_ The American Herd Book ... $_. _number illegible, possibly "2"_ 
42230	----	[Illustration: "They shouted and cheered; then Mr. Trelawny put his hand on her head." Page 310. _Esther's Charge._] ESTHER'S CHARGE A STORY FOR GIRLS BY E. EVERETT-GREEN AUTHOR OF "SQUIB AND HIS FRIENDS," "THE YOUNG PIONEERS," "IN THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY," ETC, ETC. _ILLUSTRATED_ NEW YORK A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER CONTENTS. I. A Little Manager, 1 II. The Boys, 26 III. An Anxious Charge, 52 IV. The Sweets of Freedom, 78 V. At the Crag, 104 VI. The Shorn Sheep, 130 VII. Days of Sunshine, 156 VIII. The City of Refuge, 182 IX. The Magician's Cave, 208 X. Confessions, 234 XI. Mr. Trelawny, 262 XII. A New Charge, 291 ESTHER'S CHARGE. CHAPTER I. A LITTLE MANAGER. "Where is Miss Esther, Genefer?" "I think she's at the linen-press, marm, putting away the things from the wash." "Tell her to come to me when she has done that. I want to speak to her." "Yes, marm, I will. Can I do anything else for you?" "No, thank you. I have all I want. But send Miss Esther to me quickly." Mrs. St. Aiden was lying on a couch in a very pretty, dainty, little room, which opened upon a garden, blazing with late spring and early summer flowers. The lawn was still green, and looked like velvet, and the beds and borders of flowers were carefully tended, as could be seen at a glance. The gravel paths were rolled and weeded, and everything was in exquisite order, both within and without the house. Everything also was on a very small scale; and the lady herself, who was clad in deep widow's weeds, was small and slim also, and looked as if she were somewhat of an invalid, which indeed was the case. Rather more than a year ago her husband had died after a very short illness, and she had never been well since, although she was not exactly ill of any disease. She was weak and easily upset, and she had to depend a good deal upon her servants and her only daughter. She had never been accustomed to think for herself. Captain St. Aiden had always done the thinking and the managing as long as he lived, and the poor lady felt very helpless when he was taken from her. When the servant had gone she took up again a letter which she had been reading, and kept turning the leaves of it over and over again, sighing, and seeming troubled and perplexed. She also kept looking across the room towards the door at short intervals, sometimes saying half aloud as she did so,-- "I wish Esther would come!" Presently the door opened, and a little girl came into the room with very quiet steps. She was dressed daintily in a white frock, with black sash and bows. She had a grave little face, that was generally rather pale, and looked small beneath the wide brow and big gray eyes. Perhaps it looked smaller for the flowing mass of wavy hair, a dusky chestnut color, that flowed over the child's shoulders and hung below her waist. It was very beautiful hair, soft and silky, with a crisp wave in it that made it stand off from her face like a cloud. It looked dark in the shadow, but when the sun shone upon it, it glistened almost like gold. Mrs. St. Aiden was very proud of Esther's hair, and considered it her chief beauty; but it was a source of considerable trouble to the little girl herself, for it took a great deal of brushing and combing to keep it in order, and tangled dreadfully when she played games. Then often the weight and heat of it made her head ache, especially at night; and she used to long to have a cropped head like other little children she sometimes saw, or, at least, to have only moderately long hair, like her two little friends at the rectory, Prissy and Milly Polperran. "Did you want me, mama?" asked Esther, coming forwards towards the couch. "Yes, dear, I did. I want to talk to you about something very serious. I have a letter here from your Uncle Arthur. He wants to send his two little boys here for three years, because he has just got an appointment that will take him out of the country all that time. I don't know what to think about it; it is so very sudden." It was sudden, and Mrs. St. Aiden looked rather piteously at Esther. It seemed so hard for her to have to decide upon such a step in a hurry, and her brother wanted an answer at once. He had to make his own arrangements very quickly. Esther was quite used to being her mother's confidante and adviser. Even in her father's lifetime she had often been promoted to this post during his frequent absences. When he lay dying, he had taken Esther's hands in his, and looking into her serious eyes, so like his own, had told her to take great care of mama always, and try to be a help and comfort to her. Her father had often called her his "wise little woman," and had talked to her much more gravely and seriously than most fathers do to their young children. Esther, too, having no brothers or sisters, had grown up almost entirely with her elders, and, therefore, she had developed a gravity and seriousness not usual at her age, though she was by no means lacking in the capacity for childish fun on the rare occasions when she was free to indulge in it. She was ten years old at this time, and she was not taller than many children are at seven or eight; but there was a thoughtful look upon the small face and in the big gray eyes which was different from what is generally to be seen in the eyes of children of that age. "Two little boys!" repeated Esther gravely; "they will be my cousins, I suppose. How old are they, and what are their names, mama?" "The elder is nine, and the other rather more than a year younger. He does not mention their names, but I know the elder is called Philip, after our grandfather. I'm not quite sure about the second. Arthur is such a very bad correspondent, and poor Ada died when the second boy was born. You see it was like this, Esther. The grandmother on the mother's side kept house for him, and took care of the children after their mother died--she was living with him then. She died a year ago, and things have been going on in the same groove at his house. But now comes this appointment abroad, and he can neither take the boys nor leave them at home alone. They are not fit for school yet, he says. Of course they are not ready for public school, but I should have thought they might--well, never mind that. What he says is that they want taking in hand by a good governess or tutor, and suggests that they should come to me, and that I should find such a person, and that you should share the lessons, and get a good start with your education." Esther's eyes began to sparkle beneath their long black lashes. She had an ardent love of study, and hitherto she had only been able to pick up such odd crumbs as were to be had from the desultory teaching of her mother, or from the study of such books as she could lay hands upon in that little-used room that was called the study, though nobody ever studied there save herself. In her father's lifetime Esther had been well grounded, but since his death her education had been conducted in a very haphazard fashion. She had a wonderful thirst after knowledge, and in her leisure hours would almost always be found poring over a book; but of real tuition she had now hardly any, and the thought of a regular governess or tutor made her eyes sparkle with joy. "O mama! could we?" "Could we what, Esther?" "Have a governess or tutor here as well as two boys?" "Not in the house itself, of course. But he or she could lodge in the place, I suppose, and come every day. Your uncle is very liberal in his ideas, Esther. He is going to let his own big house. He has had an offer already, and he suggests paying over three or four hundred pounds a year to me, if I will undertake the charge of the two boys. Of course that would make it all very easy in some ways." Esther's eyes grew round with wonder. She knew all about her mother's affairs, and how difficult it sometimes was to keep everything in the dainty state of perfection expected, upon the small income they inherited. To have this income doubled at a stroke, and only two boys to keep and a tutor's salary to pay out of it! Why, that would be a wonderful easing of many burdens which weighed heavily sometimes upon Esther's youthful shoulders. She had often found it so difficult to satisfy her delicate mother's wishes and whims, and yet to keep the weekly bills down to the sum Genefer said they ought not to exceed. "O mama, what a lot of money!" "Your uncle is a well-to-do man, my dear, and he truly says that terms at good private schools, where the holidays have to be provided for as well, run into a lot of money. And he does not think the boys are fit for school yet. He says they want breaking in by a tutor first. They have had a governess up till now, but he thinks a tutor would be better, especially as there is no man in this house. I hope he does not mean that the boys are very naughty and troublesome. I don't know what I shall do with them if they are." The lady sighed, and looked at Esther in that half helpless way which always went to the little girl's heart. She bent over and kissed her brow. "Never mind, mama dear. I will take care of the boys," she said, in her womanly way. "They are both younger than I. I think it will be nice to have regular lessons again. I think papa would have been pleased about that. And perhaps I shall like having boys to play with too; only it will be strange at first." "We could keep a girl, then, to help Genefer and Janet," said Mrs. St. Aiden. "The boys will have to have the big attic up at the top of the house, and the study to do lessons in. I hope they will not be very noisy; and there is the garden to play in. But they must not break the flowers, or take the fruit, or spoil the grass, or cut up the gravel. You will have to keep them in order, Esther. I can't have the place torn up by a pair of riotous boys." "I will take care of them, mama dear," answered Esther bravely, though her heart sank just a little at the thought of the unknown element about to be introduced into her life. She had had so little experience of boys--there was only little Herbert at the rectory who ever came here, and he was quite good, and under the care of his elder sisters. Would these boys let her keep them in order as Bertie was kept by Prissy and Milly? She hoped they would, and she said nothing of her misgivings to her mother. "Do you think you will say 'yes' to Uncle Arthur?" "I think I must, my dear. I don't like to refuse; and, of course, there are advantages. Your education has been a difficulty. I have not the health myself, and we cannot afford a governess for you, and this is the first time Arthur has ever asked me to do anything for him. And, really, I might be able to keep a little pony carriage, and get out in the summer, with this addition to our income. I always feel that if I could get out more I should get back my health much quicker." Esther's eyes sparkled again at these words, and a little pink flush rose in her cheeks. It was the thing of all others she had always wished for her mother--a dear little pony, and a little low basket carriage in which she could drive her out. In father's days they had had one, and Esther had been allowed to drive the quiet pony when she was quite a little child. But that belonged to the old life, before the father had been taken away and they had come here to live, right down in Cornwall, at this little quaint Hermitage, as the house was called. Since then no such luxury could be dreamed of. It had been all they could do to make ends meet, and keep the mother content with what could be done by two maids, and one man coming in and out to care for the garden. And even so, Esther often wondered how they would get on, if it were not for all that Mr. Trelawny did for them. "O mama!" she cried, "could we really have a pony again?" "We will think about it. I should like to, if we could. It seems a pity that that nice little stable should stand empty; and there is the little paddock too. The pony could run there when he wasn't wanted, and that would save something in his keep. I have always been used to my little drives, and I miss them very much. But, of course, I shall not make up my mind in a hurry. I should like to see Mr. Trelawny about it all even before I write to Uncle Arthur." A little shadow fell over Esther's face. She felt sure she knew what was coming. "I wish, dear, you would just run up to the Crag and ask Mr. Trelawny if he would come down and see me about this." The shadow deepened as the words were spoken, but Esther made only one effort to save herself the task. "Couldn't Genefer go, mama? It is so hot!" "It will be getting cooler every hour now, and there is plenty of shade through the wood. Have you had a walk to-day?" "No, mama; I have been busy. Saturday is always a busy day, you know." "Then a walk will do you good, and you will go much quicker than Genefer. Bring Mr. Trelawny back with you if you can. You can tell him a little about it, and he will know that it is important. You have time to go and come back before your tea-time." Esther did not argue the matter any more. She had never betrayed to any living creature this great fear which possessed her. She was half ashamed of it, yet she could never conquer it. She was more afraid of Mr. Trelawny than of anything in the world beside. He was like the embodiment of all the wizards, and genii, and magicians, and giants which she had read of in her fairy story-books, or of the mysterious historic personages over whom she had trembled when poring over the pages of historical romance. He was a very big man, with a very big voice, and he always talked in a way which she could not fully understand, and which almost frightened her out of her wits. It was the greatest possible penance to have to go up to his great big house on the hill, and she never approached it without tremors and quakings of heart. She fully believed that it contained dungeons, oubliettes, and other horrors. She had been told that the crags beneath were riddled with great hollow caves, where monks had hidden in times of persecution, and where smugglers had hidden their goods and fought desperate battles with the excise officers and coast-guardsmen. The whole place seemed to her to be full of mystery and peril, and the fit owner and guardian was this gigantic Cornish squire, with his roiling voice, leonine head, and autocratic air. He was always asking her why she did not oftener come to see him, but Esther would only shrink away and answer in her low, little voice that she had so much to do at home. And then he would laugh one of his big, sonorous laughs, that seemed to fill the house; and it was he who had given her the name of the "little manager," and when he called her by it he did so with an air of mock homage which frightened her more than anything else. At other times he would call her "Goldylocks," and pretend he was going to cut off her hair to make a cable for his yacht, which lay at anchor in the bay; and he would tell her a terrible story about a man who sought to anchor in the middle of a whirlpool, the cable being made of maidens' hair--only the golden strand gave way, and so he got drowned instead of winning his wife by his act of daring boldness. This story was in verse, and he would roll it out in his big, melodious voice; and she was always obliged to listen, for the fascination was strong upon her. And then in the night she would lie shivering in her bed, picturing Mr. Trelawny and his yacht going round and round in the dreadful whirlpool, and her own chestnut-brown hair being the cable which had failed to hold fast! And yet Mr. Trelawny was a very kind friend to them. He was a relation, too, though not at all a near one, and had been very fond of Esther's father, who was his kinsman. When the widow and child had been left with only a small provision, Mr. Trelawny had brought them to this pretty house at the foot of the hill upon which his big one stood. He had installed them there, and he would not take any rent for it. And he sent down his own gardener several times a week to make the garden trim and bright, and keep it well stocked with flowers and fruit. Once a week he always came down himself and gave an eye to everything. Mrs. St. Aiden looked forward to these visits, as they broke the monotony of her life, and Mr. Trelawny was always gentle to the helpless little widow. But Esther always tried to keep out of the way when she could, and the worst of it was that she was afraid Mr. Trelawny had a suspicion of this, and that it made him tease her more than ever. However, she never disobeyed her mother, or refused to do what was asked of her, and she knew that such a step as this one would never be taken without Mr. Trelawny's approval. Indeed, she saw that he ought to be asked, since the house was his; and, perhaps, he would not like two boys to be brought there. Esther had heard that boys could be very mischievous beings, and, though she could not quite think what they did, she saw that the lord of the manor had a right to be consulted. The Hermitage lay nestling just at the foot of a great craggy hill, that was clothed on one side with wood--mostly pine and spruce fir; but on the other it was all crag and cliff, and looked sheer down upon the tumbling waves of the great Atlantic. Near to the Hermitage, along the white road, lay a few other houses, and the little village of St. Maur, with its quaint old church and pretty village green. There were hills and moors again behind it, wild, and bleak, and boundless, as it seemed to the little girl whenever she climbed them. But St. Maur itself was a sheltered little place; the boom of the sea only sounded when the surf was beating very strong, and it was so sheltered from the wind that trees grew as they grew nowhere else in the neighborhood, and flowers flourished in the gardens as Esther had never seen them flourish in the other places where she had lived. Geraniums grew into great bushes, and fuchsias ran right up the houses as ivy did in the north, and roses bloomed till Christmas, and came on again quite early in the spring, so that they seemed to have flowers all the year round. That was a real delight to the little girl, who loved the garden above any other place; and with a book and an apple, crouched down in the arbor or some pleasant flowery place, she would find a peace and contentment beyond all power of expression. As she climbed the path through the pine woods leading to Mr. Trelawny's great house, she began to wonder what it would be like to have her precious solitude invaded by a pair of little boys. "I wish they were rather littler, so that I could take care of them," said Esther to herself. "I should like to be a little mother to them, and teach them to say their prayers, and wash their hands and faces, and keep their toys nice and tidy. But perhaps they are too big to care for being taken care of. If they are, I don't quite know what I shall do with them. But we shall have lessons a good part of the day, I suppose, and that will be interesting. Perhaps I shall be able to help them with theirs. Only they may know more than I do." Musing like this, Esther soon found herself at the top of the hill, and coming out of the wood, saw the big, curious house right in front of her. She never looked at it without a little tremor, and she felt the thrill run through her to-day. It was such a very old house, and there were such lots of stories about it. Once it had been a castle, and people had fought battles over it; but that was so long, long ago that there was hardly anything left of that old building. Then it had been a monastery, and there were lots of rooms now where the monks had lived and walked about; and the gardens were as they made them, and people said that at night you could still see the old monks flitting to and fro. But for a long time it had been a house where people lived and died in the usual way, and Trelawnys had been there for nearly three hundred years now. Esther had a private belief that this Mr. Trelawny had been there for almost all that time, and that he had made or found the elixir of life which the historical romances talked about, so that he continued living on and on, and knew everything, and was strange and terrible. He always did seem to know everything that had happened, and his stories were at once terrifying and entrancing. If only she could have got over her fear of him, she would have enjoyed listening; as it was, she always felt half dead with terror. "Hallo, madam! and whither away so very fast?" cried a great deep voice from somewhere out of the heart of the earth; and Esther stopped short, with a little strangled cry of terror, for it was Mr. Trelawny's voice, and yet he was nowhere to be seen. "Wait a minute and I'll come!" said the voice again, and Esther stood rooted to the spot with fear. There was a curious little sound of tap, tap, tapping somewhere underground not far away, and in another minute a great rough head appeared out of one of those crevices in the earth which formed one of the many terrors of the Crag, and a huge man dragged himself slowly out of the fissure, a hammer in his hand and several stones clinking in one of his big pockets. He was covered with earth and dust, which he proceeded to shake off as a dog does when he has been burrowing, whilst Esther stood rooted to the spot, petrified with amazement, and convinced that he had come up from some awful subterranean cavern, known only to himself, where he carried on his strange magic lore. "Well, madam?" he said, making her one of his low bows. When he called her madam and bowed to her Esther was always more frightened than ever. "To what happy accident may I attribute the honor of this visit?" "Mama sent me," said Esther, seeking to steady her voice, though she was afraid to speak more than two or three words at a time. "Ah, that is it--mama sent you. It was no idea of your own. Alas, it is ever so! Nobody seeks the poor old lonely hermit for his own sake. So mama has sent you, has she, Miss Goldylocks? And what is your errand?" "Mama asks if you will please read this letter, and then come and see her and advise her what to do." Mr. Trelawny took the letter, gave one of his big laughs, and looked quizzically at Esther. "Does your mama ever take advice, my dear?" Esther's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "Yes, of course she does. Mama never does anything until she has been advised by everybody." The big, rolling laugh sounded out suddenly, and Esther longed to run away. She never knew whether she were being laughed at herself, and she did not like that thought. "May I say you will come soon?" she asked, backing a little way down the hillside. "Wait a moment, child; I will come with you," answered the big man, turning his fossils out of his pocket, and putting them, with his hammer, inside a hollow tree. "Do you know what this letter says?" "Oh yes; mama read it to me." "Ah, of course. The 'little manager' must be consulted first. Well, and what does she say about it?" "Mama? Oh, I think----" "No, not mama; the 'little manager' herself. What do you want to do about it?" Esther summoned up courage to reply sedately,-- "I think perhaps it might be a good plan. You see, I should get a good education then, and I should like that very much. It would be a great advantage in many ways----" But Esther left off suddenly, for Mr. Trelawny was roaring with laughter again. "Hear the child!" he cried to the empty air, as it seemed; "she is asked if she likes boy-playfellows, and she replies with a dissertation on the advantages of a liberal education! Hear that, ye shades of all the sages! A great advantage!--Yes, my dear, I think it will be a great advantage. You will learn to be young at last, perhaps, after being grown-up ever since you were shortened. A brace of boys will wake you up a bit, and, if I read between the lines correctly, this pair are going to turn out a precious pair of pickles." Esther understood very little of this speech, but she tingled from head to foot with the consciousness that fun was being poked at her. "I think mama will do as you advise about it," she said, not being able to think of anything else to say. The big man in the rough clothes was looking down at her with a twinkle in his eyes. He got hold of her hand and made her look up at him. "Now tell me, child--don't be afraid to speak the truth--do you want these young cubs to come, or don't you? Would it make life pleasanter to you or only a burden?" "I don't think I can quite tell till I've tried," said Esther, shaking all over, but striving to keep her fears to herself; "but I think it might be nice to have two little boys to take care of." "To take care of, eh? You haven't enough on your hands as it is?" "I used often to wish I'd a brother or a sister to play with; that was before papa died. Since then I haven't had so much time to think about it, but perhaps it would be pleasant." "You do play sometimes then?" "Yes; when the little Polperrans come to see me, or when I go to see them." "And you know how to do it when you try?" Esther was a little puzzled, and answered doubtfully,-- "I know how to play the games they play. I don't know any besides." Mr. Trelawny suddenly flung her hand away from him and burst into a great laugh. "I think I shall advise your mother to import these two young monkeys," he said over his shoulder; and to Esther's great relief, she was allowed to walk the rest of the way home by herself, Mr. Trelawny striding on at a great rate, and muttering to himself all the while, as was his habit. Later on, when he had gone back again, and Esther crept in her mouse-like fashion to her mother's side, she found her closing a letter she had just written. "Mr. Trelawny advises me to have the boys, dear," she said; "so I have been writing to your uncle. I suppose it is the best thing to do, especially as Mr. Trelawny has undertaken to find a suitable tutor. That would have been difficult for me; but he is a clever man, and knows the world. He will be sure to select the right person." "Yes, mama," said Esther gently; but she shook in her shoes the while. A tutor selected by Mr. Trelawny might surely be a very terrible person. Suppose he came from underground, and was a sort of magician himself! CHAPTER II. THE BOYS. It was growing very exciting. The life of the little house, which had hitherto run so quietly in its grooves, now seemed all at once changed and expanded. There was an air of bustle pervading the upper regions. Genefer, and a stout young maid lately engaged as joint-helper to her and the cook, were busy for two whole days in turning out a great attic which formed the top story of the little house, making room in other holes and corners for the boxes and odds and ends which had been stored there, and furbishing up this place as a bedroom for the boys, who were expected in a week's time. Esther was immensely interested. She had always thought the big attic a very charming place, only when it was dusty and dark there had not been much to attract her there. Now the dormer windows stood open to sun and air, and commanded wide views in many directions over the valley in which St. Maur stood. Two little white beds and the needful furniture did not take up a great deal of space, and there would be ample room for the boys to frisk about, collect treasures, and range them on the various shelves and ledges, without inconveniencing anybody, or bringing disorder into the rest of the house. Moreover there was an access to the attic from the back staircase, so that nothing dirty or disagreeable need be brought into the mistress's part of the house at all. Genefer regarded this arrangement as a great boon, though Esther sometimes wondered why. The answer she got to her questions was generally the same, though it did not greatly enlighten her. "Boys will be boys, all the world over, Miss Esther," Genefer would say with a shake of the head; and when she repeated this aphorism to her mother, Mrs. St. Aiden would sometimes sigh and say rather plaintively,-- "Oh, I hope we shall not find we have made a great mistake!" and that used to set Esther wondering still more. For her own part, she looked forward to the advent of these cousins with a great amount of interest. She had told the little Polperrans all about it, and they were greatly excited too. "I am glad they are younger than you," said Prissy, as they walked home from church together. When Esther's mother was not able to get to church, Esther sat in the rectory pew, and her little friends generally walked with her as far as her own gate, which was about a quarter of a mile farther off than the rectory. "You will be able to keep them in order. Boys want that. They get obstreperous if they are left alone. Bertie is sometimes a little bit like that, but I never let him get the upper hand. It would never do." Prissy was twelve years old, and had helped her mother at home and in the parish for quite a long time now. She was more grown-up in her ways than Esther, though not perhaps so thoughtful. She used to tell Esther that when she was old enough she meant to marry a clergyman and have a parish of her own; and Esther would listen with a sense of great respect and admiration, for she certainly felt that she should be very sorry to have a parish to care for. It was quite enough to have to help her mother to manage one little house. "I hope they will be good boys," she said rather timidly; "I should think they are. They have had a grandmother and a governess as well as their father." "I think grandmothers often spoil boys," Prissy answered, with her customary air of decision. "Ours does; I don't much like when she comes. She is often quite rude to me, and doesn't listen to what I say; but she pets Bertie, and gives him things, and lets him talk to her as much as he likes. I call that showing favoritism; I don't approve of it at all. In the parish mother never lets that sort of thing be." "Who was that funny man in spectacles sitting in Mr. Trelawny's pew?" asked Milly, who was walking in front with Bertie, but who suddenly turned back to ask the question. Esther had not even noticed him. She never looked towards Mr. Trelawny if she could help it. Often his great, deep-set eyes would be fixed upon her face, and that made her blush and tremble, and so she never glanced his way willingly. She had not even seen that there had been a stranger with him. "I don't know," answered Prissy, as Esther evidently had no information to give; "I've never seen him before. I suppose he's a friend of Mr. Trelawny's, but he doesn't often have a visitor at the Crag. He's a queer man, mother says; though father always likes him." "The other man looked like an owl; his spectacles were quite round," remarked Herbert; "most people's are oval. When the sun got on them they looked as if they were made of fire--like a big cat's eyes shining in the dark." "Oh, don't," cried Esther quickly. "Don't what?" asked Herbert, staring. Esther colored and looked half ashamed. "I don't know quite. I felt afraid. I always do feel a little afraid of Mr. Trelawny. I wonder who the other gentleman is." Esther was soon to know. She had spent her Sunday afternoon curled up in the garden with a book, and she had not even heard the bell when it rang. She had no idea there were visitors with her mother, and when she came in at half-past four to pour out her afternoon tea, which on Sunday they shared together, she gave a great jump and dropped her book, for there was Mr. Trelawny sitting beside her mother, and a strange gentleman standing looking out of the window, and he had on round spectacles, just such as Herbert had described. He stepped forward and picked up Esther's book, and gave it into her hands with a smile; and as she stepped timidly forward to shake hands with Mr. Trelawny, she heard him say,-- "This is one of your future pupils, Earle." So this was the tutor. It had never occurred to Esther that he would come so soon, or that he would be a friend of Mr. Trelawny's. Somehow the whole thing frightened her a good deal. She was shaking all over as she gave her hand to Mr. Earle; and he seemed to notice it, for he laughed and said,-- "So you seem to think that tutor spells ogre, little Miss Esther. We shall have to see if we can't get over that impression somehow." Then Mr. Trelawny's great laugh rang out through the room, and he exclaimed in his big voice,-- "Oh, you won't have much trouble with her ladyship here. She will only want the birch-rod occasionally. She's a mighty hand at books, as it is--quite a budding blue-stocking, if that isn't a mixed metaphor. It's the boys you'll want that cane of mine for.--Eh, Esther? A pair of young pickles, I take it, that will take a deal of breaking-in. You tell them when they come that I've a fine array of sticks and canes from all parts of the world for Mr. Earle to take his choice of. He'll thrash some discipline into them, never you fear. You shan't have all the breaking-in to do. He's a fine hand at swishing, you'll see." Then the other gentleman said something in a language Esther did not understand, at which Mr. Trelawny broke out into one of his rolling laughs, and Esther got away behind the tea-table, and began pouring out the tea with very shaking hands; and though Mr. Earle came and took the cups, and talked to her quite kindly, her heart was all in a flutter, for she thought he was like the cruel old witch in the fairy-tale, who was so kind to the little boys and girls till she had got them into her house and into the cage, and then began to beat and starve them. The thought of the array of sticks and canes up at the Crag, of which the tutor was to have the choice, seemed to swim before her eyes all the while. "It is a pity you are always so shy and awkward with Mr. Trelawny, Esther," said her mother a little plaintively when the gentlemen had gone. "He is really very kind, and would make a great pet of you if you would let him; but you're always so cold and distant, and seem frightened out of your wits. It's really very silly of you. And you never will call him uncle, though he has asked you more times than I can count." "I can never remember," answered Esther in a very small voice. "It always goes out of my head. Besides, he isn't my uncle." "No, not exactly; but he's a kind of cousin, and you might just as well do as he asks. It vexes me when your manners are so bad just when he comes. I thought you were going to cry or to faint just now. It is so silly to be frightened when gentlemen have a little bit of fun. It doesn't mean anything." There were tears in Esther's eyes, but she held them bravely back. "I can't help being frightened at Mr. Trelawny, mama. I know he is kind but he does frighten me. Is Mr. Earle a friend of his? And is he really our tutor?" "He will be soon. But the boys are to have a week to settle down first before beginning lessons. Yes, Mr. Earle is the son of an old friend of Mr. Trelawny's; and he is very clever, and a great lover of the same things that interest Mr. Trelawny so much. So, for a time, at least, he will live up at the Crag, and come down every day for your lessons. The rest of the time he and Mr. Trelawny can spend together in their laboratory, or whatever they call it. There are a lot of experiments they want to make together." Esther tried hard to subdue the tremor which took hold of her at this thought, but it really was rather terrible to think that their tutor would be another of those mysterious magicians, such as she had read about in romances, who lived all day, when they could manage it, shut up with crucibles and other strange things, trying all sorts of experiments, and seeking after the elixir of life, or other mysterious compounds, that would change everything into gold, or give them power such as no men possessed before. But it was no use trying to seek sympathy from her mother, or even from Genefer. They could not understand her fear of Mr. Trelawny. They did not believe that he had subterranean places where he lived when he was alone, or that he could see through the earth, and come up just where he chose, and know everything that was going on overhead. Grown-up people never seemed to understand these things. Even Prissy would say, "Oh, nonsense!" when Esther tried to explain the source of her fears. But Millie and Bertie would listen open-mouthed; and when the children met the next day, Prissy being with her mother, the little boy broke out at once with a piece of startling intelligence. "He's Mr. Earle, and he's going to be your tutor; and he's very clever, and he's found out a great many things, and he's going to find out a lot more with Mr. Trelawny. I heard father say they were going to have an electric eye, that could see through walls and things. I expect he's got electric eyes in his head now, and that's why he wears those funny spectacles. I suppose he's going to make a pair for Mr. Trelawny, and then he'll be able to see everything too. It won't be any use trying to run away from them then. Why, they'll see you right through the hillside." Esther began to quake all over. "O Bertie, they couldn't!" "But they can!" he argued stoutly. "I heard father trying to explain to mother. He said they had things that went right through the hill, and could ring bells or something on the other side. But you can't see it. I suppose it's a sort of familiar spirit that does it, but the electric eye has got something to do with it. It's going to be very queer up there, I think. Perhaps they'll want children's blood for some of their experiments, like the old wizard of the mountains. I'll lend the book to you again, if you like. It tells you lots of things about him." "No, please, don't," said Esther, who already remembered more than she desired of the blood-curdling story; "besides, I thought your mother had taken the book away." "Yes, but we found it again when the house was cleaned, and it's in our cupboard now. I like it awfully." "I don't," replied Esther, whose imagination was considerably more vivid than that of the stolid and horror-loving Herbert. "I don't want to read it any more. Mr. Trelawny's quite bad enough alone." "Only he's not alone any more," said Milly; "he's got your tutor with him." Esther went home in a very subdued frame of mind. She had so looked forward to regular lessons with a tutor, who could really explain things to her, and teach her the things she longed to know; and it was hard that he should turn out to be a strange and mysterious being, second only in terrors to Mr. Trelawny himself. That's what came of trusting him with the task of choosing the tutor. Oh dear! it seemed as though life were going to be rather a hard thing for Esther in the future. However, there really was not much time to think about it all, for the boys were coming. They would be here very soon, and the preparations for their arrival filled up every bit of spare time, and occupied the whole household. Then came the afternoon upon which they were to arrive. They were to leave London very early in the morning, their father putting them in charge of the guard of the train, who was to see them safely to their journey's end; and Mr. Trelawny had volunteered to drive as far as the junction, twelve miles away, and save them the little slow piece upon the local line. The boys' father had hoped to have time to bring them down himself, but at the last it had proved impossible. However, they were to be dispatched under official escort, and were bound to turn up safe and sound. It was with a very fluttering heart that Esther stood at the gate looking down the stretch of white road which led up to the house. She pitied the little boys being met by the terrible Mr. Trelawny, and pictured them crouched up in the carriage like a pair of frightened mice watched over and guarded by a monster cat. Her mother had suggested that she should go to meet them also, but Esther's courage had not been equal to the ordeal of the long drive with Mr. Trelawny. So there she was waiting at the gate, her heart in her mouth each time the roll of wheels was heard upon the road, running indoors now and then, just to see that everything was in readiness for the travelers' tea, when the little fellows should have arrived, but never long away from her post beside the gate. At last she heard the unmistakable sound of the beat of a pair of horses' feet upon the hard road. That must be the carriage. The color came and went in her cheeks. She called out to Genefer that they were really coming at last, and then stood with the gate wide open behind her, whilst the odd-job man stood a little in the rear, ready to help with the luggage. Round the bend in the road dashed the carriage. Esther heard a clamor of voices before it had stopped. There were two heads poked far out of the window, and two shrill voices were exchanging a perfect hurricane of comment and question. She saw that each boy was being held from behind by a hand upon his collar; then the carriage stopped, and the voices became audible. "Let go, Old Bobby!" cried one voice. "Here we are!" "The carriage can't get through the gate," shrieked the other. "Oh, drive on, drive on, coachman, and let us stick fast. It would be such fun!" "There, get out with you, you young pickles!" spoke Mr. Trelawny's deep bass from within the carriage. "I'm thankful to deliver you up with sound skins and whole bones. Don't you see your cousin Esther waiting to speak to you? Take off your caps, and behave like little gentlemen, if you know how to." The boys were out in a trice, but they had not even a look for Esther. Both had darted round to the horses, and stood under their noses, reaching up to stroke them, perfectly fearless, and asking the coachman a hundred questions about them. Mr. Trelawny came behind and took them each by the collar once more. "Didn't you hear me tell you to go and speak to your cousin?" "Oh, she's only a girl, and she'll always be there. I like horses best," remarked one youngster in a perfectly audible voice; and sensitive little Esther bit her lip, though she felt no anger in her heart. After all, she was only a girl. "I don't want to stay in this poky little house. I'll go on with you, and live in your house instead." The next moment, to Esther's unspeakable astonishment and dismay, both the boys had scrambled back into the carriage, and were clinging tightly to the seats, shrieking out to the coachman,-- "Drive on! drive on! This isn't the house! We're going to live with the bobby man!" Esther stood perfectly aghast, unable either to speak or move. She did not know which impressed her most--the extraordinary behavior of her cousins, or their perfect fearlessness towards Mr. Trelawny, whom they treated without a particle of respect. His face was rather grim, though there was a humorous gleam in his eyes as he put out his long, strong arms, and hauled the obstreperous boys out of the carriage, amid much squealing, and kicking, and roars of laughter. It was all play, but a sort of play that Esther did not understand in the least. With a boy held fast in each hand, Mr. Trelawny turned to the grave-faced little girl and said,-- "I had meant to present these two young gentlemen to your mother myself, but I think the only thing I can do is to get away as fast as I can. Perhaps they will come to their senses then;" and so saying, he made a sudden dive into the carriage, which had now been relieved of the luggage with which it had been piled. The boys were after him like a shot, and Esther was in terror lest they should be run over before the carriage got safely away; but at last this was achieved, after much shouting and bawling and scrimmaging; and though both boys set off in pursuit like a pair of street Arabs, the horses soon left them behind, and they returned panting and breathless to the little gate. [Illustration: "How d'ye do? Hadn't time to speak to you before."--Page 43. _Esther's Charge._] "He's a jolly old buffer," said one of the boys; "I'd like to have gone with him." "I shall go and see him every day," remarked the other. "He said he lived close by." Then they reached the gate once more, and held out their rather smutty paws to Esther. "How d'ye do? Hadn't time to speak to you before. Are we all going to live in this funny little box of a place?" "It's our house," answered Esther shyly, much more afraid of the boys than they of her; indeed they did not seem to know what fear or shyness was. "I think you'll find there's plenty of room inside; and we have a very nice little garden." "Call this a garden!" said the boy, with a look round; "I call it a pocket-handkerchief!" Then they both laughed, and Esther laughed too, for there was something infectious about their high spirits, though they did talk in a fashion she had never heard before. "Come and see mama first," she said, "and then I'll take you up-stairs to wash your hands, and then we'll have tea together. I daresay you are hungry." They followed her into the little drawing-room where Mrs. St. Aiden lay. On her face there was a look of some perplexity, for she had heard a great deal of shouting and laughing, and was in some anxiety to know what it could mean. Now she was looking upon a couple of little boys, in plain dark-blue knickerbocker suits, both having round faces and curly hair, though that of the elder boy was dark brown, and his eyes were a bright hazel; whilst the younger was blue-eyed, his hair the color of burnished gold, and his face, when at rest, wore a sort of cherubic expression that went to his aunt's heart. "My dears, I am very glad to see you," she said. "Come and kiss me, and tell me which is Philip and which is Percy." The boys looked at each other, and a gleam came into their eyes. "We'll kiss you to-day," said the elder one, advancing, and speaking with the air of one making a great concession, "because we've just come, and Crump said we were to. But we're not going to kiss every day. That's like women and girls. Boys don't kiss like that. So you won't expect it, you know." Then the pair advanced simultaneously; each gave and received a kiss, and stood back again, the younger one wiping the salute from his face with the cuff of his jacket. "I hope you're not a kissing girl," he said in a low voice to Esther, who stood behind lost in amaze, "because I shan't let you kiss me." "And which is Philip and which is Percy?" asked Mrs. St. Aiden again, more disposed to be afraid of the boys than they of her. "Oh, we don't call ourselves by these affected names--nobody does," said the elder of the pair in lofty tones. "I suppose I'm Philip, but really I hardly know. They all call me Pickle, and him Puck. You'll have to do the same." "I am not very fond of nicknames," said Mrs. St. Aiden, not quite pleased. "I shall call you by your right names whilst you are in my house." "Call away; we shan't answer!" cried Pickle, with one of the ringing laughs which took off just a little from the bluntness of his speech.--"Come along, Puck, we've done it all now.--Oh, one thing more. Crump sent his love to you, and was sorry he couldn't come down and see you. I think that's all." "But I don't understand. Who is Crump?" asked Mrs. St. Aiden rather breathlessly. "Oh, only father," answered Puck, as he sidled out at the door; and then making a dash across into the dining-room, he set up a great whoop of delight, for there was a splendid tea set out--chicken, and ham, and tarts, and Devonshire cream, and several kinds of cake and jam; and the boys had scrambled on to their chairs in a twinkling, and were calling out to somebody to make haste and give them their tea, as they were just starving. "But you haven't washed your hands," said Esther aghast. They contemplated their grubby little paws with great equanimity. "Mine aren't dirty to speak of," said Pickle. "Mine are quite clean," asserted Puck, with an angelic smile. "We're not like cats and girls, who are always washing," added Pickle. "Do give us our tea. We're so hungry and thirsty!" "But you haven't said grace!" said Esther, whereupon the boys began to laugh. "Grown-up people don't say grace now. It's not the fashion. But fire away if you want to. Crump used to make us try, but we always burst out laughing in the middle, so we gave it up." Esther said grace gravely, and the boys did not laugh that time. Then she helped them to what they wanted, regarding them rather in the light of wild animals, upon whose next acts there was no depending. And yet it was rather interesting, and she wanted to know more about them and their odd ways. "Why do you call your father Crump?" she asked tentatively. "Well, we have to call him something," said Pickle, with his mouth full, and they both began to giggle. "It's my name," said Puck, after a short pause. "I thought of it in bed one night. We laughed for nearly an hour afterwards. We've called him it ever since." "Does he like it?" They stared at her round-eyed and amazed. "I don't know. We never asked him. We've always got some name for him. You've got to call people something." "Why don't you call him father?" asked Esther mildly; but at that question they both went off into fits of laughter, and she felt herself getting red without knowing why. "What's your name?" asked Puck, when he had recovered himself; but his brother cut in by saying,-- "You know it's Esther--Old Bobby told us that." "So he did; and he said you were frightened at him, and that we should have to teach you better. Fancy being frightened at an old buffer like that--a jolly one too!" Esther sat in silent amaze. She knew they were talking of Mr. Trelawny, but she was dumfounded at their audacity, and it was rather disconcerting to hear that he was aware of her feelings towards him. She hoped that he took her silence for a grown-up reserve. "You mustn't call Mr. Trelawny names," she said. "He's quite an old gentleman, and you must treat him with respect." "I said he was a nice old buffer," said Puck, as though after that nothing more could be expected of him. "But you call him 'Old Bobby,' and I can't think how you dare. It isn't at all respectful. I wonder he lets you." "Well, he shouldn't play the bobby on us then," answered Pickle. "He said he'd come to carry us off, and he marched us out of the station like a pair of prisoners. We had to call him bobby after that. I want to go and see his house. Can we go up after tea?" Esther shook her head. She was not prepared for such a move. "You'd better wait for another time for that," she said. "I'll show you our house when you're done with tea." "All right; but there isn't much to show, I should think. It's the funniest little box I was ever in. But perhaps we'll get some fun out of it, all the same. Crump said the sea was quite near. That'll be jolly fun. I like the sea awfully." "I don't go there very often," said Esther. "Mama does not care about it. The coast is rather dangerous, you know." But both boys began to laugh, as they seemed to do at whatever she said; and Esther let them finish their tea in silence, and then took them the round of the small premises. They liked their attic, which was a comfort; and they liked the stable and little coach-house, and the bit of paddock and orchard beyond; and they looked with great approval at the pine wood stretching upwards towards the craggy heights between them and the sea, where Esther told them Mr. Trelawny's house stood. It could not be seen from there, but she showed them the path which led up to it and they cried, "Jolly, jolly, jolly!" and hopped about from one foot to another, and Esther wondered if it would be possible for them to go to that strange old house upon the summit of the crag, and not feel afraid of it. It was a comfort to Esther that they were not unkind to her cat. They were rather disgusted that there was no dog belonging to the house; but they seemed kind-hearted boys, and left the cat in peace by the kitchen fire. They had been up so early that morning that they were sleepy before their usual bed-time; and Esther was rather relieved when, at last, they were safely shut into their room for the night, having indignantly declined the offices of Genefer as nursery-maid, saying that they could do everything for themselves and each other. Esther showed them up to their room herself, half fascinated, half repelled by their odd words and ways. Their parting good night, shouted through the door to her, was characteristic in the extreme. "We're going to call you Tousle," one of them bawled through the key-hole; "you've got such a mop of hair hanging down, you know." CHAPTER III. AN ANXIOUS CHARGE. "How quiet they are!" thought Esther, as she dressed herself next morning. "I daresay they are fast asleep still. They must be tired after that long journey yesterday. They shall sleep as long as they like this morning. I will tell Genefer not to call them. They are funny boys, but I think I shall soon get fond of them. Puck is so pretty, and looks as though he could be very good by himself. I hope we shall be happy together soon. I shall take care of them, and show them everything; and perhaps they will teach me some new games." Genefer came in at this moment to brush out Esther's mane of hair. The little girl had dispensed with other help at her toilet, but the great, thick, waving mass of curly hair was beyond her strength, and Genefer took great pride in brushing and combing it. She was almost as proud of Esther's hair as Mrs. St. Aiden herself. "O Genefer," said the little girl, "I think we won't call the boys yet. They seem quite quiet, and I daresay they are asleep. We will let them have their sleep out this first morning." Genefer made a sound between a snort and a laugh. "Lord love you, miss, them boys have been up and out this two hours! They were off before ever I was down, and I'm no lie-a-bed. They had got the door opened and were away to the pine wood. Old Sam he saw them scuttling up the path like a pair of rabbits. There'll be no holding that pair, I can see. Boys will be boys, as I always did say." Esther's face was full of anxiety and trouble. "O Genefer! and they don't know their way about a bit! And all the holes, and crags, and rocks on the other side! Perhaps some harm will come to them, and I promised to take care of them! Oh, please, let me go, and I'll run after them and see if I can't fetch them home! They said something about the sea last night. Suppose they fall into one of the pools and get drowned!" But Genefer only gave another snort. "You take my word for it. Miss Esther, them boys isn't born to be drowned. Now don't you worrit so, child. They'll be all right. That sort never comes to any harm. You might as well go looking for a needle in a haystack, as for a boy out on the spree, as they call it. You go down and get your breakfast, and take up your mama's. We'll have them down again safe and sound, and as hungry as hunters, before you're done. It's not a bit of good your worriting after them. They can take good care of themselves, as one can see with half an eye." Esther always submitted to Genefer's judgment, but it was with an anxious heart that she went down-stairs, and gazed up at the pine-clad hillside, hoping to see some signs of the returning boys. But there was nothing visible, and she went into the dining-room with a grave face, feeling as though she had somehow been unfaithful to her charge. Breakfast at the Hermitage was at nine o'clock, and Esther always took up the tray to her mother's room. Mrs. St. Aiden seldom came down-stairs before noon, though she talked of getting up earlier now that the summer was coming. But Esther was fond of waiting on her, and she liked being waited upon. Afterwards Esther would eat her solitary breakfast, with a book propped up in front of her on the table; and she never thought of being lonely, especially as Smut always sat on a chair beside her, and had his saucer of milk replenished each time she poured out her own tea afresh. But to-day Esther did not get her book; she was much too anxious, and kept rising and walking over to the window every few minutes, rather to the discomfort of the placid cat, who could not think what had come to his little mistress that day. Esther was thankful that her mother had not seemed much alarmed by the news that the boys had gone out for a walk before breakfast. "Boys like that sort of thing, I suppose," she said. "Their father said they were active and independent, and that we must not make ourselves anxious over them needlessly." Then she had taken up her letters and begun to read them; and Esther stole away, wishing she could be as calm and tranquil over the disappearance of the boys as other people were. "I'm sure they have gone up to the Crag," she kept saying to herself, "and they may have got into some awful place, and all sorts of things may be happening!" Esther could not have explained to Genefer or anybody grown up her horror and misgiving respecting the vicinity of the Crag; but it was a very real terror to her, and it had become greater since she had heard Bertie's account of the electric eye, and other awful things which were likely to be going on there now. Mr. Trelawny had an assistant now, and was going to do still stranger things. Suppose he wanted blood, or brains, or something human for his experiments! She shivered at the bare thought. Suddenly she jumped up with a stifled cry. Through the open window she heard the sound of steps and voices; but before she had time to reach it again, the sunlight was darkened by the approach of a tall figure, and Esther saw that the missing boys were being led home by Mr. Earle, who had his hand upon the collar of each, as though he had found them a slippery pair of customers, and was resolved that they should not escape him. "Here are your boys, Miss Esther," he remarked, walking in and depositing each of them upon the chair set ready at table for him. "I hope you have not been anxious about this pair of young rascals; and will you tell your mother, with my compliments, that I am ready to begin regular study with you all any day she may like to send word! You need not wait till next week unless you like." There was rather a grim smile upon Mr. Earle's face, and the round spectacles glinted in the sunshine till Esther thought they must certainly be "electric eyes"--though what electric eyes were she had not the faintest notion, which, however, did not tend to allay her uneasiness. "Thank you, sir," she said rather faintly; "I will tell mother." Then she plucked up her courage to add, "May I give you a cup of coffee after your walk?" "Thank you; but I have breakfasted already," answered Mr. Earle with a smile, which made Esther just a little less afraid of him. "We keep early hours up at the Crag; and a good thing too for these young sinners!" and he threw a scathing look at the boys, who were sitting marvelously quiet in their places, looking exceedingly demure, not to say sheepish, though they stole glances across the table at each other, showing that the spirit of mischief within them was only temporarily in abeyance. Mr. Earle nodded to them all and walked off through the window, and Esther looked curiously at her two charges as she poured out the coffee. "Where did you go?" she asked. "Why, up to Old Bobby's of course!" answered Pickle, his mouth full of bread and butter. "Why can't we live up there, instead of in this little band-box? It's no end of a jolly place. Do you go often?" "Not very," answered Esther with a little shiver. "That's what he said," remarked Puck indistinctly, "but you'll have to come oftener now." "Why?" "Oh, because he said we might come as often as you brought us. I want to go every day." "I don't think Mr. Trelawny would like that." "Oh, he wouldn't mind. He said he didn't mind how many visits you paid him. He said little girls were worth twice as much as boys, but that's all tommy rot." Esther's eyes opened rather wider. "I don't know what tommy rot is," she said. Puck burst out laughing. "She doesn't know much, does she, Pickle?" he cried. "I wonder why Old Bobby likes girls better than boys?" "Perhaps they're nicer to eat," suggested Pickle; and the two boys went off into fits of laughter, whilst Esther shook silently, wondering if that could have anything to do with it. To judge by their appetites, the boys were none the worse for their morning's walk--they put away the food in a fashion that astonished Esther; but as she sat watching them at their meal, she noticed some very queer marks upon their clothes, which she did not think had been there last night--stains, and little holes, looking rather like burns; and presently she asked,-- "What have you been doing to yourselves?" and pointed to the marks. Puck began to giggle, and Pickle answered boldly,-- "Oh, I suppose that must have been some of the stuff that smelt so nasty in the tanks." "What tanks?" "Don't you know? Haven't you ever been down there? In that jolly old cave under Old Bobby's house." Esther felt a cold thrill creeping through her. "I don't know what you mean," she said faintly. "Well, you must be a precious ninny!" laughed Pickle, with a good-humored contempt; "fancy living here all these years, and not knowing that!" "We haven't been here so very long," said Esther. "Well, you've been here longer than we have anyhow. And we've found it out already." She was shivering a little, yet was consumed by curiosity. "Tell me about it," she said. Pickle was quite ready to do that. He had appeased his first hunger, and he loved to hear himself talk, especially when he had an appreciative audience; and Esther's eager and half-frightened face bespoke the keenness of her interest. "Well, you see, we woke up early, and didn't see any fun in lying in bed; so we got up and dressed and went out, and there was the path up through the wood, and we knew Old Bobby's house was somewhere up there. So it seemed a good plan just to go and look him up, you know." "We often go out early at home," added Puck, "and look people up. Sometimes we wake them up throwing things into their windows, or at them, if they're shut. Sometimes they throw water at us, and that's awful fun. One old fellow did that, and we went and got the garden-hose, and his window was wide open, and we just soused his room with water. You should have seen him rushing to shut it up! But there isn't always a hose and pump handy," and he looked pathetic for a moment. "Well," continued Pickle, "we got up the hill easy enough, and it was a jolly place. We forgot all about going to the house, there was such lots to see and explore. That was how we found the cave--poking about all over. There are no end of little crevasses and things--places you can swarm down and climb up again. We had a fine time amongst them; and then we found this one. We climbed down the chimney, but there are two more ways of getting in. Old Bobby came by one, and turned us out by the other." "I've heard him speak of an underground place," said Esther in a low voice. "He said he'd show it to me, but I didn't want to go." Puck stared at her in amaze. "Why on earth not?" he asked. "I thought it would be dark," she said, not caring to explain further; and both boys laughed. "It is rather dark; but not so very when you've got used to it," said Pickle, "and boys don't mind that sort of thing. I don't know where the light gets in; but there are cracks, he said. Anyhow we got down a queer, narrow hole like a chimney, and dropped right down into a sort of huge fireplace--big enough to cook half a dozen men." "O Pickle!" "Well, it was. I expect, perhaps, they did cook men there in the olden times--when people were persecuted, you know, and they had places for torturing them," remarked Pickle, who had a boy's relish for horrors. "That sort of place would be just the very thing. And afterwards smugglers had it, and I daresay they murdered the excisemen in there if they got a chance. I never saw such queer marks as there were on the stones--did you, Puck? I should think they must be human blood. You know that won't wash out if it has once been spilt when there's a murder. I've read lots of stories about that. If you only cut yourself, it doesn't seem to leave a stain; but that's different from murder." Esther's face was as white as her frock. Pickle enjoyed the impression he was producing. "Well, I don't know what they use the cave for now, but something very queer anyhow. I never saw such odd things as they have got; it was just like the places you read of about wizards and magicians and the things they do. And there were tanks with lids, and we took off the lids and looked in, and they did smell. We put our fingers into some of them, and they smelt worse. And one of them burnt me!" and Pickle held up a couple of bandaged fingers as though in proof of his assertion. "Old Bobby tied them up," said Puck. "He said it served Pickle right for meddling. He was in a rage with us for getting in and looking at his things. I expect he's got his enemies pickling in those tanks. I expect he's lured them to his cave and murdered them, and hidden them away, so that the stuff will eat them all up, and nobody will find their bodies. That's what I should like to do to all the nasty people when I'm a man. When you have a sort of castle on a crag, with underground caves to it, you can do just as you like, you know." "How did Mr. Trelawny find you?" asked Esther, who was all in a tremor at this confirmation of her own suspicions--suspicions she had scarcely dared to admit even to herself. "Well, I'm coming to that," said Pickle; "it wasn't very long after we'd been down. We heard a funny scrunching noise somewhere up overhead, and then a sort of hollow echoing sound. We couldn't make it out at first, but soon we knew what it must be. It was steps coming down-stairs--tramp, tramp, tramp--nearer and nearer." "O Pickle! weren't you frightened?" "Well, not exactly; but we thought we'd better hide in case it might be smugglers, or murderers, or something. There wasn't time to get up the chimney again, and I'm not sure if you can get out that way, though you can get down easy enough. Anyhow it would take some time. So we crouched behind a big stone and waited; and there were two men coming down talking to each other, and their voices echoed up and down and made such funny noises; and when they got down into the cave, it was Old Bobby himself, and that owl fellow who brought us home." "Mr. Earle," said Esther. "Earle or owl--what's the odds? I shall call him the Owl; he's just like one with those round gig-lamps. Well, they came down together, and then, of course, we knew it was all right; so out we jumped with a screech--and I say, Puck, didn't we scare them too?" Both boys went off into fits of laughter at the recollection of the start they had given their seniors, and then Pickle took up the thread of the tale. "But Old Bobby was in a jolly wax too. He boxed both of us on the ears, and told us we'd no business there--" "He was afraid we'd found out something about the pickled corpses," interrupted Puck. "People never like that sort of thing found out; but, of course, we shouldn't go telling about it--at least only to a few special people. "He went on at us ever so long, calling us little trespassers and spies, and wondering we had not killed ourselves; and then he led us along a funny sort of passage, and out through a door in the hillside right under the house. But they hadn't come in that way. They had come down a lot of steps; so we know that the cave is just under the house, and that Old Bobby and the Owl get to it by a private way of their own. But I could find the door we went out by easily, though there is a great bush in front of it, and you can't see it when you've got a few paces off." "And there's a path right down to the sea," cried Puck. "It's a regular smugglers' den. He got less cross when we were out, and told us a lot of things about smugglers. But he said we weren't ever to come there again--at least not alone. He said you might bring us, if we'd give our word of honor to obey you. He seemed to want you to come, Tousle. I'm sure I don't know why, for girls are no good in jolly places like that." "I don't think I want to go," answered Esther, putting it as mildly as possible; "I don't like underground places." But she wanted the boys to enjoy themselves; and after breakfast she asked leave to take them as far as the fishing village that nestled under the crags upon which Mr. Trelawny's house stood. Of course there was another way to it along the road, which, though longer, was easier walking than climbing the hill and scrambling down the crags on the other side. The boys were willing to go the less adventurous way, as they had explored the cliff already, and Esther felt more light of heart, thinking that along the road they could not come to any harm. But she was soon to realize that some boys find facilities for mischief and pranks wherever they are. The mercurial spirits of her charges kept her in a constant flutter of anxiety. They would get under horses' feet, climb up into strange carts to chat with the carters, jump over brooks, heedless of wet feet, chase the beasts at pasture as fearlessly as they chased butterflies, and make the acquaintance of every dog they met, whether amiable or the reverse. They even insisted upon taking an impromptu ride upon a pony out at grass, and enjoyed a gallop round the field on its bare back. Esther, whose life until recently had been passed mainly in garrison towns, and who had not acquired the fearlessness of the country child, looked on in wondering amaze at these pranks, and listened with a sense of wonder and awe as the boys described their exploits at their own home, the things they did, and the things they meant to do. Down by the shore there was no holding the pair. They tore about the little quay and landing place in the greatest excitement. They got into the boats lying beneath, and scrambled from one to the other, rocking them in a fashion that sent Esther's heart into her mouth. She felt like a hen with ducklings to rear. She had not courage to follow the boys into the swaying boats, and could only stand watching them with anxious eyes, begging them to be careful, and not to fall into the water. "Bless your heart, missie!" said an old fisherman whom Esther knew, because he often brought them fish and lobsters in his basket fresh from the sea, "they won't come to no harm. Bless you! boys allers will be boys, and 'tisn't no good fur to try and hold them back. Them's not the kind that hurts. You sit here and watch them comfortable like. They're as happy as kings, they are." The old man spoke in the soft, broad way which Esther was getting to understand now, but which puzzled her at first, as it would puzzle little people if I were to write it down the way the old man spoke it. She rather liked the funny words and turns of expression now, and she enjoyed sitting by old Master Pollard, as she called him, watching the boys and listening to his tales, which he was always ready to tell when he had a listener. The boys had a glorious morning, paddling and shrimping with some of the fisher lads of the place. They only returned to Esther when they were growing ravenous for their dinner. She was glad to get them home quickly, driven by the pangs of hunger; and she told them that Master Pollard had said he would take them out fishing one of these days, and show them how the lobster-pots were set, and various other mysteries. Esther knew something about lobster-pots, having been with the old man to visit his sometimes; so she rose in the estimation of her cousins, especially as some of the lads had told them that "old Pollard were once a smuggler himself, long ago, when he was a lad," though this Esther was disposed indignantly to deny. "Well, I hope he was, anyhow," said Puck; "I shall ask him to tell us all about it. I wonder if he knows all about the cave, and whether they pickled corpses up there in his time." The boys would have gone down to the shore again after their early dinner, but their aunt had another suggestion to make. "Mrs. Polperran has been in, and wants you all to go to the rectory for the afternoon, and have tea in the garden. I said I would send you all, so that you can make friends with your little playfellows." "Who is Mrs. Poll-parrot?" asked Pickles, with a sly look in his eyes. "Polperran, dear. Mr. Polperran is our clergyman, and his children are Esther's little friends, and will be your friends too." "The Rev. Poll-parrot," said Puck under his breath; and then both boys went off into fits of laughter. "I don't think you ought to speak like that, Puck," said Mrs. St. Aiden, with mild reproof. "You must remember he is a clergyman, and you must be respectful." Puck's blue eyes twinkled. It did not seem as though he had very much respectfulness in his composition; but he did not reply. Both the boys treated the gentle invalid with more consideration than they seemed disposed to bestow upon anybody else. They did nothing more free and easy than to dub her "Aunt Saint," and though Mrs. St. Aiden suggested that Aunt Alicia would be better, she did not stand out against the other appellation. "You look like a saint on a church window," Pickle remarked judicially, "so it seems to fit you better;" and Mrs. St. Aiden smiled indulgently, for it was less trouble to give way than to insist. It was with some trepidation that Esther conducted her young charges to the rectory that day. The little Polperrans had been so very well brought up, and were so "proper behaved"--as Genefer called it--themselves, that she was fearful of the effect that might be produced upon them by the words and ways of the newly-imported pair. Mrs. Polperran herself came out to welcome them upon their approach, and Pickle, when introduced, went boldly up to her with outstretched hand. "How do you do, Mrs. Poll-parrot? Is this the cage you live in?" Now Mrs. Polperran was just a little hard of hearing, so that she only caught the drift of the speech, and not the exact words, and she smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, dear; this is my house, and that is the garden where you will often come and play, I hope; and there is an orchard beyond with a swing in it; and here are your little friends all ready to make your acquaintance," and she indicated her three children, who had been close beside her all the time. Prissy's face was rather red, and Bertie had his handkerchief tucked into his mouth in a very odd way, whilst Milly was looking divided between the desire to laugh and the fear of Prissy; however, Mrs. Polperran did not observe these small signs, but told her children to take care of their little guests, and sailed back to the house herself, where there was always work to be done. "Pretty poll! pretty poll! Scratch a poll, polly!" cried Puck softly, capering on the grass-plot as the lady disappeared. "You are a very rude little boy," said Prissy with an air of displeasure and a glance at Esther, as much as to ask her why she did not reprove such impertinence; but Bertie made a dash at Puck, seized him by the hand, and cried out,-- "Come along! come along! Oh, won't we have some fun now!" Immediately the three boys dashed off together full tilt, and Milly, after a wavering glance in the direction of her sister and Esther, rushed headlong after them. The elder pair were left for the moment alone, and Prissy looked inquiringly into Esther's flushed face. "I don't think your cousins are very nice boys," she remarked with some severity; "I should think they have been very badly brought up." Esther felt a little tingle of vexation at hearing her cousins thus criticised, though after all she was not quite sure that she could deny Prissy's charge. "They have no mother, you see," she said. "Ah, well, perhaps that does make a difference. Fathers often spoil their children, when there is no mother; I've heard mama say so herself," she said. "You will have to be a little mother to them, Esther, and teach them better. I'm not going to hear my mother called names, and I shall tell them so." Prissy proceeded to do this with great firmness when the children met a little later. Pickle listened to her speech with most decorous gravity, while Puck's pretty face dimpled all over with laughter. "Pretty polly! pretty polly!--doesn't she talk well!" he exclaimed; and to Prissy's infinite astonishment and dismay, Milly and Bertie rolled to and fro in helpless mirth, whilst Pickle looked up in her flushed face and said,-- "You know little poll-parrots are called lovebirds. It isn't pretty-behaved at all to get so angry about it.--Scratch her poll, Tousle; perhaps that'll put her in a better temper. Why, she's sticking her feathers up all over; she'll peck somebody next!" and Pickle made a show of drawing back in fear, whilst his admirers became perfectly limp with laughter. It was the first time the younger pair had ever tasted of the sweets of liberty. Without exactly knowing it, they had been under Prissy's rule from their babyhood upwards. It had been as natural to them to obey her as to obey their mother, and they had come to regard her almost in the light of a grown-up person whose word must, as a matter of course, be law. And yet the germs of rebellion must surely have been in their hearts, or they would hardly have sprung up so quickly. "We never have any fun at home," said Bertie, in a subdued whisper, when the boys and Milly had had their tea and had taken themselves off to the farthest corner of the orchard; "whenever we think of anything nice to do, Prissy always says we mustn't." "Why do you tell her?" asked Puck, and at that Bertie and Milly exchanged glances. It had never occurred to them as possible to keep anything from Prissy. "We mean to have some fun here, Puck and I," said Pickle, "and we shan't go and tell everything beforehand. We tell when it's done. It's a much better way." Milly and Bertie sat open-mouthed in admiration at such audacity and invention. "I never thought of that!" said Milly softly. "We thought of it a long time ago," said Puck, with a touch of pride and patronage in his voice. "Well," said Pickle suddenly, "you don't seem such a bad pair of youngsters; so suppose we let you know when we've got our next plan on hand, and you come too." "Oh!" cried Milly, and "Oh!" cried Bertie. A look of slow rapture dawned upon their faces. They realized that a time of glorious emancipation was at hand, when they might be able to get into mischief like other happy little boys and girls. CHAPTER IV. THE SWEETS OF FREEDOM. "You can do as you like, Milly; but I shall go!" Small Herbert set his foot to the ground with a gesture of immovable firmness. Milly watched him with admiring eyes, still halting between two opinions. "Oh, but, Bertie, isn't it naughty?" "I don't care if it is. I'm going." It was like hoisting the signal of revolt--revolt from the rule of the elder sister. They both knew that Prissy would never go, or let them go either, if she knew of the plan. And to slip away unknown to her, though not a difficult matter upon a Saturday afternoon, would mark an epoch in the life of this pair of properly-brought-up children, as both instinctively felt, though they could not have expressed themselves upon the subject. "It's our holiday afternoon," said Bertie stoutly, his square face looking squarer than ever. "Nobody's told us never to go out of the orchard; we're allowed to know Pickle and Puck. They say they're going out for a lark on Saturday afternoon, and I'm going with them." Milly's eyes were growing brighter and brighter; she looked with open admiration upon Herbert. He was younger than herself, but at this moment he seemed the older of the pair. "Bertie," she asked, in a voice that was little above a whisper, "what _is_ a lark?" Bertie hesitated a moment. "It's something we don't ever get here," he answered, with a note of resentment in his voice; "but Pickle and Puck know all about it, and I mean to learn too." "O Bertie!--and so will I!" "That's right. I'd like you to come too. I don't see why you should be a little cockney any more than I!" "O Bertie! what's that?" "Well, I don't just exactly know; but it's something I heard father say." "What did he say?" "Well, I'll tell you. I was in his study learning my Latin declension; and I was behind the curtain, and I think he'd forgotten I was there. Mother came in, and they talked, and I stopped my ears and was learning away, when I heard them say something about Puck and Pickle. Then I listened." "What did they say?" "Mother was saying she was afraid they were naughty, rude boys, and would teach us mischief; and then father laughed and said he didn't much mind if they did." "O Bertie!" "He did, I tell you," answered Bertie, swelling himself out, as though he felt his honor called in question. "They talked a good while, and I couldn't understand it all; but I heard father say he'd rather I were a bold Cornish boy, even if I did get into mischief sometimes, than grow up a little timid cockney." "I wonder what he meant," said Milly in an awestruck tone; "I never heard of a cockney before." "I think it must mean something like a girl," said Bertie, with a note of perhaps unconscious contempt in his voice, "for mother said something, and then father said, 'You see, you were brought up a cockney yourself, my dear, and you can do as you like about the girls; but I want Herbert to be a true Cornish boy, and he doesn't seem to be one yet.' That's what he said; and now I'm going to find out what it is to be a Cornish boy, and I'm going to be one. You can go on being a cockney if you like." "But I won't!" cried Milly rebelliously; "I'll be a Cornish boy too!" "You can't be a boy, but you can come along with us if you like," said Bertie patronizingly; "Pickle and Puck said you could, though Puck did say he thought girls cried and spoiled things after a bit." "I don't cry!" answered Milly sturdily; and, indeed, she had most of her father in her of the three Polperran children. They had been brought up under the rule of a mother who had very strict ideas of training and discipline, and had lived the greater part of her life in towns, so that country ways would always be more or less strange to her. They had never run wild, even now that they had returned to their father's native county, and were in the midst of moors and crags, and almost within sound of the sea. They still kept to their prim little walks along the road, and if they played out of doors, it was always in the orchard--never on the open moorland, or by the rocks and pools of the shore. Prissy was really a little copy of her mother, and she had no taste for anything strange, and was rather afraid of solitude and of the boom of the sea. So she kept her younger pair well in hand, and they had never seriously thought of rebellion until the arrival upon the scene of Pickle and Puck. From that moment the horizon of their lives seemed to widen. Here were two boys who actually dared to call their mother Mrs. Poll-parrot to her face, and their father the Reverend Poll! They habitually spoke of their own father as Crump, and had dubbed the redoubtable Mr. Trelawny "Old Bobby"! These were flights of boldness beyond the wildest dreams of the little Polperrans. At first they had been almost overcome with fear, but familiarity had changed that feeling into one of growing wonder and admiration. For these boys were not only bold in word--they were daring beyond expression in deed. Already they had explored some of the hidden mysteries of the Crag; they had been out lobster-catching with old Pollard; and they had tumbled into one of the deep pools in the rocks, and had been hauled out dripping by a fisherman who luckily chanced to be near at hand. Now they were learning to swim, Mr. Trelawny having decided that that must be the next step in their education; and although they had not had many lessons, Pickle could already keep himself afloat several strokes, and Puck was not far behind. And all this had been done in three weeks, as well as other minor acts, of which the heroes themselves thought simply nothing, though Bertie and Milly were filled with admiration. Prissy disapproved of them utterly and entirely; nor was this very difficult to understand. She gave herself the sort of airs which Pickle and Puck openly ridiculed. They persisted in calling her "Pretty Polly," and she retaliated by calling them rude, ill-mannered boys, and openly pitying Esther for the infliction of their company. "If Prissy would be nice to them, they would be nice to her," Milly remarked sagely once, "and then things would be better. But they always get quarreling, and then it's no good trying to settle anything. Everything goes wrong." "That's because Prissy is such a cockney," cried Bertie, airing his new word with satisfaction; "Esther would never make half the fuss about every little thing. Pickle and Puck like Esther, though they do laugh at her rather. But they won't have either Esther or Prissy with them when we have our lark on Saturday afternoon. They'll only take you and me." "Well, I'll go!" cried Milly, throwing to the winds all allegiance to Prissy; "I want to see what a lark is like. I'm tired of being a cockney." "Hurrah!" cried Bertie, feeling all the glow that follows a bold stand against domestic tyranny; "we'll all have a regular lark together, and we'll tell father all about it afterwards. He won't scold, and then mother can't." Saturday afternoon was the children's holiday. At the Hermitage lessons went on regularly now on every morning of the week, and five afternoons; and it was the same at the rectory, where father and mother taught their children, or superintended their lessons when not able to be with them the whole time. But on Saturday afternoons all were free to do as they pleased. Prissy always went with her mother to give out the books at the lending library, of which she was practically librarian, and very proud of her position. Esther was always busy at home with little household duties, which she had less time for now during the week. This left the younger children quite free to follow out their own plans, and so far they had spent their holiday afternoon together. Once they had played in the orchard, and once they had gone down to the shore, where the pair from the Hermitage had displayed to their admiring companions the progress they had made in the art of swimming. "I mean to ask father to let me learn to swim too," said Herbert, whose ideas were soaring to untold heights. "I'm sure that would be one way of growing to be a Cornish boy. All the boys and men here can swim." Pickle and Puck, however, had no intention of wasting all half-holidays in such peaceful and unadventurous fashion, and they had given out very decidedly that on the following Saturday they should have "a lark." They had not further specified what form this lark was to take, but had merely declared their willingness that Herbert and Milly should share it, provided they wouldn't go and talk of it beforehand. "We don't want Miss Prig sticking her nose into our business anyhow," said Pickle, using a second name they had recently evolved for Prissy. "We'll go where we like, and do what we like, and when we get home we'll tell them all about it. That's what Puck and I always do, and it's much the best plan. Grown-ups are always worrying after you if you say a word. They'll be much happier if they think we are safe here in the orchard." It had been a moot point all the week with Bertie and Milly whether or not they should dare to join in the projected "lark"; but Bertie's resolution was now irrevocably taken, and Milly threw prudence and subservience to the four winds, and swore adhesion to the new league of liberty. They met in the rectory orchard, whither Pickle and Puck were supposed to be going to spend the Saturday afternoon. Esther was at ease about them there, for she had a belief that in that house everything went by routine, and that Herbert and Milly would restrain their comrades from any overt acts of independence and daring. There were rabbits to be visited, and cows to be driven in from the glebe pasture, and various other mild delights which always seemed quite exciting to her. She let her charges go with an easy mind; and as for Prissy, it never so much as occurred to her that after her admonition, "Mind you are very good!" Milly or Bertie would venture to dream of such a thing as leaving the premises unknown to anybody in the house, and without obtaining leave. Pickle and Puck arrived, brimming over with excitement and the delights of anticipation. "Where is everybody?" they asked at once. "They're all out," answered Milly, skipping about. "There's nobody to stop us or say 'don't.' What are we going to do? Have you decided?" "Of course we have. We're going to get a boat, and go out to that island where those jolly rocks are, and where nobody lives. We've got some jolly cakes and things in this basket. We shall light a fire of dried seaweed, and be castaways from a wreck, and have a scrumptious time till it's time to go home again." Bertie's eyes grew round with anticipation. Milly jumped into the air with delight; but then suddenly looking grave, she exclaimed,-- "But how shall we get there?" "In a boat, of course." "But then we shall have to have a man with us, and that costs such a lot of money." "Come along, silly-billy!" cried Pickle with good-humored scorn; "you'll soon see how we do things, Puck and I. A man, indeed! As though we'd have a great lumbering gowk to spoil all our fun, and have to pay him too! No fear!" Pickle took a short cut across country towards the shore. It was safer than the road in many ways, and the path he selected did not lead to the fishing village, but to a little cove half a mile away to the right. Milly danced beside him chattering gleefully. "O Pickle, can you row yourself?" "Of course I can. Puck and I rowed old Pollard's boat about for him the other day amongst the lobster-pots. Anybody can row--at least anybody with any sense. You only have to put the oar in the water and pull it out again. Even a girl could do that." "We've never been let try," said Milly. "We hardly ever go in a boat. Mother doesn't like it. Sometimes father takes us out on a fine evening, but not often. He's busy, and mother generally thinks it too cold or damp or something." "I'm glad I wasn't brought up in a poll-parrot's cage," was Pickle's remark; "your mother seems worse than Aunt Saint, and she's pretty silly about boys." "I believe mother was a cockney," said Milly gravely. "Perhaps that is why, though I don't quite know what a cockney is." Pickle laughed, but they were going too fast for much conversation. It was rough walking, but they did not want to lose time. "Here we are!" shouted Pickle, as they came suddenly upon a little cleft in the fringe of moorland they were skirting, and could see right down to the shining sea. "Here's the place, and here's the old boat. I've settled with the old fellow for it, and he promised to leave the oars and things in all ready. Oh, jolly! jolly! jolly! Now we'll have a lark!" This little creek was an offshoot of the bay, and a small tumble-down hut stood just beneath the overhanging crags. A boat lay rocking in the water, moored to a ring in the rock, and the owner had been true to his promise, and had left the oars and rudder and stretchers all in place. With shouts of ecstasy the children tumbled in. This was something like independence! Not a creature was there to say them nay. They were afloat in a boat of their very own, about to row over to that enchanted and enchanting island which Millie and Bertie had often gazed at wonderingly and wistfully, but had never dreamed of exploring in their own persons. The boat was a safe old tub, heavy and cumbersome, but steady in the water. The sea was very smooth, and the tide was falling, so that the efforts of the youthful rowers to get clear of the creek were crowned with success, although Pickle and Puck had only very elementary ideas as to rowing. Bertie took the rudder, and as he had sometimes steered the boat when his father rowed them about the bay, he had some idea of keeping a straight course, and avoiding rocks and buoys. The island looked quite near to shore from the cliffs above; but it seemed rather a long way off when the boat was on the water, slowly traveling out towards it. Pickle and Puck soon cast off their coats and waistcoats, and the drops stood upon their brows; but they would not be beaten, and pulled on manfully, though they did feel as though the island must be behaving in a very shabby manner, and retiring gradually from them as they approached. Still, the delight of being out in a boat by themselves made amends for much, and Milly, who had taken her place in the bows, screamed aloud with joy and excitement. She looked over the edge, and cried out that there were the loveliest things to be seen along the bottom. She would have been happy enough on the water the whole afternoon; but the two rowers were very glad when, after prolonged and gallant efforts on their part, they at last felt the keel of the boat grating upon the longed-for shore. "I'm hot and thirsty, I know!" cried Pickle; "I shall have a swim first thing. There's a jolly pool. I shall just swim about there, I can swim across it, I believe, and it isn't deep anywhere." "I'll come too!" cried Puck; "I'm just sweating all over!" "Prissy says people oughtn't to bathe when they're hot," remarked Milly doubtfully; but Pickle only laughed and said,-- "Pretty Polly talks an awful lot of rubbish. The hotter you are the jollier it is. You come along too, Bert." Bertie drew his breath hard. This was indeed freedom! Milly would have loved to join the party, but desisted from motives of propriety. She had not brought her bathing dress, and, indeed, she was hardly ever allowed to use it at any time. So she went off to explore the wonders of the island, leaving the boys to enjoy their bath and dry themselves in the hot sunshine afterwards. "I wish I were a boy too," she said to herself; "but anyhow I won't be a little cockney, even if I am a girl." Certainly the island was a most entrancing place. There were pools where sea-anemones displayed their flower-like beauty, and others lined with green seaweed that looked like moss, where little fishes swam about, and shrimps turned somersaults, and limpets stuck tight to the side, as though a part of the solid rock. Then on the top of the island, where the water never came, a coarse kind of grass grew, and some little flowers and sea-poppies; and Milly found many treasures in the way of tiny shells, which would make lovely decorations for the doll's house at home. She could have enjoyed herself for hours like this; but the boys turned up before very long, rosy and wet-headed from their bath, and declared they must have something to eat quick, and that they must make a fire and boil their very tiny kettle, just for the sake of feeling that they really were castaways upon a desert island. "I've found some water that isn't salt!" cried Milly; "it's in a deep pool above high-water mark. It must be rain-water, I suppose; but it's quite nice, for I drank some." And Pickle gave a shout of joy, for the boys were terribly thirsty, and though they had provided themselves with a kettle and some tea, they had never thought of bringing water. Puck said that sea-water boiled would be sure to be quite nice, for boiling was sure to take the salt out of it somehow. Milly, however, knew better, and was proud of her find; and she and Puck ran off to fill the kettle, whilst Pickle and Bertie set to gathering dry seaweed, and putting it in a hole in the rocks which was rather like a fire-grate, and over which they could easily put on the kettle to boil. It was tremendously exciting and interesting work--the sort of play the rectory children had never indulged in before, though they had secretly longed after it. [Illustration: "Pickle soon had a merry little fire burning."--Page 95. _Esther's Charge._] "I'm the captain, and you're the bo'sun, Bertie," explained Pickle; "Puck's the cabin-boy, and Milly's a passenger. Everybody else has been drowned dead, and we've been cast ashore on the island. So we have to light a fire as a signal to any passing ship to come and take us off." "Oh, but we don't want to be taken off!" shrieked Milly; "we want to stay all the afternoon! If they see our fire perhaps they'll come too soon. We don't want that." However, Pickle decreed that this risk must be run, as they must have their tea, and all castaways lighted a fire when they could. He had matches ready, and very soon the dry seaweed kindled, and a merry little fire was soon burning in the hole. It was not long before the kettle boiled, and very proud was Milly of being permitted to put in the tea, and officiate at the dispensing of the liquid. They had only one mug, and some lumps of sugar, and no milk; but that mattered very little. Castaways could not expect luxuries, and the cakes were excellent. Bertie was in rampant spirits. This was true liberty, and he was eager for remaining on the island permanently. There was a hole on the other side where they could sleep upon a bed of dried seaweed; and then in the mornings they could bathe in the pool, and he could learn to swim, and Milly could cook their food, and they would catch fish, and crabs, and shrimps, and live like princes. Puck was rather taken by the idea. "We shouldn't have any lessons then with the old Owl," he remarked. "I don't like lessons. It's such a waste of time, when one might be having fun. I can't see what good lessons are to anybody. I asked Crump once if he remembered the dates of all the kings and queens, and he said he was afraid he didn't, though he could have said them off pat when he was my age. If one may forget everything as soon as one grows up, what's the use of making such a fuss about learning them?" "Crump says it trains the mind to learn," said Pickle, jumping up; "but I should think living on an island and doing everything for oneself would train it much more. Let's go and see the hole, Bert. P'r'aps we won't stay to-day--we've not brought quite enough things; but we might collect them here for a bit, and then when we've got enough we might come over, and let the boat go adrift, and live like cave-men as long as we liked. It would do for our city of refuge, you know," and he looked across at Puck, who capered in great glee. "Of course, of course, of course!" he shouted; "we ought to have a city of refuge!" "What's that?" asked Bertie eagerly. "Oh, it's all in the Bible," answered Puck. "We found it one day, and told Crump; and we asked if we might have one, and he said yes, if we could find it; and so we made it. It was out on the stable roof--such a jolly place!--no avenger of blood could ever get up there. Crump did try once; but he stuck fast, and we sat and roared at him. It was a fine city of refuge. We always went there when people were angry. Once we were up there nearly all day; and if we'd had more gingerbread we'd never have come down till they'd promised not to punish us. But Miss Masters sat at the bottom of the ladder that time, and she whipped us when we had to come down. That was what I call being real mean. What's the good of a city of refuge if the avenger of blood sits waiting for you at the bottom of the ladder? We asked Crump to tell her never to do it again, but I don't know if he ever did. Soon after that we came here, and the old Owl teaches us instead." "And you haven't got a city of refuge here?" asked the breathless Milly. "No; but I think we shall want one," said Pickle seriously. "There's something about Old Bobby and the Owl that I don't quite like. They can be very jolly; but they seem to think they're going to have it very much their own way. I don't like giving in to a pair of old fogies like that. I think this island might come in very useful." "Prissy could never find us here!" cried Milly under her breath; "we could do the loveliest things! Oh, do let us have a city of refuge!" They explored the island with breathless interest. It seemed an excellent place for their design. There was no danger of its ever being covered at high tide; there was a rent in one side, not quite a cave, but a deep fissure, which would give protection from wind and some shelter from rain, and prove an excellent place of concealment. There was the big pool for bathing in, and little pools for keeping their treasures in the way of anemones and other sea-water creatures. And though the tides might wash away the old treasures, there would be new ones deposited instead, and altogether it seemed a most desirable sort of place. "We'll collect things here," said Pickle with decision. "That was the worst of our other city of refuge; there was no place to keep anything. We had just to carry up with us what we wanted, and unless we could get down into the house without being seen we couldn't get anything more. Once Jim, the stable-boy, brought us some apples; but he didn't generally know when we were up there. We'll lay in a regular store of things, and then if they get cross we can come here and stop for a week. They'll be so frightened by that time that they'll never think of being angry when we get back, if we don't stay here always." "Are you sure?" asked Milly eagerly. "I feel as though mother would get angrier and angrier the longer we stayed away." But Pickle looked immensely wise. "No, it isn't like that," he said; "they begin by getting angrier and angrier, but then they get frightened, and when they're just as frightened as they can be, then if you go back they don't scold--at least hardly at all. They're only all in a tremble lest you've got wet or something like that--as if one were a cat. It's very stupid of them, but it's very convenient for us. You get more fun and less scolding that way." "O Pickle! how do you know?" "Oh, we've tried it so often, and with different nurses and governesses, and with Granny and Crump. We know all about that sort of thing. Crump was the worst to reckon on. He would sometimes say very little that day, but take it out of you next. But then Crump was Crump, and one never minded much what he did. I wish we had him here now." "Would he let you have a city of refuge out here?" asked Milly wonderingly. "Of course he would. Crump isn't like a pack of silly women, who always think one is going to kill oneself. Crump likes boys to do things for themselves, and not be always hanging round and asking other people to take care of them. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up, and soldiers have to learn how to do lots of things; and Puck will be either a soldier or a sailor. Crump said we might choose for ourselves; and when we had chosen we must stick to it like bricks, and so we will." "I'm going to be a Cornish boy!" cried Bertie; "my father said so. Cornish boys can all swim, and row boats, and wrestle, and things like that. We'll learn all about that at the city of refuge. It's the women who spoil everything. Let's pass a law that no woman shall ever be allowed to set foot on our island." "Then you mustn't count me a woman!" cried Milly appealingly. "Of course not!" answered all the boys at once; and Pickle went on judicially--"We shan't count all girls as women--only the very stupid ones like Pretty Polly. Tousle may come as a visitor sometimes; and you may come always, Milly, if you'll be jolly and not tell secrets. I don't count people like you women. You have some sense." "And perhaps if you get regularly jolly, you won't ever be a woman," added Puck consolingly. "I should think there must be some way of stopping it. When Old Bobby or the Owl are in good temper I'll ask them about it. They have all sorts of funny things in bottles and tanks, and they can do lots of queer things. I'll ask them if they can't do something to stop you always being a woman. You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?" "Oh yes!" cried Milly eagerly. "If I could be a Cornish boy I should be quite happy." But time was flying fast, and, unless the children wanted their secret to escape them too soon, they would have to be going back. They had had a fine time out on the island, and the tide had begun to flow again, and had floated their boat, which, for above an hour, had been lying stranded amid the rocks. So in they all tumbled, and rowed back homewards, reaching the creek as the clock in the village church chimed out the hour of six. "We shall just get home in time!" cried Milly, "and nobody will know we haven't been playing about near home all the time.--Pickle, may we tell father about the city of refuge--just as a secret? I'm sure he won't mind; and if he doesn't tell mother it will be all right." "Well, I'll think about it," answered Pickle, in his capacity of captain; "but don't you tell anything till I give you leave." CHAPTER V. AT THE CRAG. "You must come, Tousle; you must, you must, you must!" The boys were dancing round her like a pair of wild Indians, and Esther gave up the unequal struggle. "I'll come if you want me very much," she said rather wearily, "but I think you'd enjoy yourselves just as much without me." "Well, it's not so much that we couldn't do without you ourselves," returned Puck, with his habitual candor; "but Old Bobby says he won't have us without our keeper, and that means you, though I'm sure I don't know why he should call you that." "Nor I," answered Esther, shaking her head. She felt very little power over the mercurial pair whom she had vainly tried to make her charge. They were fond of her, in a fashion, and she was fond of them. Their arrival had brought a new element into her life; and there were many happy hours when they played together joyously, and Esther forgot her gravity and grown-up ways, and laughed and raced about and shouted gleefully, as other children do. Yet it could not be denied that the boys brought many new anxieties into her life, and the uncertainty as to what they would do next kept her upon tenter-hooks from week's end to week's end. They did not want to give trouble and pain; they only wanted to amuse themselves and to be left alone. They were accustomed to liberty and independence, and were on the whole very well able to take care of themselves. But they were full of spirit, and they delighted in mischief; and something in the prim and proper methods prevailing in this little place stirred up the spirit of mischief within them, and led them to commit more pranks, perhaps, than they would otherwise have thought of. Mrs. St. Aiden took things easily, fortunately for Esther. The boys amused her. She did not see very much of them, and on the whole they behaved nicely towards her, having received rather explicit commands on this point from their father. They could not always restrain their mischievous devices even where she was concerned. One morning when her breakfast-tray was brought up, and she uncovered the plate where some little hot dainty generally reposed, behold there was a large toad sitting upon an empty plate, and gazing at her with its jewel-like eyes; and the shout of laughter which followed upon her startled scream betrayed the presence of the lurking conspirators, who had deftly made an exchange of plates whilst Esther's back was turned, just before she took the tray up-stairs. Still, in spite of sundry tricks of this sort, Mrs. St. Aiden did not object on the whole to the presence of the boys in the house. She liked to hear their racy accounts of what they did from day to day, and there was always Mr. Trelawny to fall back upon if they threatened to become too much for her. A long afternoon at the Crag had been promised to the boys for some while, on the first half-holiday when their conduct through the week had won them the right to the treat. Mr. Earle was to be the judge on this point, and it was some time before he could honestly say it was deserved. Mr. Earle was exciting Esther's admiration by the way he was obtaining the upper hand of the restless and obstreperous boys. At first they had obviously regarded lesson hours as so much time for the invention of tricks for the interruption of study, and the playing off of practical jokes. But gradually they had come to an understanding that their tutor regarded matters differently, and that he had just as definite ideas as they upon the subject. Then had come a certain battle of wills between the belligerents, and little by little it became evident that the tutor was becoming the victor. He did not often have to resort to corporal chastisement, though he had once given Pickle a sound caning for insubordination, and Puck had had two or three good cuts across his grubby little hand. But he had other ways of showing that he meant to be master in study hours; and Esther had come to have a great admiration for him, and a sense of confidence in his presence, although the halo of dread which surrounded all persons connected with the Crag still continued to cling about him. It had been a great relief to her when Saturday after Saturday Mr. Earle had looked through his mark book and had shaken his head at the proposal of the promised treat. She did not want Pickle and Puck to be naughty, but she did not in the least want to go up with them to spend the afternoon at Mr. Trelawny's house. And yet it was understood that she was to accompany the boys, "to keep them in order," as the master of the house said, though Esther knew perfectly that if anybody succeeded in keeping the pair in order it would be himself or Mr. Earle. "He likes you, Tousle," said Pickle shrewdly; "he likes you a lot better than us. I don't think he cares for us a bit; but he's fond of you. I can't think why you don't like him." "I never said I didn't like him," said Esther nervously. "No; but anybody not a fool could see it with half an eye. I can't think why you don't. He's an awfully jolly old boy, for all he's so gruff and such an old tyrant. He'd like you to like him I'm sure. I can't think why you don't." "You'd much better," advised Puck, "or perhaps you'll make him angry, and then he might put you into one of his tanks and use you for his experiments. I think it's silly of you always to run away and hide when he comes. He's always asking where you have gone to, and when we tell him you're hiding away from him, he looks as if he didn't quite like it, though he always laughs his big, gruff laugh." "O Puck! why do you tell?" "Well, we must speak the truth," said Puck with an air of virtue; "and you know you do always scuttle away when he comes." "Never mind," cried Pickle, who was in a mighty hurry to be off; "come along now, and let's go up. We may go any time after dinner, you know." "It's so hot!" said Esther with a little sigh. "Would it do if I came a little later? The sun makes my head ache." "Oh, but it's all in the wood, and I don't believe he'll have us without you. Do come along. Boys never have headaches. I don't see why girls should have either." Esther yielded. She did not want to spoil the boys' holiday afternoon, but she did wish that her going with them had not been a condition. Her fears of the Crag and its master did not diminish from the things she heard dropped by older people about the things going on there, now that Mr. Trelawny had an assistant in his experiments. The scientific names she heard spoken sounded terrible in her ears; and she pictured the two men in their gloomy cave, sitting up all the night through pursuing wonderful and mysterious researches, and her books of historical romance, which told of the secret machinations of wizards and magicians, acquired for her a new fascination and a new terror. The three children started off through the pine woods, but Esther was soon left far behind. The boys clambered hither and thither, rushing about with the inexhaustible energy of children; but Esther's feet lagged wearily, and her small face was pale. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and she pulled off her hat and fanned herself with it, thinking the way to the Crag had never seemed so long before. Esther's head had taken to aching a good deal of late. At night she could not always sleep. Her lessons seemed to dance before her eyes, and she would dream about them even after she got off to slumber-land. It had been a great pleasure to Esther to have regular lessons with somebody like Mr. Earle, who could explain everything she wanted to know, and who never reproved her for asking questions; but perhaps the strain of regular work, in addition to that of the two boys in the house and the anxiety she was often in about them and their doings, was rather much for her. At any rate, she had been feeling her head a good deal for the past fortnight, and would so much rather have spent the afternoon quietly at home than have faced first the long walk up the hill and then all the tremors and excitements of the Crag. But Esther was not accustomed to think first of herself, and she plowed her way bravely upwards, till at last they arrived in front of the grim-looking old house perched upon its crag, and saw the two gentlemen sitting out on the terrace, rather as though waiting for their guests. The boys gave a whoop and a bound, and dashed towards them. When Esther reached the terrace they were both swarming about Mr. Trelawny like a pair of young monkeys. He was laughing in his rather grim fashion, and Esther heard him saying in his deep voice,-- "No, I won't have that impudence from you, you young jackanapes. If your father lets you behave so, he ought to know better. When I was a boy we were made to respect our elders, and if we couldn't do it, we had to keep it to ourselves. You may call me Uncle Bob, if you like, as my name happens to be Robert; but every time you call me Old Bobby you'll get a good sound box on the ear--so now you understand." The boys laughed, but they knew perfectly that Mr. Trelawny was in earnest, and that he would be as good as his word. They had found out that from Mr. Earle, who had absolutely forbidden the use of nicknames in school hours, and had insisted that they should speak of Esther by her proper name, and address him as Mr. Earle--a thing that seemed to astonish them not a little. Out of school hours, however, they considered that they had full liberty of speech, and the next minute Puck exclaimed,-- "Here's Tousle coming along. She didn't want to come a bit. We had to bully her into it. She can't bear the Crag." A quick flush mounted to Esther's cheek as she heard, and her heart beat fast. How she did wish the boys would not say such things! She didn't seem able to make them understand how terrifying it was for her that Mr. Trelawny should be told of her shrinking from him and his house. Shyness with Esther was like a real physical pain, and she would rather have received a sharp blow than be obliged to face Mr. Trelawny after these words had just been spoken. He threw the boys from him, and went and took her by the hand. "Well, little Miss Esther, and how do you do? You are quite a stranger here. We must make you change your opinion of the Crag and its owner. Now you shall tell me what you would like to do and to see, since you are here." "Oh, thank you, but I don't mind," answered Esther nervously. "I like sitting here and watching the beautiful sea." "Well, we'll sit here till you have cooled down, and we have drunk our coffee, and then we will see if we can't find something more exciting to amuse ourselves." A man-servant came out almost immediately, bearing cups of coffee on a tray; and this was very good, with plenty of milk and sugar for the little people. The boys chattered away, and Esther found herself able to sit in a quiet corner and be silent, for if ever Mr. Trelawny asked her a question, Pickle or Puck always broke in with an answer before she could get in a word. Presently the boys could be quiet no longer. "Come along and show us things," they cried, getting upon the rails of Mr. Trelawny's chair, and tweaking his thick, grizzled hair. "We know you've got an awful lot of jolly things up here. Come along and show us them. Why, even Tousle hasn't seen half, and she's lived here ever so long." A smart rap on the knuckles brought Pickle quickly to the ground. "Speak properly of your cousin whilst you are in my house," said Mr. Trelawny. "What did I say?" asked Pickle, aggrieved. "Oh, bother! why can't we call people what we like? I think you're a regular old tyrant." "Well, you needn't come near me unless you like," was the equable response; "but if you do, you'll have to behave yourself. So just you mind that." The brothers exchanged glances; but it was evidently not diplomatic to quarrel with the master of the house at this juncture, and they felt that in the matter of argument they would get the worst of it with him. So they only made a covert grimace at the back of his head, and said,-- "Come along, then. Show us your house. We want to see all the queer old places we've heard about. Was there once a monk walled up in the cellar? and did you dig out his skeleton? and did his ghost go prowling about tapping on the doors and making groans?" "Not in my time," answered Mr. Trelawny. "There is a story about the finding of a skeleton down below, though how it came there nobody could say. It was all guess-work.--Come, little Miss Esther; I know you are a historian, and I have some things I think will interest you," and Mr. Trelawny held out his great hand, into which Esther was obliged to slip her little cold fingers, though she felt them trembling all over as she did so. Mr. Trelawny looked down at her for a moment, but said nothing. The boys dashed hither and thither through the rooms, making remarks and asking questions, which they did not always wait to hear answered. But by and by they got interested in the interesting tales Mr. Trelawny had to tell about the fine old house in which he lived, and even Esther lost her fears for a while in the breathless delight of hearing the story of some of the pictured ladies and armed warriors whose portraits hung upon the walls of the corridors and rooms. It was later on, when they were taken into the great laboratory at the top of the house, that her fears began to come back. There was a strange smell in the place, and it was full of the queerest things, the very names of which were terrible. Then Mr. Trelawny did some wonderful things with wires and lights; and presently Mr. Earle was sent down into the cave, right at the very bottom of the house, underneath its foundations, and he and Mr. Trelawny passed messages to each other without so much as a speaking-tube or a wire between them, and everything seemed so strange and uncanny that even the boys were quite silent, whilst Esther felt as though she should be stifled in the atmosphere of this weird place. But the boys were not frightened, though they were greatly astonished at some of the things they saw and heard. Nothing would serve them but that they must go down into the cave again themselves, and see what was going on there; and Esther felt as though her heart would stop beating altogether as she felt her hand grasped by that of this big, terrible wizard, and knew that he was leading her down, down, down into the very heart of the earth. She dared not resist. His grasp was too strong for that. She was afraid if she angered him he would begin to flash more fire, and perhaps annihilate her altogether. Her teeth chattered in her mouth. Her breath came and went in great gasps. If he had not had such firm hold of her hand, she would almost have fallen. At all times Esther had a fear of underground places. She had never done more than just peep into a cave before this; and now she was going down, down, down into the very heart of the earth--into that terrible place the boys had told her of, where all sorts of unthinkable horrors were practised, or had been in bygone days, and where, for all she knew, skeletons were still pickling in great tanks. She dared not even think of anything more. They entered the cave through a sort of trap-door communicating with the house above. The boys were delighted to go by this way. Mr. Earle was there, moving about like a gnome in the gloom; and the voices of the boys, as they cried out their questions, and exclaimed over the strange things they saw, sounded hollow and strange, and went echoing away down the vaulted passages, as though taken up and repeated by half a hundred unseen demons. The air of the place seemed oppressive and difficult to breathe. The sullen booming of the sea beneath added to the awfulness of the darkness and the horror. Esther threw a few scared glances round her, and felt as though everything was swimming in a mist before her eyes. It seemed as though a cold hand was grasping at her throat, hindering her breath and numbing her limbs. She knew that she was being walked about from place to place, but she could see nothing and hear nothing plainly. The boys were making the place ring with their shouts and strange calls, and it seemed to her as though the cave were full of dancing forms, and as though she could not breathe any longer. Then all of a sudden it seemed to get quite dark. The sound of voices died away in her ears. She thought she was left alone in this awful place; perhaps she had been put into one of the tanks. She was suffocating, and could hear nothing but the wild beating of her own heart; and then even that seemed to stop, and she remembered nothing more. When she opened her eyes again the sun was shining, and it was all warm and bright round her, and somebody had fast hold of her, and was making her feel so comfortable and restful that she did not want to move. She could not think where she was, but it was certainly out of doors. The wind fanned her brow, and she could see the sky and the sea and a bit of waving fern or tree. Then there was the sound of a step close by, and suddenly Mr. Earle loomed into view, carrying a glass in his hand, and when his eyes met hers he smiled and said,-- "Ah, that is better!" And then Esther felt herself lifted up, and saw that it was Mr. Trelawny who was holding her so comfortably. He was sitting on the ground, and she was on his knee, resting against his broad shoulder; and now he bent and looked into her face with a smile, and said,-- "So, so, my little girl; that is better, that is better. Now drink what Mr. Earle has brought you, and you will feel yourself again." Esther held out her hand obediently, but it shook so much that Mr. Earle would not give the glass into her hand, but knelt down on one knee and held it to her lips. It was not nice medicine at all, and it made her choke and cough when she had swallowed it, but it seemed to warm her all through; and when she had finished the draught she felt able to lift up her head, though it was rather appalling to find herself alone out on the hillside, with only Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle beside her. She remembered everything now--the terrible cave, the strange sights and sounds there, and that feeling of giddiness and weakness which had come over her. She sat up and looked round her, and then she shivered again a little, for just behind them was a dark gap which she knew must lead into the cave. Were they going to take her back into it again? Mr. Earle had hold of her hand, and his finger was on the little wrist. He looked into her face with a smile, and asked,-- "What is the matter now?" "Nothing, thank you, sir." "You are frightened," he said quietly. "Were you afraid of the darkness in there just now?" "I--I don't know if it was the darkness exactly. I think it was everything." She made another little movement, and then added wistfully, "Please, may I go home?" "No hurry," said Mr. Trelawny's big voice just in her ear. "We will go back to my house first, and see what all this means." And then Esther felt herself lifted bodily in those great, strong arms, and carried baby-fashion up the steep pathway towards the house on the top of the crag. "O Mr. Trelawny, I'm too heavy to be carried!" she cried. "You're not half as heavy as you should be. I must know about that too. We've got you a prisoner between us, my little maid, and we shall not let you go till we've----" Mr. Trelawny stopped suddenly, because Mr. Earle had begun to speak to him in the strange language Esther had heard him use upon another occasion. She shut her eyes tightly, and tried to be brave; but if only she might have gone home by herself! The Crag was a very terrible place to come to. Even the boys seemed to have disappeared. There was no sign of them about the great, quiet house. Mr. Trelawny carried her into the drawing-room, which did not look as though it were often used, though it was bright and sunny; and he laid her down upon a wide sofa, and took a chair close to her. Mr. Earle stood a little way off, looking out of the window. If Esther had had the courage to look into the face above her, she would have seen that it was full of a very kindly concern and interest, but she dared not raise her eyes. She felt like a prisoner awaiting sentence, and only wondered whether she would ever be free to run home again. "Now tell me, child," said Mr. Trelawny's big voice, "what is the matter with my little friend?" "Nothing, thank you, sir." "Can't you call me Uncle Robert, like that pair of urchins, who are no kith or kin of mine, though you are? Esther, I was very fond of your father. Won't you try to be a little fond of me? I will be your friend, if you will let me." She looked up at him then, and her heart beat fast. It was all so very strange and unexpected. She did not know what to say; but she put out her hand and laid it on his, and he smiled and patted it, and said,-- "There, that is better. Now tell me about these headaches of yours. We ought to find a cure for them. Has Mr. Earle been working you too hard?" Esther felt a thrill run through her again. How was it he knew anything about her headaches? She had not even told her mother, and it never occurred to her that the boys could have spoken the word. Yet, to be sure, once or twice lately she had not cared to join their games because her head ached so badly towards evening. But it was not the lessons. They must not think that. Her lessons were the great pleasure of her life. "Oh no, no!" she answered earnestly; "indeed it is not that. Please, don't stop the lessons. I do like them so very much." Mr. Earle came forward then, smiling and saying,-- "I don't want to lose my pupil either, but health comes before pleasure--even before learning." "I'm sure it isn't the lessons," said Esther again. "Sometimes I think perhaps it's my hair. It makes my head so hot, and at night I can't always sleep." Mr. Trelawny lifted the heavy mass of curly locks and weighed it in his hand. He looked at Mr. Earle, and they spoke a few words together in the strange tongue. "Did you ever complain to your mother about your hair?" asked Mr. Trelawny, with a gleam in his deepset eyes. "Yes," answered Esther, "I often used to ask her if I mightn't have it short like Milly Polperran; but she doesn't like me to tease about it, so I've given it up." Mr. Trelawny reached out his hand towards a table upon which lay a pair of sharp scissors in a sheath. The gleam in his eyes was deepening. Mr. Earle said something in the foreign tongue, and he answered back in his sharp, decisive way. Esther lay still, wondering; but they were both behind her, and she could not see. Then came a strange, grating sound close to her head, another, and another; and before she realized what was happening, Mr. Trelawny suddenly laid upon her lap a great mass of waving chestnut hair, exclaiming as he did so,-- "There, my dear! take that home to your mother with my best compliments; and as for me, I shall have to find a new name for little Goldylocks." Then Esther realized that her hair had been cut off by Mr. Trelawny, and she lay looking at it with thrills of excitement running through her. What would her mother say when she got home? and what would it feel like to be relieved of that great floating mass of hair? How delightful to have no tugging and pulling at the knots morning and night, often when her head was aching and tender, and every pull seemed to hurt more than the last! She must get up and feel what it was like. So she sat up and passed her hands over her head. Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle were looking at her and laughing. Esther had to laugh too; but how light and cool it felt! "It is nice!" she exclaimed. "I feel as if I'd got a new head! Oh. I hope mama will not mind much!" "Look here, sir," said Mr. Earle; "you're not as good a barber as a lady had a right to expect. Give me the scissors, and let me put a more artistic finish to your work. We must send her home looking less like a hearth broom than she does at the present moment." They all laughed again at that, and the color began to come back into Esther's cheeks. This was something rather exciting, and it had driven away her fears for the time being. She sat quite still whilst Mr. Earle snipped and cut, and walked round and round her, and quarreled with Mr. Trelawny about the proper way of trimming a lady's hair; and in the end they put her upon the sofa, and told her to look at herself in the great mirror opposite. When she did this she began to laugh out loud. "Will it always stand on end like that?" she asked, for the wave in her hair made it set off from her face and stand round it rather like the aureole round the heads of saints in the church windows. "I don't think Genefer will think it tidy like that. Can't I brush it and make it lie smooth, like Mr. Earle's?" They got a brush, but the hair set them at defiance, and stood out in its own way. But it was delightful to have no heavy mane hanging down behind. Esther declared her headache almost gone, and so she was allowed to go out and find the boys, who had been set to play by themselves for an hour. The shrieks of delight they set up at sight of Esther with her cropped head made her laugh and glow like a child; and she looked altogether so much brighter and merrier that the two gentlemen exchanged glances and nodded their heads, as though quite satisfied with the high-handed measure they had taken. "We shall call you Roundhead now!" cried Puck, dancing round her in an ecstasy of amusement; but Mr. Trelawny came up and took him by the ears, saying in his gruffest way,-- "You will call your cousin by her proper name, or you will never come to my house again. Now, do you understand?" "Do you mean really?" asked Puck, wriggling away and facing round. "I mean really and truly," was the emphatic answer. "You've got to learn manners, you two, whilst you are here; and if Mr. Earle knocks some knowledge into your thick skulls, I'll knock a little respect for other people into your democratic little minds. So mind, if you don't behave yourselves properly to your cousin, and speak to her properly too, you'll never have the chance of coming to the Crag again." CHAPTER VI. THE SHORN SHEEP. "I think you ought to come home with us, Uncle Bob, after cutting off Esther's tousle like that. I expect Aunt Saint will be in a jolly old wax." The children had finished their tea out on the terrace, and a very nice tea it had been. Esther was looking brighter than she had done at first, and a little bit of color had stolen into her face; but her eyes still had a tired look in them, and there were dark marks underneath. Mr. Trelawny paused beside her, and passed his big hands over the cropped head. The touch was kindly, and Esther tried to conquer the little thrill of fear which ran through her. She felt as though she had behaved herself badly at the wizard's house, and that he had been very indulgent to her when he might have been very angry. She could not conquer her old fears all at once; but she resolved to try and mingle some liking with them for this big, strange man, who seemed wishful to be regarded as an uncle. "What does the shorn sheep say herself about that?" asked Mr. Trelawny, bending down to look into Esther's face. She made herself return the glance, and said timidly,-- "I think I should be much obliged if you would, Uncle Robert. You would explain to mama better than I can." A smile lit up the rugged features of the Cornishman. "To be sure I will then, my dear. I'll take all the blame, which is certainly all mine. I've got a few things I want to say to your mother, so I'll come down now and say them." So when the shadows had grown a little longer, and the sea was lit up like a sheet of gold, the little party of four started down the hill again, the boys tearing about like a pair of wild animals, Mr. Trelawny following more soberly, holding Esther's hand in his, and helping her over the bits of rough ground; though, as he remarked laughingly, it was "like helping a bit of thistle-down over a hedge." Mr. Trelawny told Esther a great many interesting things during that walk--things about birds and insects, which she had never known before. He did not frighten her at all the whole way, and when she asked a timid question he always had a full and interesting answer ready. Then he told her that he had a number of books full of pictures of live creatures in his library, and said she must come up another day and look at them. And though Esther could never think of the Crag without a certain shrinking and fear, yet she did want to see the pictures very much, if only they would not take her into those awful underground places, or into the rooms where all those strange things went on. When they got home, there was a sound of voices coming from the open drawing-room windows. The boys had rushed headlong in, and now came tumbling out again. "It's only Mrs. Poll-parrot and Pretty Polly!" cried the pair in a breath; whereupon Mr. Trelawny took the two heads, one in either hand, and knocked them pretty smartly together. "Mind your manners, boys!" he said in his big gruff voice, and strode on, holding Esther's hand, whilst Pickle and Puck remained behind, staring after him and rubbing their heads with an air of injured innocence. "He's rather an old beast sometimes, I think," said Puck rather ruefully. "I don't quite like him always." "He makes us do as he says," added Pickle, "like Mr. Earle--I mean the Owl. I think it's rather interfering of them." Meantime Mr. Trelawny had entered the window, drawing Esther after him. "Good evening, madam," he said in his breezy way--"good evening to you all. Mrs. St. Aiden, I have come to make my peace with you. Tell me first what you think of your shorn lamb." Then he pushed Esther forward, and the child stood before her mother, the color coming and going in her face rather too fast to please Mr. Trelawny, who looked at her from under his bushy brows and shook his head once or twice. Mrs. St. Aiden gave a little gasp, almost a little scream. Mrs. Polperran stared, and began to laugh; while Prissy cried out in unveiled astonishment,-- "O Esther, your hair, your hair! Where has it gone?" "Here it is," said Mr. Trelawny, producing a packet wrapped in soft paper, and laying it upon Mrs. St. Aiden's knee. "I daresay some enterprising hairdresser would give a pretty penny for it. Now, Miss Prissy, you run off with your little friend here. I want to talk a little to these good ladies." Prissy rose, and Esther was glad to escape with her into the garden. It was delightful to have such a cool, comfortable head; but all the talk about herself made her feel hot and shy. "O Esther!" cried Prissy, "you do look so funny. But I've often heard mother say that it is bad for you having such a great head of hair. What was it made Mr. Trelawny cut it off? Don't you think it was taking a great liberty without your mother's leave?" "I don't know," answered Esther slowly. "I don't think mama would ever have let him." The boys came running up now, and the four children were soon well hidden from view in the clipped yew arbor, which was Esther's especial haunt. "I thought he cut it off to use it in his experiments," said Pickle. "I've read of magicians who took people's hair, and then they used to burn bits of it and make them come to them in their sleep. I expect that's what he's done it for. I expect that you'll often be walking up to the cave in your sleep now." Esther began shaking at once, but Prissy said, with her grown-up air of reproof,-- "You are talking great nonsense, Philip." (Prissy very often called the boys Philip and Percy, to their own unspeakable disgust.) "There are no magicians now; and besides, it was all nonsense when there were any. And Mr. Trelawny gave Esther's hair back to Mrs. St. Aiden just now. I saw him." But Pickle wasn't going to be shut up like that. "I expect he kept some of it back for himself," he said; "and you needn't pretend to know such a mighty lot about Mr. Trelawny and what he can do. If he isn't a magician, he's something uncommonly like it. You should have seen the things he did to-day for us to see; and he'd have done some funnier ones still, only _she_ went and flopped down in a heap on the floor, and then they had to carry her out, and they wouldn't go back any more." "What did you do, Esther?" asked Prissy. "I don't know. I felt funny down there, and everything seemed going round, and I didn't know anything about the rest." "Well, she just spoiled the fun," said Puck. "They were going to show us some things--skeletons in the tanks, I expect, or jolly things like that--but when _she_ went flop they didn't seem to think a bit about us. They hustled us away up to the house, and wouldn't show us anything more. That's always the way when there are girls. They are always sure to spoil the fun." "I'm very sorry," said Esther penitently, "but I didn't mean to. Only I don't like underground places. They make me feel queer." "I've heard father speak about Mr. Trelawny's cave," said Prissy. "I don't think he likes it much. Quite a little while ago I heard him say to mother that he was afraid, now Mr. Earle had come, that there might be something horrid happening there. I can't quite remember the words, but he said something like that. And mother said she was afraid he was reckless, and too fond of experiments. I wonder what he does there, and what father is afraid of." "People always are afraid of magicians and wizards," said Pickle with a sly look of triumph at Prissy; and for a moment she was silent, feeling as though she had been somehow caught in a trap. "Well, I think he's a very odd sort of man; and I don't think he'd any business to cut off your hair, Esther. Did you know he was going to do it?" "No, I never thought of such a thing. I only said it made my head hot at nights, or something like that. And then he got a big pair of scissors and cut it all off in a minute." "I think it looks rather nice like that," said Prissy, with a critical glance, "though it does stand on end rather. I should think you would enjoy not having it combed out at nights." "I've decided now!" cried Puck, shouting out suddenly the great new idea. "I shall call you Ess now. It'll do for Esther, and for Shorn Sheep too. Old Bobby calls you that himself now, so he can't scold us. You shall be Ess. Don't you think that's a nice, easy, short name?" Mr. Trelawny was soon seen stalking away up the path towards the Crag, and Mrs. Polperran's voice was heard calling for Prissy. Esther stole back to her mother's side, and asked timidly,-- "You're not vexed with me, mama dear? Indeed I did not know what he was going to do." "No, dear, I suppose not. It's no use making a trouble of it now it's done. It was certainly a liberty to take; but it's never any use being angry with Mr. Trelawny--he only laughs and makes a joke of it. Besides, he always has looked upon you rather in the light of his ward. Your father did write to him before he died, asking him to give an eye to us, and to take care of us both if we wanted it. I suppose he thinks he has some rights over you; and he has been very kind to us, so we must not say too much." Esther listened very gravely. She did not know exactly what a ward might be, but she fancied that it made her in some sort the property of the redoubtable Mr. Trelawny. It was rather an alarming notion; but Esther said nothing, for it had been her endeavor all these past months, since her father's death, never to trouble her mother needlessly. "You should have told me about your headaches, dear," said Mrs. St. Aiden, stroking Esther's hand. "Perhaps we could have cured them then without the sacrifice of your pretty hair." "O mama, they weren't so very bad. I didn't want to worry you. But I think I shall be much better now without my hair." "And what made you faint in the cave, dear? You frightened Mr. Trelawny and Mr. Earle, I think." Esther thought it had been the other way; but she only said, after a little hesitation,-- "There didn't seem any air down there, and it was all so dark and queer, it made me feel funny; but I didn't know I fainted." "Well, I have told Mr. Trelawny not to take you there again. I have always had that sort of dislike to caves and underground places myself. Men don't understand that sort of thing; but you had better never go there again, Esther." "Oh, thank you, mama!" cried Esther earnestly. It was an immense relief to feel that she need never go back to the cave, and that Mr. Trelawny had been told not to take her there. She could almost face the idea of going up to the Crag to see the books, if she were safe from that terrible place. Things seemed suddenly to be brighter and happier altogether. Esther was quite lively that evening; and as Genefer brushed the shorn head at night she remarked,-- "Well, Miss Esther, it's made a good bit of difference to your looks; but I always did say to the missus that it was a pity to let you grow such a mane of hair now. Very likely you would have had it grow thin and poor as you grew up; but if you keep it cropped short for a few years, you'll have a nice head of hair when you're a young lady and want it again." On Sunday afternoon Milly and Bertie Polperran came to the Hermitage to spend the time with their little friends there, as on Saturday they had not met. Prissy taught a little class in the Sunday school; but Milly and Bertie were free, only that they had some little verses and part of a hymn to learn, and they had leave to say them to Esther to-day. Esther had been rather exercised in her mind about the fashion in which Pickle and Puck spent their Sundays. They went to church in the morning with her, and kept her pretty much on tenter-hooks all the time, although they had never done anything very outrageous so far. But their eyes always seemed everywhere, and nothing escaped their observation; and they would giggle in a subdued yet sufficiently audible fashion, if anything amused them, and sometimes try to make Esther or their little friends opposite join them in their ill-timed hilarity. After having been to church, they seemed to consider that for them Sunday had ended, and they played about and amused themselves just as they pleased. "Crump always played with us on Sunday afternoons," they would say when Esther suggested something more quiet and decorous, according to her ideas. They did not seem to understand why they should be more quiet on Sunday than on any other day, and it was not quite easy for Esther to explain. "They must have been badly brought up," Prissy would say in her prim, grown-up fashion. "I think their father must be a very strange sort of man." But when Esther spoke to Genefer, she was a little comforted by hearing her say,-- "You see, Miss Esther, the poor little boys have had no mother to teach them, and gentlemen don't think of things quite like mothers. I don't think they mean to be naughty a bit, but they've not been taught as you have. Perhaps they'll get into better ways living here for a spell. But it's no good preaching at them. That'll never do it. You only get at children by making them love you. Then they like the things you like, and they learn different ways. They're getting fond of you, Miss Esther, my dear. They'll begin to copy you by and by, whether they know it or not." Esther did not think Pickle and Puck had much notion of copying anybody; but she thought they were growing fond of her in a fashion, and she was certainly growing fond of them. If they brought new anxiety into her life, they brought a considerable amount of pleasure and variety too. She did not at all regret the arrangement, although she wished the boys had been just a little younger, so that she might have had more influence over them. "We're going to have a Sunday school, and you're to teach!" cried Milly, running up to Esther as she sat in the yew arbor, thinking that the four little ones would rather be alone together. "We've learned our lessons, and Pickle and Puck have learned something, too; and now we're going to come and be a class, and you're to teach us." There was plenty of room in the summer-house for the class; and a chair was set for Esther, whilst her four scholars occupied the fixed bench that ran round the arbor. They came in with looks of decorous gravity, and the boys pulled their forelocks, and Milly made a courtesy, whilst Esther felt half-embarrassed at so much respect and deference. The little Polperrans repeated their lessons with the readiness of those accustomed to such tasks. Pickle followed with a fair show of fluency; and Puck said a short text with great deliberation, prompted from time to time by Milly, who had evidently "coached" him up in it. At the close he looked up into Esther's face and asked with due solemnity, evidently put up to the right phraseology by either Bertie or Milly,-- "Please, teacher, what is the sin that so easily besets us?" There was a faint giggle from Bertie; but Puck had thrown himself into his part, and was as solemn as a judge. Esther was a little embarrassed at the position in which she found herself, but she strove to find a suitable answer. "I think it's different things with different people," she said after a pause. "You know some people are naughty in some ways, and some in others. We don't all sin alike." Pickle here broke in eagerly,-- "Let's think of the naughty things people do. Mr. Trelawny cut off your hair yesterday without asking leave. Wasn't that a sort of sin?" Esther was rather taken aback at this method of treating the subject; but before she had found words in which to reply, the boy had broken out again,-- "I tell you what I think it is--the sin that so easily besets him is doing just as he likes, and being what Crump calls 'lord high everything.' Don't you think that's Uncle Bob's sin, Ess?" Esther looked straight at Pickle, and answered with some spirit,-- "I know somebody else who always wants to do as he likes, and cares very little what other people say or think." Pickle looked suddenly taken aback. "My stars!" he exclaimed. Bertie pointed one finger at Pickle and another at Puck. His square face was bubbling over with a subdued sense of humor. "She means you," said Puck: "I know she does. It's just what you're always saying. You do what you like, and don't care what people say. If it's a sin, it's your sin too." "Oh dear!" cried Pickle, really interested now; "I never thought of that before. Did you mean that, Ess?" Esther's face was rosy red now; she spoke truthfully, however. "I think I did, Pickle. You know you do like your own way. But I think we all like that. I suppose that's one of the sins that easily besets us all." "I don't think it besets you," said Pickle loyally; "you're always doing things you don't like, to spare other people, or because they want you to." "It besets Prissy!" cried Milly eagerly; "she always wants her own way. She likes to be 'lord high everything' too. She's been as cross as two sticks lately, because Bertie and I have kept secrets from her, and she can't do just as she likes with us." But Esther did not think this a very profitable turn to the talk, and she said slowly and rather shyly,-- "I don't think we need bother about other people's sins. It would be better to leave these alone, I think, and just to try and find out our own. If we know what they are, perhaps we can get over them; but if we don't know them, we shall never fight against them properly." "There's some sense in that!" cried Pickle eagerly. "There was a picture I once saw on a church window of a man fighting with a dragon. I asked the old verger what it meant, and he said it was what all of us had to do some time or other. I didn't know what he meant, but Crump told me he meant that we all had to fight against sins, only they weren't live green dragons with red eyes and crinkly wings now; and we didn't always know when one was trying to get the best of us, but we'd got to try and be ready to fight. I suppose that's the sort of thing you mean, Ess? We've got to find out what our sins are. Let's have a think about it now. I don't mind fighting, if I only know what to fight." "I'd like it to be a green dragon with red eyes," said Puck; "there'd be some sense in that." "Well, but if there aren't any dragons left, we have to do it the other way," cried Pickle eagerly. "Now, let's think about it. We'll all think. At least I don't think Esther needs. I don't think she's got any sins." "O Pickle, don't say that!" "Well, I don't think you have. You're always good. Look at the marks you get; and the Owl has never had to scold you once. I don't believe you could think of any sin that besets you." "Yes, indeed I can," answered Esther--"ever so many. I've got one in my head this very minute." "What's that? Do tell." Esther's face grew red, but she answered bravely,-- "Yes, I'll tell you if you like, because, perhaps, if I tell, I shall be able to fight it better. I'm often so frightened about things nobody else is." The children eyed her wonderingly. "But I don't call that a sin," cried Pickle. "You can't help being frightened--you're a girl." "Yes, but I don't think girls ought to be cowards," answered Esther, her face still flushed. "I want to learn to be brave. I think being afraid when there isn't any reason is a sort of sin." She paused and hesitated, and then added in a lower voice, "I think we ought to remember that God can always take care of us, and then we need not be afraid any more." The children were silent for a few minutes. Something in Esther's manner impressed them, they hardly knew why. They felt that she was speaking to them out of the depths of her heart, and that she meant every word she said. "Do you ever think about God?" asked Pickle at last. "Yes," answered Esther in a low voice, "but not as often as I ought to. I shouldn't be so frightened often, if I thought about Him more." "Why? What difference would it make?" "Oh, don't you see? Suppose you were frightened by something, and felt all alone, with nobody to help you. And then suppose you remembered that your father was looking at you all the time through a window somewhere with a glass, and that he saw you though you didn't see him. And if you knew that he could send somebody to help you if you wanted it really, why, you wouldn't be afraid any more, would you?" "No, I suppose not. It would be silly." "I think, perhaps, it is silly; and what is silly can be a sin, I think," said Esther steadily. "I want not to be frightened so often, and I think that is the sin that most easily besets me. I am going to try and fight against it, because it makes me forget about God always seeing us and taking care of us, and that is wrong, I know." "I wonder what my sin is!" cried Pickle. "I expect I've got a lot. Esther, do you think it's a sin to call people by nicknames? Old--I mean Uncle Robert makes a great fuss about it." "I--I don't think it's perhaps the names exactly," said Esther, with a little hesitation--"at least not amongst ourselves. But to older people it doesn't seem quite respectful, and children ought to treat older people with respect. I think it says so in the Bible somewhere. I'm sure it means it often. You know that even Jesus was obedient, and 'subject to' Joseph and Mary, though He was God's Son all the time." "We don't mean any harm," said Puck. "Crump used only to laugh, and call us cheeky little beggars." "Well," said Esther, with a little gentle decision in her tone, "I don't think it sounds at all nice for little boys to speak of their father as Crump." "Don't you, really? Do you mean you would call it a sin?" "I don't know whether I am old enough to judge about that," answered Esther, "but it doesn't seem to me like honoring our fathers and mothers to speak of them like that, and that would be disobeying one of the commandments." "Well, I never thought of it like that," said Pickle, in the tone of one open to conviction; "but I don't mind giving that up, if it is a sort of a sin. I did sometimes think that when people were there Cr--I mean father--didn't always quite like it. But I'm sure we must have lots of sins besides that. That's only quite a little one." "I'm greedy; that's my sin," said Bertie. "I always want the biggest egg or the nicest cake. I don't always get them, but I want them. I shall have to fight against that." "I don't like getting up in the morning," said Milly; "and I get cross with Prissy often; and I hate my sums, and scribble on my slate instead of doing them. I think I'm lazy, for I'm always so glad when we can't do lessons, or visitors come when I'm practising. And sometimes I don't practise all my time, but run out into the garden for a little while, if nobody is about, and pretend I've been at the piano all the time. I don't mean I say so, because nobody asks me; but I pretend it to myself, and I suppose that's a sort of lie." "I sometimes tell stories," said Puck. "I say I've done things and seen them, and I haven't really--at least not just as I say them. I like to pretend things are bigger than they are, and that we're braver, and stronger, and cleverer." "And I like to do just as I like," said Pickle, remembering how the conversation had begun. "I don't like Mr. Earle when he interferes, and makes us do things his way; and I get in a rage sometimes because he sees through us and stops the things we want to do. I think I've got a lot of sins--more than any of the rest of you. I'm the eldest, and so I suppose I should have. At least Esther's older; but then she's good. I don't call it a sin to be afraid. Girls and women are made that way. It's much worse to be always wanting your own way, and not caring for anything or anybody so long as you get it." Pickle had faced the flaw in his character or training with a good deal of candor, although, perhaps, there was a touch of pride in the feeling that he had a bigger sin to battle with than anybody else. Esther's voice was now heard saying gently,-- "Then if we all know what is the sin that so easily besets us, we ought to be able to fight against it better, and to help one another to fight too. I think it would be nice to help each other when we can. There is something somewhere about bearing one another's burdens. I should think that would be the same sort of thing." "And let's have a Sunday school rather often," said Milly, "and tell each other how we're getting on. I should like to know if Esther stops being afraid of things; and I'll tell how often I've been lazy at lessons, or have got angry with Prissy. Now and then I'm angry with mother too"--here Milly's face got very red--"and sometimes I say naughty things to her very softly, because I know she doesn't hear them. I think that's quite a sin--don't you, Esther?" The sound of the tea-bell broke up the Sunday school at that moment, and the children trooped to the house, where Genefer had a nice tea waiting for them in the dining-room. That night she remarked to her little charge how well-behaved they had all been that Sunday afternoon. Esther's face grew rather rosy as she answered,-- "Yes, we are all going to try to be good, and fight our sins. But, Genefer, I wanted to tell them that we must ask Jesus to help us, and I didn't quite know how to say it, and so I didn't. I think it's very hard to be really brave." "You'll get braver as you get older, Miss Esther," said the woman sympathetically, "and the little folks will soon find out that they want help for their bits of battles, and you can talk about how that's to be had another time." "I--yes, I will try," said Esther earnestly. "I hope I shall grow braver, and then it will be less hard." CHAPTER VII. DAYS OF SUNSHINE. Somehow after that Saturday at the Crag, and the Sunday following, on which some good resolutions had been made, Esther found that her life became decidedly brighter and happier. Mr. Earle was particularly kind to her in study hours. He put aside for a time the lessons on arithmetic, which had often haunted her at night, for sums were rather a trouble to the little girl; and, instead, he brought from the Crag some beautiful books on natural history, and gave her chapters to read about the structure and habits of wild animals, which was very interesting; and then, when the boys had done their tasks, he would tell them all delightful tales about these animals, some of which he had shot himself in different parts of the world. Mr. Earle was a capital hand at telling a story. They soon found that out; and the boys began to understand that he was a tutor quite worth pleasing. On the days when they had been industrious and well-behaved, he never minded stopping for half an hour or more before time, to help them with some bit of work of their own, or to tell them exciting stories. But if they had been idle, or impertinent, or unruly, he just packed them off to their own pursuits with a few cutting words; and if he stayed at all, it was to tell Esther something about the pictures in her book, and the boys were not permitted to remain or to hear a word. "You're not fit for civilized society--be off with you!" Mr. Earle would say in his quick, authoritative way; and it was no use their putting on coaxing or defiant airs, as they had done to their father in old days. Mr. Earle would neither be coaxed nor defied. He sent them straight off with an air of cutting contempt, which Pickle, at least, was old enough to feel and to wince under. "If you can't behave yourselves like gentlemen, you're not fit company for a lady," was another of his maxims; and both Pickle and Puck began rather to dread provoking these speeches from their inflexible tutor. And then Mr. Earle was well worth pleasing, as they soon began to find. Upon the Wednesday following that eventful Saturday, when he came down in the afternoon (for he always went back to the Crag between half-past twelve and two), he walked into the study and swept all the books back into their places, and said, with a happy twinkle in his eye,-- "Get your hats, and come along. We're going to have a lesson in navigation this afternoon." The boys gave a whoop of delight. They did not exactly know what navigation might be, but they scented something delightful; and as they had been remarkably good for the past days, it seemed to come like a reward of virtue. Esther's face brightened with pleasure and curiosity. She wondered what was going to happen; but there was no delay in getting off, and soon they were all walking down to the shore, where they found old Pollard waiting for them, not in his cranky old tub, but in the tight, trim boat belonging to the Crag, that was kept in order by the old fisherman, and had beautiful white sails curled up in readiness, two masts, and a figurehead like a swan with a gracefully-arched neck. Esther knew the look of the boat, and had once been out in it with Mr. Trelawny, but had been too much afraid of him to enjoy her sail at all. Now, however, her eyes kindled and danced, for she dearly loved the water, and was never the least seasick; and when the boys understood that they were going out for a sail, they yelled and danced and shouted like a pair of wild Indians. The old fisherman sat with the helm in his hand, but Mr. Earle managed the sails, and he went about his business as though he were a sailor himself, and talked in queer terms with the old man, whilst the boys listened agape, and wished they knew what it meant. They soon found, however, that they had not come out simply to be idle. They were soon in the middle of a lecture upon ropes and rigging, sails and spars, and began to understand that this sailing was not a mere game, but that there was a vast deal to learn about it, and that a whole new world of thoughts and ideas was opening before them. But it was very interesting, for Puck always meant to be a sailor, and he was eager to learn as many new words as his little head could take in. It was interesting too because the things Mr. Earle told them explained many mysteries which they had come across in story-books, and had never understood. The boys did not lack for wits, and were clever with their fingers too, so it was not a difficult task to get them into the way of furling or unfurling a sail, or learning to distinguish between the different ropes and spars. When they passed by other boats, Mr. Earle pointed out different parts of them, and expected them to remember the names; and, on the whole, he was satisfied with the sharpness of his pupils, and he found them tolerably well-behaved too. "If you boys are thinking of the army and the navy for professions," he remarked once to them, with his rather grim yet not unkindly smile, "the sooner you get all this fooling out of your heads the better." "What fooling?" asked Pickle, with a little flush in his cheek, for the word did not quite please him. "I mean the foolish trick of treating all the world as though there was perfect equality there--as though a little shaver like you had the same rights of speech and remark as grown-up people who have served their apprenticeship, and gone through their training--as though your opinions were of the least consequence to anybody, and you had any right to air them when they are not wanted, and to have any say in the way in which your affairs are regulated. I mean all that, and a good deal more. If you don't get the better of that stuff these next few years, you'll find yourself in some trouble when you're under discipline." Pickle flushed slowly. He had a fairly good understanding of the admonition addressed to them; but Puck felt it rather beyond him. "I don't understand," he said. "Well, I'll explain. A soldier and a sailor have nothing in the world to do at first but just to obey orders. There is no answering back, no questioning commands, no loitering, or any nonsense like that. In old-fashioned days boys were trained like that at home--at least the majority were; a father or a mother gave the word, and there was an end of it. Then, when those boys went out into life they had learned unquestioning obedience, and it had become second nature to them. Nowadays things are vastly changed--whether for the better or the worse time will show, but I have my own opinions on the point." Pickle and Puck exchanged glances, and the elder boy said slowly,-- "Cr--I mean father--sometimes told us we should have to have the nonsense licked out of us some day. But we did generally obey him. Of course we didn't obey Miss Masters. I don't see how anybody could expect it. She was just an old frump, and her rules were all bosh. I don't think father thought much of her himself." "You may not think very much of your superior officer some day," said Mr. Earle grimly, "but you'll have to obey him, or he'll know the reason why." "Ah! but a man is different." "Yes, a much harder nut to crack, as you will find to your cost. If you had a spark of chivalry in your composition, you would know better than to speak slightingly of women. No really brave or noble-minded man ever does that." Mr. Earle did not spare his pupils; yet in spite of his sharp speeches Pickle and Puck liked him better and better every day, and began to take good care not to get into his black-books. They found that that did not pay at all. Navigation lessons were not all play, as the boys soon found; and there was some pretty hard work in the way of sums bound up with it, as well as a great deal to notice and remember. But it was the sort of thing that they liked. And later on they were allowed to make rough models of ships themselves, and try to get the ropes and spars right; and this was like a new game, and kept them busy and happy for hours together. And then they were taken up to the Crag to see certain models of ships there; and Mr. Trelawny put them through their paces, and seemed really quite pleased with them, and made them a present of a small model yacht, which became the most prized of their possessions. Esther did not learn the navigation so thoroughly as the boys, though she began to feel quite knowing on the subject of spars and rigging and nautical terms. She used to sit beside the old fisherman at the helm when the boat went out, and look at the clouds and the sea, and dream her own dreams or get the old man to tell her some of his stories, which he was always ready to do. Her head hardly ever ached now; and Mr. Earle always seemed to know when it did, and gave her the sort of lessons that did not make it any worse. The boys were very nice too--much more companionable than they had been at first; and she was always ready to cut out and hem the sails for them, and help them with her clever little fingers when they got into difficulties over their rigging. And they soon found that her sharp eyes saw things quite as soon as theirs, and that she could often help them out of a difficulty; so instead of treating her with a sort of boyish contempt, they came to look upon her as a valuable assistant, and included her in their games. Then about this time another great pleasure and interest came into Esther's life. It was about a fortnight after the visit to the Crag, when her mother called her one day, and said, with a smiling face,-- "Esther dear, do you think you remember how to drive?" Esther's face colored with surprise and pleasure. When she was quite a little girl her father had taught her both to ride and drive, for they kept a little pony carriage for the mother, and she used to be allowed sometimes to drive the pony, though generally only when her father sat beside her. It seemed a long time now since she had done anything of the kind, but she fancied the power would soon come back, and answered eagerly,-- "O mama dear, I think I remember. Why do you ask?" "Because I have been talking things over with Mr. Trelawny, and he has found me a nice quiet little pony, and a little light carriage, and Mr. Earle is going to drive it down this evening, and give you a lesson in driving, for the pony has been used to children, and is said to be quite safe; but I should like you to have a few more lessons before you take me out." Esther clasped her hands in ecstasy. "O mama! are you going to have a little carriage again?" "Yes, dear--at least it is to be like this; it will be my carriage, but it will be kept up at the Crag, where they have plenty of room, and a good coachman to look after things. And Mr. Earle is putting up a telephone from this house to the stables there, so that we can send for it when we want. And perhaps, by and by, if we like, we shall have it here; but I am always afraid of things going wrong with live creatures." Esther's eyes were bright. She would have better liked, for some things, that the pony should live in their own little stable, where she could visit it with apples and sugar; and the thought of the telephone to the Crag was a little alarming to her--she hardly knew why. But she was making a great effort to conquer her groundless fears, and had met Mr. Trelawny lately several times, almost without a tremor. And certainly the pony would have added to her cares, for her mother would not have been able to tell her anything about it, and if the man had neglected it in any way it would have been so difficult to find out. "I see, mama," she said slowly. "Perhaps that is best. How nice it will be for you to get drives again!" "Yes, we shall both enjoy that. Mr. Trelawny wants you to get out into the fresh air as much as possible. We shall both get rosy cheeks, I hope, when we have our daily drives." The boys were greatly excited by the news that a pony was coming, and the three children stood together at the gate to watch the road leading downwards from the Crag to their house. "Here it comes! here it comes!" cried Puck, capering with excitement; "here is Mr. Earle driving along. Oh, what a jolly little pony! He's got a mane like yours before it was cut off, Essie--all in a tousle. And look how he tosses his head! I'm sure he's a jolly little beggar. I wonder if we may ride him sometimes. We used to ride at home. There was a pony there to mow the lawns, and we had him in turns in the field often." Mr. Trelawny appeared at this moment from the direction of the pine wood. "Well," he said, on seeing the children, "and what are you all in such a state of jubilation about?" "Oh, the pony, the pony!" shouted Puck; "isn't he a jolly little fellow! Where did he come from, Uncle Bob? and why didn't you drive down with him too?" "My legs are too long for that little affair," laughed Mr. Trelawny. "It is only meant for fairies and ladies," and he laid his hand on Esther's head, so that she looked up quickly with a blush and a smile. Mrs. St. Aiden appeared from the house, and Mr. Trelawny offered her his arm and led her down towards the gate. Mr. Earle had drawn up the little equipage now, and the children were crowding round the pony, patting and praising him--a state of affairs to which he seemed quite accustomed, and which appeared to suit him very well. "He is a darling!" cried Esther delightedly. [Illustration: "'He is a darling!' cried Esther delightedly."--Page 168. _Esther's Charge._] "What is his name?" asked Puck. "He was called Punch at his last home," answered Mr. Earle, "and he is used to little people.--Now, little Miss Esther, are you going to be bold, and see how well you can drive him? I have come to see what sort of a whip you make." Esther's face was in a glow. It was such a pretty little carriage, and everything about the pony was charming--his flowing mane and tail, the bright, silver-mounted harness, the red-leather frontlet and saddle pad, and the bright brown of the reins where she would hold them. It was all so spick and span and well turned out--much better than anything she had known in past days. "I can drive," began Pickle with sudden eagerness, and then he clapped his hand to his mouth and turned away. "I'll run and get a bit of sugar for Punch," he cried; and he dashed off, pulling Puck after him. "Look here," he said, when they were a little way off; "I was just going to ask to have the first drive myself; but it's Esther's pony, and she must go. Don't you go and say anything; and if she offers, don't you take it. She's always doing things for us. We won't go and be pigs now she's got something nice herself." "All right," answered Puck, whose mouth was watering for a ride on the pony, or a drive behind him; "she shall go first. But I suppose when she comes back we might have a turn?" "Well, we will if they offer it us; but don't let's ask. We mustn't be greedy, you know; and we mustn't pretend we've ever done such a mighty lot of driving and riding, because you know we haven't--only just a little now and then. Crump was always saying we must have ponies and learn properly; but we never did." Puck colored up a little, for he had been rehearsing in his head some of the things he meant to tell Esther about his prowess in the saddle and as a whip. But he remembered that he had resolved not to romance so much, just as Pickle was keeping in mind that he must not always expect to be the leader, and have the best place in everything. So they ran away to the house together to get the sugar; and Esther, after looking round a little uncertainly, let herself be handed into the carriage by Mr. Earle. "I thought perhaps the boys would like the first turn," she said. "Ladies first is the right motto," said Mr. Trelawny. "Now let us see how you hold your reins and whip. You won't want much whip for this fellow, so you can leave that in its socket for the present.--Now, Earle, in with you, and let us see how the little lady can drive you.--You are not afraid, my dear?" Esther looked up with candid eyes. "No--at least, hardly at all. I'm not afraid, now Mr. Earle is here to help me. I like it very much, but I haven't driven for a very long time. I might do something wrong if there was nobody here to help me." Then she drew up her reins and chirruped to Punch, who threw up his head and started at a brisk trot; and Esther felt her heart beating with excitement and delight, just dashed with a nervous tremor, for Punch went very fast, and there were several corners to turn in the winding road. But the pony was a well-trained little fellow, and knew his business, and there was nothing in his way. He dashed along in fine style, Mr. Earle encouraging both him and his driver; and then Esther had the delight of drawing up at the rectory gate to show her new accomplishment to the little Polperrans, who came flocking out to admire and exclaim. It was a very enchanting half-hour that Esther spent taking her first lesson; but she was in rather a hurry to get back, for she wanted the boys to enjoy the new pleasure also. So Mr. Earle took them each a turn, looking rather sharp after them; but they had a very fair notion of driving, and were perfectly fearless, yet at the same time they were fond of animals, and had no desire to use the whip unreasonably, or otherwise to harass the pony. Punch gave the greatest satisfaction to all, and was declared to be a "perfect darling" by Esther, and "a jolly little brick" by the boys. "Mr. Earle will take you out every day for a week, Esther," said her mother, when the carriage had gone, "and after that he thinks you will be able to drive me out." Esther's face glowed with pleasure, and Pickle cried out,-- "We can drive you too, Aunt Saint!" But to his surprise his aunt shook her head, smiling the while, and said,-- "I think, dear, I should feel safer with Esther, thank you." "Well, that's funny," said Puck; "I thought women always felt so much safer when they had a man driving them." Then Mrs. St. Aiden laughed and kissed him, and said he should drive her out some day, when he was a man. Nice things seemed to happen often now. For after the pony and carriage had been a few weeks in use, and Esther had grown to be quite an experienced little whip, the children heard that Mr. Trelawny was going to keep his birthday, and that it was to be celebrated by an excursion to an old ruin, and that little people as well as their parents were to be allowed to go. Esther clasped her hands in ecstasy when she heard this. She had never seen a ruin yet, though she had so often heard of them; and as her knowledge of history had greatly enlarged during the past few months, she was quite delighted to think of seeing any place which had played a part in the strange doings of olden times. Mr. Trelawny's house had done that; but Esther could never quite conquer her fears of that place. She did not go very often even now, though the boys scrambled up the steep path as often as they dared, when she was out driving. But a real old castle would be delightful; and Mr. Earle gave them a whole history of the things that had happened there, and showed them pictures of the kind of old windows and arches they would see, and taught Esther the names of the different moldings, so that she might know them when she saw them. She was to drive herself in the pony carriage, and have one companion, either grown-up or not as she liked, and Puck had leave to go in the tiny back seat, which had been added in order that the three children might go out together. "Of course you'll take me," cried Pickle, dancing round Esther in his excited fashion. She hesitated a little, and then said,-- "Pickle dear, I should like you best; but I feel as though I ought to ask Prissy Polperran. I'm afraid she sometimes thinks I am unkind to her. We used to be a good deal together, but I haven't time now that I have so many more things to do." "Oh, bother that young poll-parrot!" cried Pickle; "I don't see why you should be bothered by her. She's a regular kill-joy. You know she is." "It would be kind," said Esther gently; "she would like it very much. But you may drive her, Pickle, if mama and Mr. Earle don't mind." "Not I, thank you!" answered Pickle scornfully. "I can't abide the stuck-up minx. She's a little prig. She's----" Pickle suddenly stopped short. The Sunday class in the arbor still went on, and the children discussed with interest each week how they were "getting on with their sins," and how many dragons they had killed. They also had a little book now, and Esther wrote down in it what good resolutions they made week by week. It was rather like a "Sunday game" to the little people; nevertheless it was not without its effect upon them. Pickle's sudden stop was due to the remembrance that they had last Sunday resolved to try and be kind to other people, and always do as they would be done by; so that saying all these things about Prissy was not quite according to their rule. "Oh, bother!" he said, and looked at Esther, and then began to laugh. In a minute he spoke again,-- "All right, Ess. Take Pretty Polly. I suppose she will like it, and they don't have half the fun we do. I'll try to be civil to her all day too, if I can; but she is such a precious----" Another stop and another laugh. "I say, Essie, I think we make too many resolutions. I'm always tripping over some of them. Don't let's have any new ones till we've learned how to keep these." "I'll let Bertie have the dicky behind," said Puck suddenly--"he'd like it; and I don't care so very much, if Pretty Polly is going instead of Pickle." "Thank you, boys," said Esther; "it is very nice of you. I should like to have you best, but I think we ought to try and be kind." The young folks did not enjoy themselves any the less for the small sacrifice they had made. The delight of the Polperrans at being driven in Esther's little carriage made amends to her for the loss of the boys; and Prissy was quite nice and merry, and never once put on her grown-up airs of superiority. Pickle and Puck occupied the box seat of a big wagonette, and were permitted by the driver to hold the reins now and then up the hill, or along the level, so they had nothing left to wish for; and it was a very merry and happy party that arrived by midday at the old ruined castle perched commandingly on the summit of a crag, not so very unlike the one where Mr. Trelawny lived. Prissy had been there once before, and showed Esther a great many of the wonders it contained--the great banqueting hall, with a part of its beautiful vaulted roof still standing; the old chapel, where the tracery of the windows was wonderful in its graceful beauty; and the ancient keep, with the thick walls, in which little passages could run without interfering with them. Mr. Trelawny was a capital host, and knew how to make people enjoy themselves. There was plenty to eat, and plenty to do; but he seemed fondest of getting all the little people about him, and telling them the wonderful stories of battles and sieges and escapes which had taken place around these very walls. "Show us the prisons!" cried Pickle. "Aren't there some dungeons underneath? And isn't there a block or an ax or something like that? I like those jolly old underground places. I'd soon have got out though, if I'd been a prisoner." "I'll show you one prison, anyhow," answered Mr. Trelawny; "but I think you'd be puzzled how to get out of it, if once you were shut in." Esther felt her breath coming and going. She did so hope there were no underground places here. The old feeling of horror came back directly she heard this talk. She felt as though everything had suddenly been spoiled. She didn't want to think about poor wretched prisoners, shut out from the light of day, lying in chains down in those terrible places. She couldn't think how all the children seemed to want to go and look. It made her feel sick and miserable; and yet she did not like to hang back when everybody else was moving. She thought of her resolution not to be frightened of fancied terrors; but this was not fancy. These were real prisons, and real people had been shut up there; and perhaps she would hear of horrid things that were done to them, which would make her feel all creepy at night, and not let her go to sleep. Her feet lagged more and more as the party trooped on after Mr. Trelawny, laughing and asking questions; and then Esther suddenly found that she could not make up her mind to go with the rest. She turned tail, and ran in the opposite direction, and threw herself down on the warm grass, shaking all over. "What is the matter?" asked a voice close beside her. She gave a great jump, and looked round with scared eyes. There was Mr. Earle sitting very near indeed to her, with a sketch-book in his hand. She wished then she had not come, or had seen him in time to run somewhere else. "What is the matter?" he asked again quite kindly. "I--I don't know. They were going down to the dungeons. I didn't want to go--that's all." "There is nothing very pretty down there; come and look at my drawing, and tell me how you like it. Isn't that a fine bit of molding there? Do you know people come from all over the country to see it. It's one of the best bits that exist in the world--or at least in this country." "How nicely you draw!" said Esther admiringly, feeling the cold tremors abating. "What a lot of things you can do, Mr. Earle! It must be nice to be clever." "Very, I should think," he answered with a smile. "Would you like to learn to sketch some day?" "Oh, very much, only there are so many things to learn. There does not seem time for them all." "No, that's the worst of it; it is like picking up pebbles on the seashore. One can never get more than a few out of all the millions there. Still, if we make these few our own we have done something." Mr. Earle went on with his drawing, and Esther sat watching him, feeling soothed and comforted, she did not know why. Her thoughts went off on their own wonderings, and presently she said suddenly,-- "Mr. Earle, is it wrong to be afraid of things--I mean of things that don't hurt, like dark places and cellars?" "It is not wrong, but it is often inconvenient." "You don't mind them, I suppose?" "Not now. I used to be afraid of the dark once when I was a little boy." "How did you cure yourself?" "My mother asked me to try and get over it. So she taught me to say my prayers first, and then walk over the dark part of the house every night alone. I used to make believe that an angel came with me. After that I soon stopped being afraid." Esther sat very still for a little while, a light coming slowly into her face. "Do you think the angel was there really, Mr. Earle?" "I should not be very much surprised," he answered gravely, and they sat in silence till the rest came back. CHAPTER VIII. THE CITY OF REFUGE. It must not be supposed that the city of refuge was forgotten or neglected all this time. Saturday afternoons had always been kept sacred to it, except when some other attraction took the children elsewhere. The changes which had taken place on the other days did not affect Saturday to any great extent. Mr. Earle was always up at the Crag on that afternoon, shut up in the laboratory with Mr. Trelawny. He did not volunteer either drives or sails on that day, and other people were busy too. Esther always had a number of little Saturday duties to think of; Prissy was safely shut up in the lending library; and the four younger children invariably spent the leisure time together, and almost as regularly got the old fisherman's boat and took a trip across to their island. But they had kept this a profound secret, and, so far, there had been no danger of its escaping them. Mr. Polperran had not been told about the island, but Bertie had had leave to whisper to him that they had a very nice place they went to down by the sea, and he had said it was all right, and he was glad they should play there. For Mr. Polperran was a Cornishman born and bred, and he did not wish his children to grow up timid or dependent. He would have brought them up more robustly had it not been for the fears and prejudices of his wife, who had lived almost all her previous life in London. As it was, he was quite pleased for his little son to have boy companions to teach him bolder sorts of games than he had ever learned at home, and he told Mrs. Polperran not to mind if Milly and Bertie did come back wet and dirty. They were getting good from the salt water and from their companions, and the rest mattered nothing. So the secret of the island never transpired in that house, and Esther always thought that Pickle and Puck spent their Saturday afternoons in the rectory orchard. Orders had been issued to the fishermen generally, and Pollard in particular, that the children were not to be permitted to go out alone in a boat; and had they attempted to embark down at the little quay in the village, they would have been quickly stopped. But Pickle had had the wits to foresee that from the first, and had made his bargain with the queer, old, half-daft man who lived at the creek, and who was very glad to let the little gentleman have the use of his boat for a few hours on Saturday, for the payment of the shilling which Pickle always gave him. Pocket-money was plentiful with the two boys, who had come with an ample store, and who received their usual amount weekly from their aunt. There was not much chance of spending it in such a quiet place. Fishing-tackle and sweet stuff from the one village shop absorbed a little, but there was always a shilling for "Jonah," as they called him, whenever they wanted the boat, and the old fellow was cunning enough not to say a word about it, so that nobody in the place knew that the children made a practise of being out on the water alone. To be sure, there was not a great deal of risk in this. The boat was very safe and heavy; their island was not far away, and was well within shelter of the bay. They were not strong enough to care to row farther out to sea, and the weather through the summer had been exceptionally fine and calm. "I wish we could get a nice breezy day," Pickle had often said; "then we'd hoist up the sail and have a jolly time. But it never blows on Saturday afternoon. I call it a swindle." There was a sail to the boat, and the boys were learning more and more of the management of a sailing craft. They often went out with Mr. Earle in the _Swan_, and sometimes he would take the tiller and make them manage the sail, whilst sometimes he would take the sail and set them on to steer. They were growing expert now, and they had never been lacking in boldness from the first. One day Mr. Trelawny came down himself, and Puck was put in charge of the tiller and Pickle of the sheet; and between them, with only a little assistance and instruction, they managed to get the boat through the water very creditably. "You'll make a pair of good jack-tars in time," had been Mr. Trelawny's encouraging verdict at the end of the voyage; and ever since Pickle and Puck had been burning and yearning for a chance of displaying their prowess by taking a sail quite on their own account. They had begged to have the _Swan_ for their experiment, but had been forbidden. "Don't try to run before you can walk," Mr. Earle had advised. "This is a ticklish coast, and you don't know much about it yet. And though the weather has been very settled, nobody knows what may happen. Sometimes a gale of wind gets up just when one expects it least. You'd be in a nice predicament if that were to happen. You must wait till you're older and stronger before you go sailing alone." "I call that rot," Pickle said rather loftily in private to his brother afterwards; "we could do it perfectly well now, I'm sure." But as Pickle was really trying to cure himself of his self-will and desire to do everything his own way, he did not say anything more about having the _Swan_ to go sailing in. Perhaps he felt that Mr. Earle's "no" was a different sort of thing from his father's, and that coaxing and teasing would be thrown away here. So the two things together kept him quiet. Nevertheless there was a great desire in his mind to show off his prowess and skill in the art of practical navigation, and it had been quite a disappointment to him that Saturday after Saturday came and went, and there was not enough breeze in the bay to fill the sail of "Jonah's" old boat. "It seems as if it was just to spite us," he grumbled more than once; "but it'll have to come some day, and then you'll see what you'll see." It did not seem much like coming this breathless September afternoon. The sun shone as fiercely as if it were the height of summer. There was neither a cloud to be seen in the sky nor a breath of air to be felt. "It'll be precious hot pulling across," said Puck rather ruefully, "but I suppose we'd better go." "Oh yes; and then we can have a jolly bathe, and paddle about all the time in the pools. Besides, Milly and Bertie can pull a bit now; we can take turns with those old sweeps." Bertie and Milly were always all eagerness to go across. To them the island was a veritable city of refuge. Prissy could never find them there, and that was in itself a wonderful boon on holiday afternoons. True, Prissy was generally all the time in the parish room; but there had been occasions when she had turned up unexpectedly, and had interrupted and condemned the most charming games. There was none of the delicious security from interruption at home that was one of the greatest charms of the island. And the very fact of going thither by themselves in a boat was an immense attraction to the rectory children, who were hardly ever taken out upon the water, even when Mr. Trelawny did offer them a sail in the _Swan_. Mrs. Polperran could not conquer her nervous fears for them when out in a boat. She hated the water herself, and feared it for the little ones. She had an idea that Mr. Trelawny was a very headstrong, rash sort of man, and she almost always found some excuse for declining his invitations to her children. If they had known this themselves they would have been much distressed; but happily they were in ignorance, and supposed that Mr. Trelawny only cared about Pickle and Puck, who regarded him in the light of a new relation. However, the bliss of these excursions to the island had made a wonderful difference in their lives. There was always something to look forward to all the week. And they had now the delightful sense of having a place all their own--a real city of refuge, where even Prissy could never find them; and they were gradually collecting there a miscellaneous assortment of treasures, keeping in view the possibility that they might some day really have to flee to their island home for safety from some peril, and desirous to have some useful stores laid up there in readiness. Most Saturdays they made some additions to their supplies. They had an old tin box which Pickle had begged from Genefer, and this was hidden in a cleft of the rocks in the little creek which formed their most sheltered hiding-place. The stores were all hidden away in this box, and kept very well. They tasted the biscuits and the chocolate-sticks each time, to make sure they were keeping all right, and Milly declared that they grew "more and more delicious" with the flight of time. The heat was very great to-day upon the water, but when they reached the island they could find all sorts of nice places to shelter themselves in. Shoes and stockings were off in a moment, and Milly's skirts were soon tucked right away, so that she could paddle with the best of them. "Oh, I do wish we could live here always, and not have to go home at all!" she cried. "I'd like to sail away to the other side of the world, and live on a coral island, and eat bread-fruit, and have a delicious time. I wonder how long it would take to get there. I wonder why nobody does nice interesting things except in books. Why doesn't Mr. Trelawny go and see nice places like that when he has a boat of his own, instead of always living up there in a house and staring at things with an electric eye?" "I don't believe he's got an electric eye," said Puck. "His eyes are just like everybody else's!" "I heard father say he had," said Bertie quickly; "so he must have it, I'm sure." "Well, I don't much believe he has," reiterated Puck. "I asked Essie if he had only the other day, and she didn't know; and Aunt Saint said she thought it was all nonsense." "Perhaps it's Mr. Earle then," said Milly; "but somebody's got one up there, I know. I think father said they couldn't do all their experiments unless one of them had an electric eye." "Mr. Earle's eyes are just like other people's when he takes off his spectacles," returned Puck. "I'll tell you what that is," said Pickle, who came up at the moment; "I was telling Essie about it only last night. I think she was rather frightened. I've been asking lots of things about electricity, and it's awfully queer sort of stuff--all in volts and things. And you can switch it on and off as you like. I suppose that's what they do with their eyes--sometimes they're like other people's eyes, and sometimes they're electric. And you have to have a complete circuit, you know. I think that's what Mr. Earle uses his spectacles for. I think it completes the circuit." "Yes, because they're round," added Puck; and the three younger ones regarded Pickle with looks of respect, as one who has been dabbling deep in the fount of knowledge. Suddenly in the midst of their play Pickle broke into a shout of triumph. "Look, look, look!" he cried, and pointed out to sea. "What is it?" asked the others, staring, but seeing nothing, till Bertie suddenly realized his meaning, and clapped his hands in triumph. "A breeze! a breeze!" he shouted. "Now we can go sailing! It's coming up beautifully!" Milly began to caper wildly. She had been longing unspeakably to participate in the delights of which she had heard. She thought that sailing on the water must be just the most delightful thing in the whole world, and had shed a few tears in private because she had never been in the _Swan_, and Bertie only once. "Oh, come along, come along!" she cried ecstatically. "Can we really have a sail?" Her confidence in Pickle was by this time unbounded. He seemed to her almost as wise and as resourceful as a grown-up person, without all the tiresome prudence that seemed to come with the advance of years. If he took them they would be as safe as if they were with Mr. Trelawny himself, and Pickle's own confidence in his powers was little less. Good resolutions were cast to the winds. Perhaps Pickle did not even know that this was the case. He had so longed for a breeze which would enable him to sail the fisherman's big boat, and it never occurred to him to regard this desire as a part and parcel of the self-will he had tried to get the better of. He had given up teasing for leave to go out in the _Swan_ alone. But that was quite different. She was a fast-sailing boat, and perhaps wanted somebody more skilled to manage her properly; but this old tub was as safe as a house, he was perfectly certain of that. Besides, they need not go any distance, but just sail round and round or backwards and forwards in the bay. He knew quite well by this time how to tack and put the boat's head about. He could manage that old tub as well as "Jonah" himself. "Shall we go and find a coral island?" asked Milly, as they tumbled one over the other in their haste. "I--I don't quite know," answered Pickle, not wishful to seem backward in the spirit of adventure, but rather doubtful as to the course to take for such a goal. "Perhaps to-day we'd better not go so very far. We can look for a coral island next time." "Shall we take some provisions with us, in case we're wrecked?" asked Milly with beaming face, as though that would be the crowning delight to the adventure. "We might perhaps," said Pickle; "one gets jolly hungry out sailing. We often have something to eat when we're out in the _Swan_." Milly ran off to the storehouse for supplies, whilst the boys made a rush for the boat. Little puffs of wind were coming up from the west, dimpling the water, which had been as smooth as oil, and making it all ruffled and pretty. The sun, too, began to be obscured by a light film of cloud, and away over the land great banks of lurid-looking vapor began piling themselves slowly up in the sky; but the children were much too busy to think of looking out for signs like these, nor would they have been much the wiser had they noticed them. Some Cornish children, no older than Milly and Bertie, might have guessed from the look of sky and sea, and from the strange, heavy feeling in the air, that there was going to be a storm. But Mrs. Polperran had managed to bring up her young family in wonderful ignorance of such matters. Bertie had never been allowed to run down to the shore to play with or amongst the fishermen's children; and so long as the sun was shining they never thought of such a thing as rain. There was sunshine still over the sea, though it was not so bright and hot as it had been. "Isn't it nice?" cried Milly, who was in a perfect ecstasy. "It isn't too hot now, and there's a lovely little breeze coming up, and it's all so pretty and nice. Here's our basket; there are some cakes left, and I've put in some biscuits. Let's take a drink of water out of the fountain, and then we can go for ever so long." The children kept their "fountain" replenished in dry weather from a can they brought over, filled from the well behind the fisherman's cottage. They liked drinking from the cleft in the rocks, but unless there had been rain quite lately the cleft was apt to be dry. However, they satisfied their thirst before embarking, and Milly held her breath as she watched the old sail slowly swelling itself out as the puffs of wind caught it. It was the most entrancing experience to see the island just gliding away from them, as it seemed, for the boat did not appear to be moving, and yet there was quite a gap between them and it. Then the sheet began to draw. Pickle gave a shout of triumph as they felt the movement, and saw the little ripple of water round the prow. "She's off! she's off!" shouted both the boys in triumph. "Set her head out to sea, Bertie. That's right. Hold her so. Now we shall go. The wind's fresher away from shore. Oh jolly, jolly, jolly! Don't we go along?" Milly had no words just at first. It was too delightful and wonderful. Here they were actually in a boat of their very own, heading out for the beautiful green and golden sea lying away ahead of them, sparkling and dimpling in the westering light. They did not so much as glance towards land, where the masses of black sulphurous-looking clouds were piling themselves above the tall crags. They only saw the beautiful, shining sea, and felt the bird-like motion of the boat as she rushed through the dimpling waves. This was something like sailing. No laborious pulling at those heavy oars that moved so slowly through the water, and often hardly seemed to make the boat move at all; nothing to do but sit still, just holding sheet and rudder, and watch the water curling away from the bow as the boat pursued her course. When the puffs of wind came up more strongly they seemed almost to fly, and when they died down a little the sail would flap for a few minutes against the mast, and then Puck would alter their course a little, and soon it would be drawing again beautifully. They did not care where they went or what they did. They were having a glorious sail, and they were full of delight and triumph. Nobody could say now that they could not manage a boat. "Only if we tell," said Milly, frankly expressing the thought in words, "perhaps they'll never let us go again." "That is so stupid of people," said Pickle; "they are always like that. If they'd know we went over to our city of refuge alone in a boat, I believe they'd have stopped us; but we never came to any harm, and now that we can sail like bricks, and manage a boat quite easily, they'd go on, saying just the same things as when we'd never been out or had any lessons. So it's no good talking; we'd better keep it our secret, like the island. But now that the windy time of year is coming, we can go out sailing often. We'll have jolly fun, if some stupid old fisherman doesn't see us and tell; but there seems nobody about to-day anyway." "I expect it was too hot and bright for fishing," said Milly. "I know fishermen like dull days or the nights best." A low rumble from the shore boomed through the air, and the children looked round. "I think it's a thunderstorm over there," said Puck, "but it's jolly and fine out here." "There! I saw a flash of lightning come out of the big black cloud!" cried Milly. "It was so pretty. I don't mind lightning when I'm right away from it out here. I don't much like it at home. Let's sail away from it, Pickle, right away. It's quite fine the way we're going, and we go so fast. We shan't have it at all. And when mother wonders why we're not wet or anything, we shall just say it didn't rain where we were. It's like the Israelites and the land of Goshen." Pickle looked just a little doubtfully at the weather. The sun was almost obscured now, though it still shone over the sea away to the west and south. The wind was coming up in squally gusts behind them, and sending the boat dancing along merrily. It was certainly great fun sailing on like that, but the waves were beginning to grow rather bigger out here than they had looked from inside the bay, and when the wind came rushing along, there were sometimes little crests of foam to be seen, and now and then these dashed into the boat. "I think, perhaps, we'd better put her about now," he said, with a look of wise command directed towards Puck; "the storm might come over here, you know, and then we should get very wet--at least if it rained. You know how to put her helm round, Puck, don't you? Or shall I come and do it?" "Of course I know," answered Puck rather indignantly; "you just manage the sail. It always flaps a great deal when we put her round on the other tack." Milly and Bertie, greatly impressed by this nautical language, sat as still as mice watching their companions. Milly was rather disappointed at hearing they were to go back, but now that the sun was obscured and the wind getting up, it wasn't quite so nice upon the water, and Bertie was looking very solemn indeed. "You're not frightened, are you?" she whispered. "Oh no; only my inside feels funny," he answered, trying to put a brave face on matters. "I don't think I mind going home so very much." Milly had no qualms of seasickness such as were troubling Bertie, but she did think the boat was rocking rather wildly, and the sail seemed to be flapping and pulling them over, and the water was very near the edge of the boat, which seemed to be dipping quite down. She gave a little shriek, and threw herself towards the other side. Pickle was fighting fiercely with the sail, and she went to his assistance, and only just in time. "We must get it down," he said; and Milly helped with all her might, so that in a few more minutes the boat lay rocking on the waves, the sail furled up round the mast, whilst Bertie called out dismally that the water was all over his feet, and Pickle told him rather sharply to get the water can and bail it out as fast as he could. "You didn't turn her head right a bit," he said to Puck. "We were nearly capsized that time." "Then it was your fault with the sail," retorted Puck, who was rather frightened. "I didn't do anything wrong." "Let's go home now," cried Milly, a little piteously, though struggling hard against her rising fears; "the sun's gone in, and I think it's going to rain, and oh! what a flash of lightning that was!" The boom of the thunder almost immediately after was even more alarming. Poor little Bertie, who was feeling very sick and queer, began to cry; and Pickle looked towards the shore, and marveled how they could ever have got all that way from it in such a little time. "We can never row back," was the thought in his heart; "we must get the sail up again somehow. We've sailed the _Swan_ backwards and forwards. Why on earth won't this old tub do the same? It must be Puck's fault." He saw that the spirit of the party was becoming damped, and he was the more resolved to keep up a bold front himself. "We must just pull her round with the sweeps," he said in his commanding way, "and then we'll get the sail up all right. It's only just the tacking that is a bit difficult. We'll be racing home in a jiffy, you'll see." This was consoling to Milly, who was half ashamed of her sudden fears, and now that the boat ceased to rock and plunge so wildly she began to recover her courage; and it was rather grand to be helping Pickle to pull the old boat round. She could do that quite well, as well as help Bertie with the bailing out, which he only prosecuted languidly, looking almost ready to cry. His face had a sickly greenish hue too, which rather distressed Milly, but Pickle said,-- "He's only seasick. Puck felt like that once or twice. He'll be better soon." When the boat was really headed for the shore, Pickle tried experiments with the sail; but do as he would, he couldn't make the boat sail towards land. It would sail away, or it would sail sideways, but towards shore it would not go; and indeed they seemed to be getting slowly farther and farther away, and Bertie suddenly burst into miserable crying, begging to be taken home, because he was so very poorly. Pickle was beginning to wish very sincerely that they had never left their island. He looked back towards it with longing eyes. It would be a real city of refuge now, but alas! it looked almost as far away as the mainland. "Can't we row to it?" asked Milly, following the direction of his eyes. "I'm quite cool now. I'm rather cold. I should like to row if we can't sail. We got out here so very quickly, it can't take so very long to row back." It seemed the only thing to do, and Pickle consented to try. He took one oar, and Milly the other. Puck kept the tiller, and put the boat's head for their city of refuge, whilst Bertie lay along the bottom of the boat, heedless of damp or discomfort, only longing to be at home in his little bed. "I hope father won't call it being a cockney," he once said pitifully to Milly, "but I can't help it. I do feel so sick. I wish we'd never come." "I dare say Cornish boys are sometimes sick at sea," answered Milly consolingly. She hardly knew whether she wished they had not come or not. There was something rather exciting in the adventure, and if only they could get back to their city of refuge she thought she should be quite glad. It would make them feel that they really were sailors, to be able to manage a boat in a storm. Milly had her back to the shore now, and was pulling her oar very manfully. She thought they seemed to be going very fast through the water, though the waves were rather bigger than she liked, and seemed sometimes to rise up very near the edge of the boat. Still she thought they seemed to be getting through them very fast, and made up her mind that they would soon be at their journey's end now. She almost wondered why Puck did not exclaim that they were close in now. He only sat holding the tiller with a very solemn expression on his face. "The waves are getting very big," he said at last; "I don't much like the look of them. This boat doesn't swim nicely, like the _Swan_. They look as though they'd come in on us every time." Then Milly looked over her shoulder, and gave a little cry of astonishment and dismay. "Why, we're farther off than when we started!" she cried. "I think we get farther and farther away every minute," said Puck. "I should like to pull round, and put up the sail again, and go round the world like that. We should come to our island again upside down, you know, and it would be much easier." "It's the wind and the tide against us," said Pickle, with a rather anxious face. "We shall never get home at this rate." A sob from Bertie was the only response to this remark. Milly was trying to choke back her tears, because she didn't want it cast in her teeth that girls always cried. "What can we do?" said Puck. "I think we'd better do as you said," answered Pickle--"get her head round, and put up a bit of sail, and run before the wind. I don't think the old boat is safe going against these big waves. She'll be all right the other way, and we shall fall in with some ship soon, and they'll take us on board; or perhaps we shall get to a coral island after all." "I'd rather go home," sobbed Bertie; and Milly wondered if it was very silly of her, but she wanted much more now to be at home than to see a coral island. Pickle put on a brave face, for he felt that he was the captain, and must support the failing courage of his crew; but he began to wish from the bottom of his heart that he had not thrown aside his good resolutions quite so quickly, and that he had never tried to sail a boat before Mr. Earle had given him leave. CHAPTER IX. THE MAGICIAN'S CAVE. Esther had taken her mother for a little drive upon that hot September afternoon, but they had not stayed out so long as usual. The banks of cloud rising in the sky had frightened Mrs. St. Aiden, and Esther turned the pony's head for home, not very wishful herself to test Punch's nerve in a thunderstorm. They got home, however, before the first rumble sounded, and Mrs. St. Aiden went up-stairs to lie down. She said that the heavy air made her head ache, and that perhaps she should get a nap before tea-time. Esther had taken off her hat, and was watching the first flashes of the lightning amid the piled-up clouds, when the little maid came to say that there was a poor woman who wanted to speak to one of the ladies, and should she tell the mistress, or would Miss Esther see her? "Oh, I'll go," said Esther; "mother must not be disturbed." She ran down to the back gate. Genefer was out, and for the moment there was only the little maid available for any service. The cook was picking fruit in the garden over the road. She must not be hindered, as the rain would very likely soon come. Esther did not remember ever to have seen this wrinkled old woman before. She did not know in the least who she was, nor what she wanted. She could only just understand her when she spoke, for she had a very broad, soft accent, and used many funny words that the little girl hardly understood. At first she thought the woman must be making a mistake in what she was saying; for she was telling Esther that the little gentlemen, and little Miss Milly from the rectory, were out in a boat on the bay, and that she was afraid there was a storm coming on, and had come up to tell somebody lest they should come to harm. It was some time before Esther could be persuaded that there was not a mistake somewhere. She could not believe that Pickle and Puck and the little Polperrans could possibly be out in a boat by themselves. But the old woman assured her that they were, and told her, in a half-frightened way, how they came down on most Saturdays and took her husband's old boat across to the little island opposite, where they played for a few hours and then came back. But it had always been calm and quiet on the water hitherto, and she had had no uneasiness on their account; but now the wind was getting up, and it looked like a storm coming, and she thought she ought to tell somebody, and didn't know what to do lest her old man should be vexed with her. So she had come to see the ladies about it. Perhaps they could send somebody. "Oh yes," answered Esther quickly, casting about in her mind what to do; "I think I could find somebody who would help. Is the storm going to come very quickly?" "I don't think so very quick, missie, and they'll be all safe on the island; they don't come back ever till a good bit later than this. But I don't like to think of them trying to get the heavy old boat home alone, with the wind blowing off shore like this. I don't think as they could do it; and it might get blown out to sea, and they would be skeered like." Esther was a little scared herself at the bare thought. She turned things quickly over in her mind. She had to take command of the situation. Genefer was away for the afternoon. Cook was no good in an emergency, as she always lost her head; and it was one of Esther's tenets that her mother must be spared all worry and anxiety. Whatever was to be done she must do herself, and her thoughts flew instantly to Mr. Earle. He had become something like a real friend to the little girl during these past weeks. She was not without a certain timid fear of his cleverness, his stores of occult knowledge, and the things in which he took part up at the Crag, which made folks shake their heads sometimes, and say that they feared some hurt to somebody would be the result. Yet for all that Esther believed in him thoroughly, and felt that he was certain to go to the aid of the boys if he knew their predicament, and it must be her work to let him know as soon as possible. She looked up at the threatening sky, but thunder and lightning did not frighten Esther much. She would have been glad of company through the dark pine wood, but she was not really afraid to go alone. She was more afraid of approaching the Crag at a time when it was popularly supposed that the master and his assistant were always engaged upon one of their uncanny experiments; but there seemed nothing else to be done, since the pony carriage had been already sent back by the boy in charge. After dismissing the woman with a small fee and a few words of thanks, Esther put on her hat once more and commenced the climb to the Crag. She had got about half-way there when she uttered a little exclamation of joy, for there was Mr. Earle himself swinging away down the path as if to meet her. She ran eagerly forward to meet him. "O Mr. Earle, did they tell you too?" "Tell me what?" he asked, stopping short and looking straight at her. "What are you doing here all alone, with a storm coming up?" "O Mr. Earle, it's the boys. I'm afraid about them. I was coming to ask you what to do." And then she plunged into the story, and told him exactly what the old woman had told her. Mr. Earle's face looked a little grim as he heard, and his eyes scanned the clouds overhead and the aspect of things in general. "Look here," he said to Esther in his clear, decisive way; "I'll tell you what we must do. Leave me to see after the boys. I'll go after them in the _Swan_; for they ought not to be alone any distance from land, with the wind getting up and blowing off shore. But if I do that for you, you must go up to the Crag for me with a message; and if the storm breaks, or looks very like breaking, you must stop up there till it's over. I'll leave word as I pass your house where you are, so that nobody will be uneasy about you." Esther shook a little at the thought of going alone to the Crag, but she never thought of shirking. "What is the message?" she asked. "It's like this," said Mr. Earle, speaking rapidly and clearly: "Mr. Trelawny and I are at a stand-still in some of our experiments for a certain chemical, which has been on order from London for some time. We think the carrier may have brought it to-day, and I'm on my way to the little shop to see if it's been left. Mr. Trelawny is waiting for me in some impatience. You must take word that I shall probably be detained, and that I want him not to go on any farther till I come back. You can remember that, can't you? You had better send Merriman to fetch him to come and see you; then you can explain all about it, and if you have once got him safe out of the laboratory, you keep him out. I don't want him to go on experimenting without me. It wants two for that sort of thing. Do you understand?" "Yes," answered Esther, and then the pair parted. Mr. Earle went swinging down the path which passed the Hermitage and led to the village where the carrier's cart deposited parcels; and Esther, with a very grave face, went slowly upwards towards the house upon the crag. She was glad to think she need not seek Mr. Trelawny himself amid his crucibles and retorts and strange apparatus; but she was a little afraid at having to face him all alone, although she had been trying hard to conquer her fears of him, and she had to own that he was always especially kind to her. She could not walk very fast here, for the ground was steep, and she had tired her limbs by hurrying along the first part of the way. The air seemed very hot and close about her, and she felt the sort of ache in her head which thunder often brought. All of a sudden she gave a little jump, and stopped short, for she saw a strange thing just in front of her--a little spiral of sulphurous smoke, curling upwards from the ground, very much as she had read that it did when volcanoes were going to have an eruption; and she very nearly forgot everything else, and turned to run away, when her steps were arrested by something even more alarming--the distinct sound of a groan, proceeding, as it seemed, from the very heart of the earth. Esther's feet seemed rooted to the spot. She could not run away now; she had not the power. Meantime her wits were hard at work, and in a few moments she realized that she was close to the hole which the boys called the chimney of the underground cave, and the smoke she saw was coming up from that place, whilst the groan must surely have been uttered by some person down there. All the old terror of that subterranean cave came like a flood over Esther--all the talk of the boys about prisoners and victims, and her own vague and fearful imaginings of the horrors of such places. She was shaking all over, and beads of moisture stood upon her brow. Reason for the moment had taken wing, and it seemed to Esther as though she had suddenly come upon some fearful mystery of human suffering. There was some wretched human being in that cave, groaning in pain--bound, perhaps, in fetters, and awaiting some terrible doom. Could she leave him like that? Having made this discovery, ought she not to pursue it farther? Her heart beat to suffocation at the bare thought, but she fought fiercely with her fears. Had she not resolved to overcome them? And how could she leave this poor creature without seeking to do something? With failing limbs she crept towards the mouth of the shaft. She had looked down it many times before this, when the boys had been with her. But then there had been no smoke curling out of it, and no blood-curdling sounds coming up. She could not put her head right over it to-day, for the smoke choked her and made her cough; and immediately there seemed to come from below a sort of muffled cry. Esther caught her breath and called back,-- "Is there anybody down there?" "Yes; come to me! Help!" spoke the voice, which sounded from the very depths of the earth. And Esther's resolve was taken. She must go. She must go herself, and at once. To summon help from the Crag might be worse than useless. This miserable victim was probably imprisoned there by the master of that place. Esther's mind had gone back for the moment to its old standpoint, and Mr. Trelawny was the terrible magician, whose doings were so full of mystery if not of iniquity. If any captive were there, he had placed him in that terrible prison. His servants were probably in collusion with their master. If anything could be done, it must be done quickly and by herself alone. "I'm coming!" she cried down the mouth of the shaft, and then set off to run for the door in the hillside, the position of which she knew perfectly by this time. The boys had often shown it to her, and had shown her the trick of opening it. But they had never gone in. Mr. Trelawny had forbidden them to do so, knowing their mischievous tendencies. Esther had the free right of entrance, but she would sooner have put her head into a lion's mouth than have exercised it. She had never been in since that first day when she had had to be carried out by Mr. Trelawny. She had hoped never to have to enter the fearful place again. But she must to-day, she plainly must, though her knees were quaking at the bare thought. She had had one or two talks with Mr. Earle about fear of the dark and how to conquer it. Esther was not afraid of the dark in the ordinary sense of the word. She was not afraid of going about in the dark in her own home; for she had tried that, and only now and then, when in a nervous mood, had felt any fear. But she knew that she could not bear strange underground dark places, and she had once asked Mr. Earle if he thought she ought to go there to get used to them. But he had looked at her for a few moments, and had then said,-- "No, I do not think so--not unless there were some object to be gained by it. There are many people in the world who dislike underground places, and avoid them. As a rule there is no call for them to conquer the dislike. Of course, if one could do any good by going, if there were some sufficient reason for it--if it were to help somebody else, for instance--then it would be right to try and overcome one's repugnance. But without some such motive, I do not see that any one would be greatly benefited by going into uncongenial places of the kind." Esther thought of all this as she ran along. Hitherto it had been a comfort to her to think of this decision. But now it seemed to her that the time had come when she was bound to go. Somebody wanted help. There was nobody but herself to give it. She might not be able to accomplish much, but at least she ought to go and see. To turn and run away would be like the priest and Levite in the parable, who left the poor man wounded and half dead. Everybody knew that they were wicked. She must try and copy the good Samaritan, who, she knew, was the type of Jesus Himself. That thought came to her like a ray of comfort, and it helped to drive back the flood of her fears. Then she remembered what Mr. Earle had said about what his mother told him to do; and, just as she reached the strange old door in the hillside, Esther dropped upon her knees and buried her face in her hands. It was only for a few seconds, but when she got up again she felt that she could go into the cave. A few minutes before, it had seemed as if it were almost impossible. The heavy door yielded to her touch. She knew it would swing back again when she let it go, so she took a big stone with her and set it wide open. There would be comfort in the feeling that there was light and air behind her, though the cave looked fearfully dark and gloomy, and the strange smell inside it, as she went slowly forward, brought back some of the dizzy feeling she had experienced upon her first visit. A heavy groan smote upon her ears, and she gave a start and clasped her hands tightly together. She was through the passage now, and could just see the outline of the great dim cave. But where the living thing was that was making these sounds she could not guess. She stood quite still, and called timidly,-- "Is anybody there?" "Yes, child," answered a voice which she knew, now that she heard it more plainly. "Come a little nearer. I can't see you. I'm afraid I've been an old fool; and if I haven't blinded myself, I shall have better luck than I deserve." Esther sprang forward with a little cry of relief. It was no chained captive, no unknown, mysterious prisoner. It was Mr. Trelawny himself, and he was hurt. In a moment she was by his side, bending over him, seeing a very blackened face and a brow drawn with pain. Mr. Trelawny was half sitting, half lying upon the cold floor of the cave, and there was a lot of broken glass all about him. So much she could see, and not much beside. "O Uncle Robert, I am so sorry! What can I do?" "Isn't there a lot of glass about?" "Yes." "Well, there is a broom somewhere about. Get it and sweep it away, and I'll try to get up. Every time I've tried to move I've got my hands cut. I can't see a thing, and I've little power to help myself." Esther forgot all about being afraid now that there was something to do. She found the broom, and was soon sweeping away like a little housemaid. Now and then a groan broke from Mr. Trelawny, and at last she said gently,-- "I think there's no more glass. Please, are you very much hurt?" "Earle will tell me I ought to have been blown into a thousand fragments," was the rather grim reply. "I think I've got off cheap. But I've had a tremendous electric shock; and I'm a good bit cut and burnt, I expect. If only my eyes are spared, I'll not grumble at anything else. How came you here, child? I thought I should have an hour or more to wait till Earle got back." Esther explained then what had happened, for Mr. Trelawny, although in much pain, had all his wits about him; and when he knew that Mr. Earle might be detained, he said to Esther,-- "Then you must be my attendant messenger instead. Go up by those stairs into the house, and fetch down Merriman and another of the men. I don't think I can get up there without more help than your little hands can give." Esther quickly obeyed. She knew the way up into the house, and the key was in the door, so that she had no difficulty in getting there. The hall above was almost as dark by that time as the cave below; for the storm had gathered fast, and the black clouds seemed hanging right over them. But Esther had other things to think of now, and she quickly summoned the men, and sent them down to Mr. Trelawny; and then, being used in her own house to illness, she ran for the housekeeper, and begged her to get oil and linen rag and wine and soup ready, because Mr. Trelawny had burnt and hurt himself, and somebody must look after him, till the doctor came, and he could not well be sent for till after the storm had gone by, for it was going to be a very bad one. So before very long Mr. Trelawny was lying at full length upon a great wide oak settle in the hall, and Esther was gently bathing his cut and blackened and blistered face and hands, and covering up the bad places with oiled rag, as she had seen Genefer do when cook had burnt herself one day. Mr. Trelawny kept his eyes closed, and he drew his breath rather harshly, like one in pain, and his brows were drawn into great wrinkles. "Do I hurt you?" Esther asked from time to time. The housekeeper seemed to think that Esther had better do the actual handling of the patient while she kept her supplied with the things she wanted. Mr. Trelawny's servants--and especially the women servants--stood in considerable awe of him. He never liked any attentions from a woman that a man could bestow, and the housekeeper preferred to remain discreetly in the background, leaving Esther to play the part of nurse. Esther was well used to the _rôle_, and had a gentle, self-contained way with her that had come from her long tendance upon her mother. Her touch was very soft and gentle, but it was not uncertain and timid. Indeed she did not feel at all afraid of Mr. Trelawny now, only afraid of hunting him. "No, no, child," he answered when she put the question; "your little hands are like velvet. They don't hurt at all. But what's all that noise overhead?" "It's the rain," answered Esther. "There is such a storm coming up. Hark! don't you hear the thunder? And there was such a flash of lightning." Mr. Trelawny put his hand up to his eyes, and made an effort to open them, but desisted almost immediately, with an exclamation of suffering. Esther clasped her soft little hands round one of his in token of sympathy. She could understand the terrible fear which must possess him just now. The servants had moved away by this time. They knew that the master did not like being looked at and fussed over. He had made a sign with his hand which they had understood to be one of dismissal, and Esther was alone with him now in this big place. The storm was raging fearfully, but the child was not frightened. She had other things to think of, and she was thinking very hard. "I hope Mr. Earle has got the boys safe," she said, with a tone of anxiety in her voice. There was no reply. Mr. Trelawny was suffering keenly both in mind and body. Esther looked at him, and realized that this was so. She hardly meant to speak the words out loud, but they came into her head and they passed her lips almost before she was aware of it. "Jesus can stop the storms and make them quiet again, and keep people safe in them. And He can make blind people see." There was no reply; but Esther felt one of the bandaged hands feel about as if for something, and she put her own little hand into it at once. The fingers closed over it, and the man and the child sat thus together for a very long time. Then there was a little stir in the hall, as the butler appeared, bringing tea; and Mr. Trelawny told Esther to get some, and give him a cup, as he was very thirsty. She was glad enough to serve him, and did so daintily and cleverly; and before they had finished, the storm had very much abated. The rain still fell, and the wind blew; but the sun was beginning to shine out again, and Esther knew that the worst was over now. "It is light again now," she said. "It was so dark all that time--almost as dark as the cave." Mr. Trelawny looked more himself now. The pain of his burns was soothed by the dressing laid upon them, and the lines in his face had smoothed themselves out. "Ah, the cave!" he repeated. "I thought that the cave was your special abhorrence, Esther. How came you to be there all alone to-day?" "I came after you," answered Esther. "I heard somebody groan and call for help." "Did you know who was calling?" "No, the voice sounded so muffled and strange." "I wonder you weren't afraid, you timid little mouse. Suppose it had been some great, rough smuggler fellow, such as used to live in that cave long ago!" "But I knew he was hurt; he was groaning and calling for help." "And that gave you courage?" Esther hesitated. "I don't think I felt very brave, but I knew I ought to go." "Why ought you?" "O Uncle Robert, you know we ought always to help people when they are in trouble--especially if they are hurt." "Didn't you think you might get hurt too?" Esther's face was rosy now, though he could not see it. "I thought a great many silly things," she confessed softly. "I think I have been very silly and cowardly often, but I'm going to try not to be any more. I don't think I should mind going down into the cave again now." "Tell me what you thought about it before," said Mr. Trelawny, in his imperious way; and though it was rather a hard command to obey, Esther thought it might, perhaps, amuse him to hear some of the things that she and the boys together had imagined about him, and perhaps he would tell her then how much of it all was true. So she told what Puck had said about the tanks where skeletons were pickled, and about the electric eye, and the elixir of life, and the different things that different persons had said, and the interpretation the boys had put upon their words, and how she had fancied that the groans she heard that day must proceed from some miserable captive destined for one of the tanks. It was rather hard to say all this, for some of it sounded quite silly now; but Esther bravely persevered, for she thought if she could once talk it right out she might never feel so frightened again. Mr. Trelawny lay still, and she could not quite see the expression on his face, because it was partly covered up; but at last he seemed able to contain himself no longer, and he broke into a real laugh--not quite so loud or so gruff as usual, but very hearty for all that. At the sound of that laugh Esther's fears seemed to take wing. It must all have been nonsense, she was sure. Nobody who had really been doing wicked and cruel things would laugh to know that they had been found out. "I shall have to take you over my laboratory one of these days, and really show you my pickled skeletons, and my electric eye, and all the other mysteries. Now you need not shake, my dear. I have nothing in pickle worse than a specimen animal; and as for the electric eye, that is very far from being perfect, and it will be a long while before I can make you understand its use, or what we mean by the term. Anyhow, it is not an eye that we carry about with us. In your mind it would not be an eye at all, though it has some analogy to one. And as for the elixir of life, my dear, I would not drink of it if I were to find it. To live forever in this mortal world of ours would be a poor sort of thing; and we know that there is an elixir of life preparing for us, of which we shall all drink one day--all to whom it is given, that is. And then there will be new heavens and a new earth, and we shall all be glorified together." Esther sat very still, trying to take in the magnitude of that idea, and feeling that she should never be afraid of Mr. Trelawny again, now that she had spoken so freely of her fears to him, and he had been so kind, and had said such nice things. The shadows were beginning to fall now, and she was wondering how long she would have to stay here. She did not mean to leave Mr. Trelawny till Mr. Earle got back to take care of him; but she began to wish that he would come, and that she might get news of the boys. At last the sound of a firm, ringing step was heard without, and Esther sprang to her feet. The big door was open, for it was quite warm still, though the rain had taken the sultriness out of the air. She ran out, and met Mr. Earle face to face. He was wet through and almost dripping, but he looked as quiet and composed as ever. "O Mr. Earle, where are the boys?" "Safe at home in bed, like a pair of drowned rats. It was a good thing you came to warn me, Esther, or they might have been miles out at sea by this time, or else at the bottom of it." Esther's face paled a little. "O Mr. Earle, what did they do?" "You'd better run home and hear all about it from them. I thought you'd be back before I was." "O Mr. Earle, I couldn't go till you came. Mr. Trelawny has hurt himself. They've sent for the doctor now. But they couldn't just at first, the storm was so bad. Please, will you go to him? Then I can go home. But may I come again to-morrow to see how he is?" Mr. Earle had uttered a startled exclamation at hearing Esther's words, and was now striding into the hall, almost forgetful of her. "Trelawny!" she heard him exclaim; and then Mr. Trelawny said in his dry way,-- "Yes; crow over me now as much as you like. I neglected your valuable advice, and see the result!" Mr. Earle went and bent down over him; and Esther, feeling her task done, took her hat and stole out into the soft dusk, and ran down the hill home as fast as she could. CHAPTER X. CONFESSIONS. Esther found Genefer at the door on the lookout for her. "O Miss Esther, my dear, I am glad to see you! I was getting fidgety about you--so long away up there, and the storm and all. But you are not wet through at all events," feeling the condition of her clothing and the temperature of her hands. "Why did you stay such a time up there after the storm was over?" "I stayed with Mr. Trelawny; he has been hurt. I found him in the cave where he tries his experiments. I didn't like to leave him till Mr. Earle came back. But the boys, Genefer--what about them?" "Oh, they're in bed--the best place for them too. They were just soaked to the skin, and Master Percy had some of the pluck taken out of him. I don't know just what it was all about. I was busy getting them put into a hot bath, and then tucked up between hot blankets. Master Philip doesn't seem any the worse. He was asking for you all the time. I said you would go up as soon as you got in." "I will," said Esther. "I've had my tea up at the Crag. How is mama?" "Lying down still with a headache. She got a bit upset when the boys were brought in, so when I'd seen to them I coaxed her to go to bed, and I hope she's asleep. The thunder upset her head, as it almost always does. I wouldn't go to her unless she calls to you going by." Esther lingered a moment by her mother's door, but no voice summoned her in, so she went up-stairs, and soon heard Pickle's unmistakable tones urging her to speed. "Is that you, Essie? Come along! What a time you've been! We've got such things to tell you! Come on!" Esther pushed open the boys' door, and entered the room where two small beds stood side by side, and a small boy occupied each. Puck was snuggled down in his, though his eyes were wide open; but Pickle was sitting up, quivering with excitement to tell his tale to more sympathetic ears than those of either Mr. Earle or Genefer. "O Esther! why didn't you come before? We've such things to tell you! Where have you been?" "Up with Mr. Trelawny at the Crag. He's hurt himself. I had to stay with him. O Pickle, what were you doing? The old fisherman's wife said you were on the little island, and couldn't get back. Did Mr. Earle come and fetch you?" "Oh, she let on to somebody, did she? I didn't quite understand about that part of it. Well, perhaps it was a good thing she did. But, I say, Esther, we did have a jolly old time of it for a bit. We went such a sail by ourselves. If it hadn't been for that stupid storm coming up and spoiling it, we could have showed everybody that we could manage a boat first-rate." "Bertie was sick," chimed in Puck from his nest, "and I didn't like it when we couldn't get to shore. I thought we were going to be upset and drowned once. I didn't like that part of it." Esther looked from one to the other in some bewilderment and anxiety. "O boys, what did you do?" Then Pickle plunged headlong into the story. It was all rather mixed up and difficult for Esther to follow, but she began to understand that the boys had taken advantage of their liberty on Saturdays to go off regularly to the little island, and that they had kept this "city of refuge" quite as a secret of their own. "I shouldn't have minded telling you," said Pickle, "only we thought perhaps you'd tell Mrs. Poll-parrot, or Pretty Polly, and then all the fun would have been gone." "It wouldn't have been a city of refuge if the avenger of blood could come after us in another boat and take us away," added Puck. "I'm afraid it won't be a city of refuge any longer now. I wish we hadn't gone sailing, but just gone home. Then nobody would have known anything." "Were you out on the water in the storm?" asked Esther, with a little shiver. "O Pickle, you should not have been so disobedient. You know Mr. Earle and Mr. Trelawny would not let you sail the boat alone." "Not the _Swan_," said Pickle quickly, "but nobody had said anything about that old tub." Esther looked rather grave, and a quick wave of color swept over Pickle's face. "I wanted to do it," he said in rather a low voice; "perhaps that was why it seemed all right." "You might have been drowned," said Esther in a voice of awe; "Mr. Earle said so himself." "I thought so once," said the boy; "I was frightened then." "Tell me about it," said Esther with a little shiver. She sat down on the side of Puck's bed, and he got fast hold of her hand. He was more subdued than Pickle, though Esther could see that even the bold elder boy had received a considerable shock to his nerves. His eyes were bright, and he was excited and not quite himself. "We had always wanted so much to sail the boat," said he in response to Esther, "but there had never been any wind. And to-day, when it began just to blow a little, it seemed just the very thing. So we got in and went off, and it was delicious. We did it beautifully, and it was all pretty and sunny on the sea, and we went along finely. But by and by the waves got bigger, and Bertie began to get sick, and some of them wanted to get home again. So we tried to tack her round as Mr. Earle does, but she wouldn't go against the wind a bit, and the waves splashed in and wet us. And then we tried to row, but we only got farther and farther away from land, and the sea got rougher and rougher. And Bertie was sick and frightened, and everybody wanted to get home, and we couldn't." "O Pickle, how dreadful! What did you do?" "Well, we had to turn round at last and run before the wind," answered the boy, with as much of the sailor air as he could assume. "I saw it was the only thing to try for. The waves were all right if you didn't try to meet them; and we thought perhaps we should meet a ship which would take us up." "That might have been rather nice," said Puck, "only it got so dark, and then the thunder and lightning came; and oh, how it did rain! We couldn't see anything. We felt like being all alone on the sea. I was frightened then, and Bertie was awfully sick, and Milly began to cry. I wanted to cry, too, only I thought it would be like a girl." Esther was shivering herself at the bare picture of all these horrors. She had nothing but sympathy for the boys now, though she knew that it had been the spirit of disobedience which had prompted them to this daring escapade. "Oh, what did you do?" she asked, in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "We couldn't do anything but sail on and on," answered Pickle; "but Puck said,-- "Yes, we could. Milly proposed it. We all said our prayers; and Milly reminded us about Jesus walking on the water, and making the storm stop. So we asked Him to come and do the same for us." "The storm did stop by and by," said Esther in a low voice. "Yes, it did--almost just after we'd been praying," said Puck; "and when the rain went away and the sun came out, we saw the _Swan_ coming after us as hard as ever it could come. Bertie thought perhaps it was Jesus coming to us on the water, but it was only Mr. Earle." "Perhaps Jesus sent him to you," said Esther in a low voice. "He said it was you who sent him," said Pickle the practical. "Yes, in one way," answered Esther, coloring up, for she was shy of uttering her deeper thoughts; "but I shouldn't have known if the old woman hadn't come up. Perhaps it was Jesus who sent her--I mean, put it into her head to come." "Do you think so?" asked Puck, with wide-open eyes, and Esther answered softly and steadily,-- "Yes, I do." Puck suddenly scrambled up in his bed and got upon his knees. "Genefer put us to bed without our prayers--she was in such a hurry," he said. "I'd like to say my prayers now, because I'm very much obliged, if it was like that. It's mean not to thank people when they've done things for you. Let's all say our prayers together." Esther immediately knelt down beside the little bed, and in a moment Pickle was out and on his knees beside her. They both hid their faces, and a few half-whispered words and snorts from Puck, who was very much in earnest, alone broke the silence of the upper room. But presently Esther felt that the child kneeling beside her was quivering all over, and suddenly Pickle broke down and began to sob uncontrollably. This was a strange thing in Pickle, who had hardly shed a tear all the months he had been under the roof of the Hermitage, and Esther was distressed and almost frightened at the sudden vehemence of the outburst. She put her arms round him, and rather to her surprise he did not repulse her overture of sympathy, but clung to her convulsively, weeping silently, but with great gasping sobs, that seemed wrung from him by some power too strong to be resisted. Puck crept into bed again, and watched his brother with wondering eyes. But Nature was claiming her dues now from both, and Puck's eyes grew heavy with sleep even as he watched, and soon shut themselves up altogether. Not even curiosity, or the remains of the excitements through which they had passed, could keep him longer from the land of dreams. "Pickle dear," said Esther gently at last, "won't you let me put you to bed? You will be getting cold." "Don't go away then," he said between his sobs. "Hold my hand and sit with me. I don't want to be left alone." How well Esther understood that appeal! She knew without any telling that if left alone all the horrors of that dangerous voyage would come back over the boy's mind, as they had never done at the moment when the things were happening. She felt as though a bond of sympathy had been established between herself and her manly little cousin. Hitherto he had never shown weakness in her presence. Now he was clinging to her as though he felt her presence to be a source of strength and refreshment. She held his hands, and sometimes spoke softly to him, and presently the sobs ceased. But he did not on that account let go his hold upon her. She felt the grasp of his fingers tighten on her hands. "Esther," he said presently, "I was the one who thought of it all and planned it all. It was disobedience. I think I knew it was all the time, only I wouldn't think about it. I wanted to do as I liked. I always do. Esther, suppose the boat had gone down and we had been drowned, would that have been dying in one's sins?" "O Pickle, I don't know!" "I know there's something in the Bible about dying in our sins. I thought it meant going to hell. Esther, should I have gone to hell?" "O Pickle dear, I don't think so!" "Don't you? But I was being naughty all the time." "We are all naughty very often," said Esther gently, "but you know Jesus said He would give eternal life to every one who believed in Him. You do believe in Jesus, don't you, Pickle, even though you forget and are naughty sometimes?" "Yes, I do," answered the boy, very soberly and steadily. "It was the only thing that helped us not to be very badly afraid when it was all dark and the thunder and lightning came. But it was Milly who thought of it. She cried, but she helped us the most. And when the rain seemed to be right off, and we saw the sun coming through again, and there was the _Swan_ racing along after us, why, then it did just seem as though He were coming to us on the water, as Puck said." "I think He was," said Esther, with a little quiver in her voice; and Pickle squeezed her hands, and she squeezed his, and they were silent a few minutes. Then the boy spoke again,-- "Essie, I must go to-morrow and tell Mr. Polperran all about this." "Won't he know from Milly and Bertie?" "Yes, but I must tell him too. It wasn't their fault. It was I who did everything--getting the boat, and the city of refuge, and then going sailing when there was a breeze. That's what I want to tell him. He trusted me to take care of the little ones--he told me so once--and I nearly drowned them. And it wasn't that I forgot about what Mr. Earle had said about not trying to sail alone. I remembered it every bit, but I didn't choose to obey. I pretended to myself that he had only said we mustn't sail the _Swan_, but I knew he'd never let us go sailing alone in any boat. I'll tell him so, and get him to set me a punishment; and I'll tell Mr. Polperran too, and ask him to forgive Milly and Bertie, and only to be angry with me." Pickle spoke with subdued vehemence, and with great earnestness. Esther approved his resolution. "Mr. Polperran is a very kind man," she said. "I don't think he'll be angry exactly; and you will never do it any more." "I'm going to try and be obedient," said Pickle with a little sigh. "Mr. Earle is always telling us that we shall never be any good anywhere till we learn to obey; but I never quite believed him before. I do now." Pickle was growing soothed and comforted now. Esther sat beside him till he dropped off to sleep. He was thoroughly tired out, and the burst of tears had relieved the overcharged brain. When he was sound asleep, the little girl covered him up and kissed him in motherly fashion, and stole away to see if her mother had awakened. Mrs. St. Aiden was ready now to hear the story of the adventures of her little daughter, and a modified account of the peril in which the boys had placed them. She shuddered a little over the latter, but was not conversant enough with the subject to thoroughly realize how near the children had been to a tragic death. She was more immediately interested in the accident that Mr. Trelawny had met with in his cave-like laboratory, and made Esther repeat the story of her adventure more than once. "Dear, dear, poor man! I do hope his sight will not be permanently injured; it would be such a terrible loss. Mr. Polperran has always been afraid of some accident. He has said to me many times that he was afraid Mr. Trelawny was sometimes too eager to be cautious; and, poor man, I am afraid it was so to-day. What a good thing you found him when you did, Esther! It must have been so bad for him down there in that lonely place. You will be more of a favorite with him than ever." Esther's eyes opened rather wide at that. "Am I a favorite?" she asked; and her mother broke into a little laugh. "Have you never found that out yet, child? Ah! you are always so frightened at him. Perhaps you will get over that now. You will find that he does not mean to eat you." "I think I have been rather silly," said Esther soberly; "but I have been trying not to be so afraid of things lately." "Yes, that is wise; for Mr. Trelawny is really our very kind friend, though he is strange and sometimes rough in his ways. And I have not quite forgiven him yet for cutting off your hair." "I have been so much more comfortable without it, mama," said Esther, ruffling up her wavy crop. "My head never aches now, and it is so nice not to have all the tangles to pull out." "Well, dear, I have got used to it now, and if you are more comfortable I am glad. All the same, it was a liberty for anybody to take; but Mr. Trelawny is not like anybody else, and it is no use minding." Next day Esther and Pickle were the only two able to go to church from the Hermitage. Puck was sleeping on so soundly that Genefer would not have him wakened; and Mrs. St. Aiden was still feeling the effects of the storm of the previous day, and was not able to attempt the service, though she was able now to go to church sometimes. The children looked eagerly towards the rectory pew, but nobody appeared there except Prissy, who was looking very prim and rather severe; and she would not throw so much as a glance towards Esther and Pickle, though the little girl was really anxious to catch her eye and telegraph a question to her. At the proper place in the service Mr. Polperran rose, and said in a voice which had a little tremor in it, that a father and mother desired to return thanks to Almighty God for the preservation of their own children, and some others, in a great danger to which they had been exposed. It came quite unexpectedly, and Pickle threw a hasty glance at Esther, whilst the color flamed all over his face; and as the words of the General Thanksgiving were spoken, with the special clause which sounded strangely impressive as read by Mr. Polperran that day, his head sank lower upon his folded arms, and Esther saw his shoulders heave, and felt her own warm tears gathering under their long lashes. But it comforted her to hear this public recognition of God's care for His children in their peril. It seemed to bring home to her the mysterious and wonderful truth about the fall of the sparrow--the individual care and love which God feels towards every single living atom in His vast creation. And the sound of the fervent amen which passed through the church at the close seemed to speak of the universal brotherhood of those who owned the Lord as their Master; and though Esther could not have told the reason of it, a strange sense of sweetness came into her soul, and a peaceful assurance of God's Fatherhood crept over her spirit and took up its habitation there. Pickle was wonderfully quiet and attentive during the rest of the service, even listening to the sermon as he had never listened before. Was it a coincidence, or had the father's heart been moved by what he had heard yesterday, so that he had prepared his discourse after the return of his children from their hour of peril? Esther did not know, but she gave a little start when the clergyman read out his text, for it was nothing more or less than the account of how the Lord came to His disciples walking on the water, and how His presence with them there brought them immediately to the desired haven. Pickle squeezed her hand tight as the impressive words were read out, and his attention never wavered for a moment during the whole of the simple discourse, which went home to many hearts that day; for it was known all over the place by this time that the rector's children had been in great danger, and there was something in Mr. Polperran's way of dealing with his subject which showed that his heart was full of thankfulness for their escape, and that he could not forget the peril in which they had been placed. At the close of the service Esther and Pickle remained in their places till the congregation had pretty well dispersed, and then found their way round to the vestry door from which the clergyman would take his departure. The boy's resolve had only been strengthened by the emotions of the morning. He must ask the forgiveness of Milly and Bertie's father before he could be happy again. Mr. Polperran came out looking rather absorbed, but when his eyes fell upon the two children his face lighted. He put out both his hands towards Pickle, and drew the little boy towards himself, saying,-- "They tell me that you were their greatest help, and never lost courage, and saved the boat from being upset by your clever handling. My dear, brave, little man, I shall not forget that. If you had not had the presence of mind to get the boat round and let her run before the wind, she must have been swamped." Pickle was so taken aback by receiving praise and kindness instead of blame that for a moment his breath seemed taken away, but then he burst out with all the greater emphasis,-- "O sir, you mustn't call me brave; you mustn't think me clever, or anything that is good. I was very naughty and disobedient, and I led them all into it. It was all my fault. They would never have thought of it but for me. I don't think they would ever have gone in a boat at all, even to the city of refuge, if I hadn't taken them. It was disobedience. Perhaps they didn't think of it, but I did. I want to be punished for it; I don't want to be praised. I was very conceited, and thought I knew such a precious lot. When the storm came, I found I didn't know anything. I was frightened, though perhaps they didn't know. But I was. I knew I had done wrong. I thought God was angry with us. It was Milly who helped us most. It's she you ought to praise. I was naughty. I'm very sorry. I want to ask you to forgive me." The last words came out almost with a sob. They were not easy words for Pickle to speak. He had not been used to make confession of his misdeeds, or to ask forgiveness. In the old days he had taken things much more lightly. But something new seemed to have come into his life now; and perhaps Mr. Polperran understood, for he sat down a little while upon the low stone wall, and talked very gravely and kindly to Pickle, and then forgave him fully for his share in the act of disobedience which might have ended so badly, and sent the children home with warm hearts and smiling faces, although there was real seriousness in their hearts. "He is a very nice man," said Pickle with emphasis. "I think he is very good too. I like him better than Mrs. Pol--Polperran. But I'll tell her I'm sorry when I see her next. I shan't like to, but I will. I'm sorry Bertie's sick and has got a cold. But I daresay he'll be better soon." Puck was up and dressed when they got back, and quite interested to hear about the thanksgiving, and the sermon, and the talk with Mr. Polperran afterwards. He was not quite so serious as Pickle, but then he had not quite the same weight upon his conscience. He had always been used to follow the lead of his brother, and though he was quite aware that they had been disobedient to a certain extent, he had not the same burden of responsibility as that which weighed upon the elder boy. Mr. Earle had not been in church, so there was no news of Mr. Trelawny; and after the early dinner, Esther and Pickle walked up to ask after him. Puck felt indisposed for the exertion, and remained at home. Mrs. St. Aiden expressed her intention of walking as far as the rectory to inquire for Milly and Bertie, and Puck said he would like to go with her. As Esther and Pickle climbed the hill, he asked her about Mr. Trelawny, and listened with immense interest as she told the tale of her doings that afternoon. "Weren't you afraid to go in? I thought you couldn't bear the cave. O Essie, I wish I had been there! But I never thought you'd dare go in." "I didn't want to much," answered Esther in her grave way, "but it seemed like my duty." Pickle pondered a while, and then said suddenly,-- "It's better to be frightened doing our duty than frightened because we've been disobedient and naughty and horrid things have come that needn't have done if we'd been good." Esther turned this over in her mind for a while, and then looked at Pickle with a kindling smile. "And yet we were both helped and taken care of. Pickle, I do think Jesus is very, very good." "So do I," he answered, looking down and kicking the soft pine-needles under his feet; and after that they walked in silence up to the Crag. Nobody was about upon the terrace, which seemed strange on such a fine afternoon; but Mr. Earle came down to see the children, and gave them the report of Mr. Trelawny. "His eyes are bandaged up still, and will have to be for some little time yet; and the burns, though they are not deep or dangerous, are rather painful. He says nobody touches them so gently as his 'little nurse.' That is you, Esther. He is to be kept quite quiet for a few days, and then the doctor will be able to judge better what is the extent of the mischief. That is as much as I can tell you to-day." Esther's face was full of concern. "Oh, I am so sorry. Can I go and see him?" Fancy her asking this of her own accord! "If he had not just dropped asleep you should have done so. He would have liked it; but he must not be disturbed, for he had a bad night, and now he has taken a draught, and perhaps will sleep some hours. But I will tell him you have been to ask, and will come and see him another day." "To-morrow," said Esther promptly; "and please, Mr. Earle, mama says she thinks we had better have a week's holiday, so that you can stay with Mr. Trelawny, and we can go blackberrying and nutting. We didn't have a holiday in August because we had not worked long enough." "I am much obliged to your mother for the kind thought," said Mr. Earle. "I think a holiday will do none of you any harm just now, and I shall be glad to have the time with my old friend." He stopped and looked rather earnestly at Esther, and then said,-- "What was it that took you into the cave to find Mr. Trelawny on Saturday?" "I heard him groan and call out. The sound came through the chimney." "Did you know who it was?" "No; but it was somebody who wanted help." "I thought you were too frightened to go into underground places. Didn't you once tell me so?" Esther's face crimsoned over, but Pickle broke in,-- "That's what I said just now; but she went because she thought it was her duty." "I thought somebody wanted help, and it would be unkind not to," said Esther, hanging her head. "But you were afraid?" "Rather." She paused and hesitated, and then looked up quickly into Mr. Earle's face. "I remembered what you had told me about when you were a little boy, and what your mother had said. I did that too. Then I wasn't so frightened." She knew he understood, for she felt the touch of his hand upon her shoulder. She was too shy to look up again, but next moment she heard him ask another question. "Esther, suppose you had been afraid, and had not gone in and got Mr. Trelawny safely out of the cave, do you know what would have happened?" "No." "If he had lain there till I got back, he would have been a dead man." Esther started and looked up with scared eyes, and Pickle drew a long whistling breath. "Oh, I say!" he murmured, with staring eyes. "It is quite true," went on Mr. Earle. "You would not understand if I were to try and tell you; but Mr. Trelawny had been trying a dangerous experiment. I do not think he knew himself how dangerous it was. The first explosion was enough to injure him and reduce him to the state in which you found him; but there was worse afterwards. He probably did not know it, not being able to see; but there was something going on all the time which must quite shortly after you left the cave with him have made a second and a worse explosion. Had anybody been there then he could not have lived. I suppose the thunderstorm prevented this sound from being heard, but a number of things down below are shattered to atoms that were all safe in their places when the servants went down at your bidding." Esther's face had grown pale with excitement and awe. It was rather a terrible thing to feel how nearly Mr. Trelawny had lost his life. Suppose she had not heard him. Suppose she had let her fears get the better of her. Oh, how glad she was that she had been trying to conquer them before! That had made it much easier when the moment for proving herself came. The children walked very gravely away hand in hand. Then Pickle suddenly burst out,-- "I say, Essie, it's you who have taken the palm after all. You are really the heroine. I used to think girls were no good. But I think it's boys now." "O Pickle, I don't think I like to be praised. I've been so silly often and often. But I am very happy and glad. Still I don't think I should have dared to go in if it hadn't been for what Mr. Earle told me once." "What did he tell you? I wanted to ask." Then Esther told of the talk in the old ruin, and Pickle listened very attentively. "What a lot of different things God had to see to that afternoon," he remarked very soberly, after a long pause; "I do think it was awfully good of Him." "So do I," answered Esther softly; "I should like always to do what He wants us to now." "Well, we'll try," said Pickle with emphasis. "I think after all this it would be mean not to." CHAPTER XI. MR. TRELAWNY. "I'm not sure that mama will let them go. We have been very much disappointed and displeased," said Prissy in her primmest way. "I'm not blaming you, Esther; you knew no more about it than I did myself. But the children had all conspired together to deceive us. Of course we have been very much hurt, mother and I." "I think children always like a secret," said Esther in her gentle, womanly way, which was not in the least like Prissy's primness; "but I know that my boys were most to blame, and Pickle is very sorry indeed for his disobedience. But I hope Mrs. Polperran will let Milly and Bertie come with us, even if you do not care to come. We have got our lunch in baskets, and Punch will carry everything, and we can ride him in turns if we are tired, and Mr. Earle says there are splendid nuts and blackberries in Mr. Trelawny's woods. We shall have such a nice time!" "I'll go and ask mother," said Prissy. "Of course Milly and Bertie would like it, but after what has occurred, you know--" And there Prissy stopped short, pursed up her lips, and looked unutterable things. Esther could not help feeling glad that the boys were waiting at the gate with Punch. She was not sure whether Pickle's penitence would stand the strain of these airs on Prissy's part. She felt her own cheeks tingling a little. She felt that she did not at all like her boys found fault with by Prissy, even though she knew they had been naughty. Pickle had owned up his fault to Mr. Polperran like a man, and had received forgiveness. It did not seem quite fair to Esther that anything more should be said about it. The next minute Mrs. Polperran came in, kind and fussy, as was her way. "If you are going with them, Esther dear, I will send them. But I have been very much shocked and disturbed, as you will understand. I had always been able to trust my children before. It has been very sad to think that they have been instructed in the ways of deceitfulness." Mrs. Polperran shook her head, and Esther felt her cheeks growing red. She knew that there had been disobedience, but she was sure that her boys had not meant to deceive. They had been accustomed to liberty and a good bit of their own way. They had not been brought up under any obligation to tell everything they did. It was not fair to accuse them of deceit. It was a great relief at this moment to see Mr. Polperran's head appear over that of his wife in the doorway. "Tut, tut, tut, my dear! don't let us call things by harder names than we need. The little ones did tell me that they had a place down on the shore where they went and played, and I gave them free leave to do so. Indeed, I was glad they should have bolder spirits to play with. I didn't know they went off to the island; but, upon my word, I don't think I should have interfered if I had. The bay is perfectly safe, and that tub of old Jerry's could hardly overturn with anything the children might do. Of course they were wrong to try and sail it, and to leave the shelter of the bay; but the boys have seen their fault, and all the children have asked and obtained forgiveness. Now, I don't want another word said about it. They were sufficiently punished by their fright, and they have learned a lesson they will not forget. Don't weaken the effect of it by talking too much. What has Esther come about to-day?" Esther's invitation was soon repeated, and Mr. Polperran's kind face beamed. "To be sure, to be sure!--just the very thing for little folks. Let them go? Why, of course. They can't get into any danger up there, and I don't think they'll try to. Bertie wants the current of his thoughts changed. It will do him good to go. I'll answer for it there will be no getting into mischief now. Come, mama; you don't grudge them a day's pleasuring, I'm sure. I'll go and fetch the young rascals down, and start them all off together." Mrs. Polperran raised no objection, though she looked a little doubtful. Prissy decided not to accompany the party, and Esther did not seek to shake her determination; she could not help feeling that they would be happier without her. Milly and Bertie came down clinging to their father's hands. Milly looked none the worse for the adventure of the Saturday afternoon. Bertie had not quite got his color back, but the threatening of cold had been averted by prompt measures, and, as Mr. Polperran always declared, there was nothing like fresh air and the breath of the sea and the woods for dissipating any little ailment and putting people in trim again. "Now, be good boys and girls, all of you," he said; "have plenty of fun, but don't get into mischief. Learn to be brave lads and lassies, making friends with nature wherever you go. That's the way to grow up fine men and women. Don't you be afraid of anything in the world except doing wrong." Punch was at the gate with the little people, a basket slung on each shoulder, and a saddle on his back. Bertie was lifted up for a ride, as his legs were the smallest, and he had been a little poorly for two days after the adventure in the boat. But his eyes were dancing now with delight at the prospect before him; and when they started off and had turned the corner, Milly gave a little hop, skip, and jump, and cried,-- [Illustration: "Punch was at the gate, with Bertie in the saddle."--Page 266. _Esther's Charge._] "Oh, how nice it is to get away! I am so glad that Prissy isn't coming!" Esther was very nearly saying, "So am I," and she saw that the words were on the very tip of Pickle's ready tongue. But she was glad that he did not speak them, but only looked at her with a laugh in his eyes, and Puck asked solemnly,-- "Has she been lecturing you all round?" "Oh yes," sighed Milly, "ever so much worse than father and mother. Father was very kind indeed, though he made me feel more sorry about it than anybody. But he understands about what we feel like--I mean, he knows that it is nice to do things, and to get away from people, and to play we're sailing off to coral islands and places like that. I don't think he's going to stop our going out in the old boat to the city of refuge." "Isn't he? How jolly of him!" cried Pickle; "I thought our city of refuge was gone forever." "I don't think he minds a bit," cried Bertie, "for I talked about it a lot, and he said he'd come with us some day and see it. I said I thought the avenger of blood would always be coming after us now. I meant Prissy, you know, and he knew it. And then he laughed and said he thought the avenger of blood would think a long time before following us there; and I'm sure he meant that Prissy would be frightened, and I dare say she would." "Besides, if we have the boat she can't come," cried Puck. "I was afraid Mr. Earle would be the avenger of blood, and would come in the _Swan_." "I don't think anybody will come," said Milly. "I heard father telling mother that he was very glad we had some games like what he and his brothers used to play. He said he'd rather we got into a scrape now and then, than grow up afraid to wet our feet, like so many little cats." Pickle burst out laughing, and the party felt inspirited by the feeling that Mr. Polperran's sympathy was with them in their love of adventure, although not in their disobedience to definite commands. They distinguished very clearly between the two. It was a perfect September day, and they had a delightful time wandering through the great copses on Mr. Trelawny's property, filling their baskets with blackberries, and feasting themselves at the same time. At noon they had a delightful surprise, for Mr. Earle found them out, and brought them a big jar of cream and some excellent cake, and shared their picnic with them at their own eager request. They were all very fond of Mr. Earle by this time, and they wanted to know about Mr. Trelawny too. But Mr. Earle could not tell them much on this score. He was still kept in bed, and was not allowed to have the bandage off his eyes. Esther was very sorry indeed to hear this. She could not think what Mr. Trelawny would do. He had always been so active and independent, and she did not think he had ever spent a day in bed before. "He will very likely be up again to-morrow. He does not like stopping there, I can tell you," said Mr. Earle, "but there is nothing that makes people feel so helpless as not being able to see. But for that he would never be so quiet." "Would he like some blackberries?" asked Puck, opening the basket and looking in. "Let's pick out some of the very best for him, and you tell him we gathered them for him, and hope he'll like them." So Mr. Earle departed presently with the pick of the spoil, and the children sat and talked about Mr. Trelawny, thinking how sad it was for him to be half blind and not able to do anything, and wondering if they could do anything to cheer him up. "Children can't do things for grown-ups," said Milly, rather disconsolately. "It's only grown-ups who do things for children. But you did something for Mr. Trelawny, Essie, when you got him out of the cave. I should like to have done that. You saved his life, didn't you?" "Yes!" cried Pickle; but Esther said,-- "No--at least I mean it wasn't really like that. I went and told the servants, and they got him out." "But if you hadn't gone in when he called, if you'd run away as some silly people would have done, he'd have been a deader as sure as a gun," chimed in Pickle eagerly. "Mr. Earle said so his very self." This act of Esther's was very interesting to all the children, and certainly she found that all her old fears of Mr. Trelawny had vanished away. The very next day she was admitted to his darkened room, where he was lying on a couch with a bandage over his eyes, and his hand and arm bound up too. She sat beside him quite a long time, telling him all about her own adventure that day, about what had befallen the boys on the same afternoon, and about their doings these last days--how they had been often up in the woods getting nuts and blackberries, and how they were enjoying their holiday. Esther found that Mr. Trelawny was a very nice person to talk to, although his voice was still rather loud, and he had a quick, imperious way of asking a question which sometimes made her jump. But he was always interested in what she said. He made her explain exactly where they went each day, and how the trees were looking, and what things they found in the woods, and what all the live creatures were doing. Indeed Esther found that she had to notice things much more closely than she had ever done before, and this was rather interesting, she thought. She and the boys all began noticing everything, so that Esther might tell about it to Mr. Trelawny; and she was sure he liked it, though he did not exactly say so, but made his funny snorts, and seemed trying to trip her up with his questions. But she was not afraid of him now, and she did not mind if she did make a mistake. She found she was learning a great deal more than she had ever known before about the world she lived in, and that in itself was very interesting. One day at the end of the week, she came in to her mother and found her with an open letter in her hand and a rather perplexed face. "Is anything the matter, mama?" she asked. "O my dear! I hardly know. No, nothing is the matter, but it is such a sudden thing to suggest. I have got a letter from Mr. Trelawny." "O mama! then can he see again?" "No, my dear. It was not written by him, but only at his dictation. There is a good deal of reason in what he says, but it is all so unexpected." "What is it, mama?" "He asks if I will shut up the Hermitage for the winter, and come with you all and stay at the Crag." "O mama! Why?" "To keep him company, he says. To cheer him up. To make a little life about the old house for a poor blind man." "But, mama, he isn't going to be blind, is he?" cried Esther, distressed. "I hope not indeed, dear. He has seen the oculist again, and hopes are held out--strong hopes, he says--that he will recover the sight of one eye, at least. But recovery will be slow, and it must not be forced, or he may lose his sight altogether. For the next few months he will have to be content to use other people's eyes more than his own. Of course that is much better than being always blind. But the poor man feels it a good deal, one can see." "And he wants us to go and stay with him?" "That is what he asks--to stay for the winter months, and see how we get on. As he says, he is very dependent upon Mr. Earle, and it would be much more convenient if the boys were living in his house, so that the lessons could be given there; and then, as he cannot read or study or employ himself as he has been used to do, a silent house, with nobody to speak to for the greater part of the day, would be very dreary for him. He says that he has no kinsfolk except ourselves. Your father was the last blood relation of whom he knows anything, and he seems to feel that we belong to him in a certain sort of way. What do you think about it, Esther, my dear? Do you think we ought to go?" Esther's face was quite flushed and eager. "O mama, if we can help him, I think we ought!" "He says we might bring Genefer as my maid, and make any arrangements we liked about the other servants, and he would see that the house and garden here were properly cared for. Of course, it would be a great saving of trouble and expense in a way, but it would not be quite like living at home. Mr. Trelawny would be the master, and we should all have to keep his rules. But that might be a good thing for the boys. I sometimes think they want a stronger hand over them." "I think it would be a very good plan," said Esther; "they are getting so much better, and they are fond of Mr. Trelawny. He would make them obey, and they would like it. They always obey Mr. Earle now, and they like him better than anybody almost." "It would be more the sort of life they have been accustomed to--a big house and a man's authority," said Mrs. St. Aiden reflectively. "And Mr. Trelawny is a sort of guardian to you, and has been a most kind friend to me since your father died. We must not forget that. He asks it as a favor to himself. You can read the letter if you like." Esther did so, and looked up with the sparkle of tears in her eyes. "O mama, you will go, won't you?" "I suppose so, dear, if you like the plan, and think you could all be happy there. As he says, it is a big house, and we should have our own rooms, and the boys' noise need not trouble him more than he cares about. I don't think their father would mind. After all, it is only a long visit. He only asks us just for the winter months." "He wants us to go as soon as we can," said Esther. "Yes, you see he feels his blindness so much, and a merry houseful about him would cheer him up. Well, dear, would you like to run up and tell him that we will try the experiment? It will save me the trouble of writing, and I think he will like to hear it from your lips. And Mr. Trelawny is always in a hurry to carry out his plans." Esther smiled a little at that. She knew very well that Mr. Trelawny never waited an hour if he could help it. It was his impatience of delay that had caused the accident which had partly destroyed his sight, and might have caused his death. "I should like to go, mama, if you like me to. I have done my lessons for to-day. The boys are having their navigation. I don't do that with them." "Well, then, run off, dear, with the answer. I don't see how we could refuse. And I always think that this house in the winter is just a little damp. I shall be glad to be out of it before the fall of the leaf." Esther had her hat in her hand, and was soon on her way to the Crag. How strange to think that before long she might be actually an inmate of that house! And how much stranger still that she was not a bit afraid of the prospect! It was a beautiful afternoon--as warm as summer; and when Esther approached the house, she gave a little jump of surprise, for there was Mr. Trelawny lying on a couch on the terrace, his eyes still bandaged up so that he could see nothing, but at least he could breathe the fresh wind blowing softly off the sea, and Esther knew how he would like that. She ran forward, forgetting all about her old shyness. "O Mr. Trelawny, how nice for you to be out of doors!" "Ha! is that my little Goldylocks?" said the invalid, stretching out the hand he could use. "So you have found your way up to the old blind man, have you? I suppose you have not brought me any letter from your mother yet. That would be too soon." Esther clasped her two hands around that of Mr. Trelawny, and said,-- "Mama said I might run up and tell you. She has got your letter, and we think it so kind of you. We should like very much to come and pay you a nice long visit, if you don't think we shall be in your way." His strong fingers closed over her little hands in a tight grip; she could see that his mouth was smiling, and that there was pleasure in every line of his face. "Is that so, little woman? Have you taken counsel together over the blind man's request? Of course your mother would not settle anything so important without the leave of the 'little manager.'" Esther did not mind being teased now, not one bit. She gave a little soft laugh as she answered,-- "We think it would be a very nice plan, if you like it too. I know the boys will be just delighted. They think this is the very nicest house in the whole place, and I think it will suit mama. She will enjoy this nice sunny terrace in fine weather, and the view of the sea. We can't see a bit of the sea from our house." "And will somebody else enjoy it too?" asked Mr. Trelawny. "What about my little Goldylocks herself?" "Oh, I shall like it!" answered Esther softly, stroking the hand she held. "I think it is beautiful up here, and I like being useful. Do you think I can be useful to you, Uncle Robert, if I come?" "I mean to make you very useful, little woman," he said. "It was partly for that reason I thought out the plan. I want a little niece or granddaughter of my own to wait upon me and take care of me. As I haven't got one quite of my own, I have to do the next best thing, and try to steal one who will do instead." A little while ago Esther would have shaken in her shoes at the notion of being stolen by Mr. Trelawny, but now she listened to these words with only a little thrill of pleasure. "I should like to be your little granddaughter," she said. "You must tell me what you want me to do." He drew her down beside him on the couch, and passed his hand over her head. "You will have to learn how to be eyes for me, for a little while at any rate, Goldylocks, and to do the same for me that the dog does for the blind man--lead me about, and take care that I don't fall. Will that be a great nuisance, little woman?" "Oh no! I like taking care of people," answered Esther earnestly; "only I am so sorry you want taking care of at all. But it won't be for very long. You will be able to see again soon, won't you?" "I hope so, my little maid, I hope so. They give me good words when I ask the question myself. But they all tell me I must be patient--be patient; and, Esther, though I am an old man, and ought to have learned that lesson long ago, I find that I have not done so. I find it harder to be patient than anything else in the world, and it is harder to learn lessons when we are old than when we are young. Hallo! hallo!--what's this?" This exclamation was caused by Mr. Trelawny's becoming aware of something warm and damp dropping upon his hand. Esther hastily dashed the drops from her eyes, but her old friend knew whence they had come, and something like a quiver passed over his face. "Child, child, you must not cry," he said. "I was only wishing I could be blind instead of you for a little while," said Esther, with a little catch in her voice. Her hands were held very closely by Mr. Trelawny's strong fingers; his voice was not a bit gruff as he answered,-- "I believe you, my dear, I believe you. You are like your father, and he was the most unselfish man I ever knew. I believe you would give me the eyes out of your head if you had power to do it; and as you have not that, you must learn to use them for my benefit, and I shall expect them to see a great deal. Tell me what you see now." Esther looked round and scarcely knew where to begin, but she was thinking too much of Mr. Trelawny to be self-conscious, and soon she was telling him just how the sea looked, with the great burning track of yellow light across it, as the sun slowly sank; and how big and golden-red the sun grew as it drew near to the horizon; and how the little fishing boats were all coming home; and in which direction the clouds were sailing; and how the white-winged seagulls were fishing in the bay, and wheeling round and round, calling to each other with their strange, mournful cries. It was very interesting, she thought, to try to make somebody else see it all; and Mr. Trelawny evidently could, for he sometimes interrupted to tell her things she had not noticed herself, so that she often looked quickly at him to make sure that he really was not "peeping." For she knew he must not try to use his eyes yet, even though he might be able to see by and by with one of them at any rate. "If the sun is dipping, you must run home, childie," he said at last. "Run home and tell your mother that I am very grateful to her for humoring a blind man's fancy, and that the sooner she and her tribe can come and take possession, the better he will be pleased." "I will tell her," answered Esther. "I think we could come quite soon. There will not be so very much to do, and if we should leave anything behind, we can easily fetch it away afterwards. I will talk to Genefer about that. She and I will do the packing, you know." "Of course, of course; the 'little manager' will manage all that. I shall soon be managed out of house and home, I expect. What a wide field the Crag will give to such an enterprising little woman!" "You are teasing me now," said Esther, laughing, and bending down she kissed him on the lips, and then talking her hat, ran lightly down the hill towards home, a very warm feeling in her heart towards the redoubtable owner, who had once been the very terror of her life. Half-way down she encountered the boys, who were running to meet her, brimful of excitement. "O Essie! Essie! is it true?" "Are we going to live up there?" "Did he really ask us too? Oh, won't it be jolly? Won't it be scrumptious? Aunt Saint said you'd gone to settle it all. Do say that it's all settled now." "Yes, quite," answered Esther; "Mr. Trelawny wants us to go as soon as ever we can. He says the house seems so empty and lonely now that he can't read or go about or amuse himself as he used to do. And he wants Mr. Earle so much more now; that is another reason. You must be very good and nice, boys, and not give trouble. We mustn't worry him now that he's ill." "We won't," cried Pickle earnestly. "We'll be as good as gold. I mean, we'll try to be as good as we can.--Won't we, Puck?" "We will," answered that young man solemnly. "I should like Mr. Trelawny to like us. Perhaps, then, he'll let us stay always. I mean till Crump--no, till father comes back or we go to school. I don't like it when Mr. Earle is angry with us, and I don't want Uncle Bob to be either." "I think it'll be awfully nice," said Pickle, as they wended their way home again through the wood. "I shall try and help Uncle Bob too. Aunt Saint said he wanted you, Essie, because you would be like a pair of eyes to him. I know why he thought that. You're always doing kind things for other people, and you don't care about yourself if other people are happy. I just know if I were to be ill, I should like to have you come and see me and sit with me. It can't be just because you're a girl, for that Pretty Polly is a girl, and she thinks herself very good too, but I'd sooner have a toad come to sit with me than her." "O Pickle, don't talk like that!" "I'd twice as soon have the toad," cried Puck; "toads are nice things, and they have such funny eyes--like precious stones. She's just a prig, and I can't abide her. We won't ever ask her up to play at the Crag. I shall tell Uncle Bob about her, and he won't let her come then." "That would be unkind," said Esther gently. "I don't think we ought to be unkind to Prissy. She tries to be very good, you know, and she is always obedient." Pickle and Puck were silent for a minute. They had been thinking, very seriously for them, about obedience of late. They had recognized their own failure, and had been sorry for it. In the old days they had taken this matter too lightly, but they were learning better now. "Well," said Puck at length, "she may be obedient, but she's nasty too. You're obedient and nice, Essie. I like you. But if you say we've got to ask Prissy, we will; only I hope Uncle Bob will laugh the priggishness out of her if she comes." Great excitement reigned in the little house during the next days, for there seemed no reason to postpone the arrangement if it were really to be carried out. Esther and Genefer were busy putting away household things, and packing up personal belongings. The boys flitted hither and thither, helping and hindering, and made daily excursions to the Crag to get news of Mr. Trelawny, and tell him how they were getting on. Lessons were not to be recommenced till the party got up to their new quarters, and the cart came daily to fetch away boxes that were ready for removing. Milly and Bertie were rather sorrowful at the thought of losing their playmates, but Puck brought good news from the Crag. "Uncle Bob says you may come up every Saturday afternoon and play with us. He doesn't think we shall go sailing in the _Swan_ very often now, because the sea gets rough in the winter; but there are no end of jolly things to do up there, and Uncle Bob says we may have you up whenever you can come on Saturdays. Esther can ask Prissy too, if she wants her, but you are our friends. Prissy never cares to play with us." This was delightful news, for the Crag had never, been anything but a mysterious region of wonders to the rectory children. Mr. Trelawny had sometimes asked the parents to send them; but Mrs. Polperran did not entirely approve of Mr. Trelawny, and she was half afraid lest some harm should come to her brood through his love of practical joking. It was very exciting to think of visiting there now, and seeing all the strange things that were said to exist in that house. "Is he really a magician or a wizard?" asked Milly with bated breath. "I don't believe he is," answered Pickle. "I believe he's just a nice, jolly old gentleman; only he's very clever, and people don't understand, and call him names. I don't believe there are any magicians left now. I believe he's just the same as other people." "But the pickled skeletons in the tanks," urged Milly. "I don't believe there are any really," answered Puck, with a note of regret in his voice; "I don't think he pickles anything except specimens that go into bottles. We shall find out all about it when we go to live there. But I don't believe he's a bit of a magician, and Essie doesn't think so either. She isn't a bit afraid of him now." The day for the flitting arrived in due course, and the carriage and a last cart were sent down to the Hermitage to convey Mrs. St. Aiden and her belongings. Genefer remained behind to shut up the house, and the boys preferred to climb the hill by the path through the wood. But Esther drove up with her mother by the zigzag road, and as the great easy carriage rolled smoothly along, Mrs. St. Aiden said with a little sigh,-- "We must persuade your Uncle Robert to go driving with us, Esther. He is one of those men who have never cared to drive, but it would do him good, I am sure. This is a most comfortable carriage. It will be delightful to have the use of it, and I am sure it will do him good to get out as much as possible." "I dare say he would drive with you, mama," answered Esther. "We will try to coax him. But I don't think anybody would care very much about driving all alone." Mr. Trelawny was standing in the hall to welcome them. He had a stick in his hand, but he laid it down and drew Esther towards him and kissed her. "You will be a substitute for that now, my little maid," he said. "We are going to have some good times together, are we not?" The boys came rushing in at this moment, helter-skelter, bringing an atmosphere of life and jollity with them. "Uncle Bob!" cried Puck, rushing up and seizing his hand, almost gasping and choking in his eagerness and excitement, "we've thought of such a plan for you. We'll do lessons by ourselves for a little while, and Mr. Earle shall make you an electric eye to see with, till your own gets quite well." CHAPTER XII. A NEW CHARGE. Esther found out very soon that Mr. Trelawny's threat of making her his "little white slave" was not altogether an idle one. She had laughed when he spoke the words upon a former visit to the Crag, but she soon found that he did take up a great deal of her time and care, and very willingly was the service rendered that his helplessness made needful. It seemed to be less irksome to Mr. Trelawny to be led about by the little girl than by any other person--even Mr. Earle; and, of course, a good deal of Mr. Earle's time was now taken up by lessons. Esther found that her regular studies were very much interrupted by the demands made upon her time by Mr. Trelawny; but on the other hand, she thought she was learning as much with him, as though she had been in the schoolroom all the time. His mind seemed like a perfect storehouse of information; and as he took his leisurely walks abroad, he would teach Esther all manner of things--history, geography, physiology, geology, and all sorts of things with long names that Esther never learned. All she knew was that she was learning interesting things every day of her life, and that the world seemed to be growing a bigger and more beautiful and wonderful place than she had had the least idea of before. Mr. Trelawny was a wonderful teacher; but he expected his lessons to be understood and remembered. Again and again he would put a sudden question to his little companion, asking her about something he had told her on a previous occasion, or making sure that she understood the bearing of some new piece of information he was giving her. Esther soon conquered her first shyness, and was not a bit afraid to ask questions and to say when she did not understand. She found that Mr. Trelawny, though not quite so well used to teaching as Mr. Earle, was never impatient or vexed at being asked to explain himself. What did vex him was for anybody to make believe to understand a thing he was saying, and then show later on that it had not been understood at all. As long as the fine weather lasted there were delightful things to do. Sometimes it was a long drive, which Mrs. St. Aiden generally shared; sometimes a sail in the _Swan_ with Mr. Earle and the boys, which was always a great pleasure. Then there was a great excitement for a few days in the place, for the mackerel had come into the bay in shoals; and the _Swan_ went out with the other boats, and the little Polperrans went in her, and they all had spinners, and caught mackerel by the dozen, and fine fun they had out of it till the fish disappeared as suddenly as they had come. Mr. Trelawny was getting quite strong again, but he was still forbidden to make any attempt to use his eyes, and went about with a bandage and a shade. Perhaps it was this that made him stoop a little in his walk, as he had never done before. Certainly his hair had begun to grow white rather quickly. He had never seemed to be an old man before. Esther had never thought of him as old until just lately, although he used to speak of himself in a half-joking way as an old fellow; but he did begin to look old now, though he seemed strong and well in himself. He liked to be out of doors as much as possible, and Esther was nearly always his companion. She found this interesting in many ways. One was that she had her lessons in a new and interesting fashion from him. Another was that she got to know a great many fresh people, and heard a great many interesting things about them. Mr. Trelawny owned a good deal of land all round the Crag, and the people who lived in the cottages were his tenants. He had known them all his life, and they had known him. There had been Trelawnys at the Crag for several hundreds of years. Esther found out that Mr. Trelawny, in spite of his gruffness, was very much respected and loved. She liked very much to go with him to see the cottagers and fisher folk, and listen whilst they talked to him and told him all about themselves, their troubles, their bits of good luck, their perplexities with their sons and daughters, and all the different things which went to make up the sum of their simple lives. She grew fond of the simple people herself, who always had a smile and soft word for "the little lady." She thought it must be very nice to have Mr. Trelawny's power to help them in times of need, to advise them in their troubles, to rebuke those who wanted a sharp reproof, and to warn those who were in danger of falling into bad habits or idle ways. Often after these visits Mr. Trelawny would talk to Esther a great deal about the family they had just visited, telling her its history, what sort of people they had shown themselves in the past, and what kind of treatment they had required. Some children might have been bored by this sort of thing, but Esther was never bored. It seemed to her very interesting, and she always listened with great attention. "You must help me at Christmas time this year, little woman," he said one crisp December day, as they were walking home together. "There are a lot of old fashions we keep up at Christmas here. It's one of the relics of old times that no Trelawny has had the disposition to do away with. Some people say that the time has gone by for that sort of thing, and that it is obsolete and only a form of pauperization. Perhaps they may be right. But in my day I shall change nothing. I'm too much the old Tory for that. And you will help me this year, won't you? You ought to see how everything is done." "I should like to," answered Esther eagerly; "what is it you do?" "Give a great feed--dinner, the people call it--in the hall at the Crag, to which every tenant and his family is entitled to come, even to the babies, if the mothers choose to bring them. No questions are asked, nobody is turned away. Every tenant has the right to be there, and to eat and drink to his heart's content. Five o'clock is the hour for the feed, and after that they sing carols or old songs and make speeches. I come in and drink a glass with them, as the Trelawnys have always done; and when they can eat and drink no more, there is a great giving of presents all round. Bran pies or a Christmas-tree for the children, and clothing or nets or tools for the grown folks. We keep it up till ten o'clock, and then sing 'God save the Queen,' and send them all off to their homes. It used to be done on Christmas Eve or on Christmas Day, but now it's on Boxing Day, as we think that home is the right place for folks on Christmas Day itself. You will have to be my right hand, little woman, in all the preparations we have to make." Esther was skipping along gaily: her face was aglow. "How nice!" she exclaimed; "I shall like to help and to see them all. May I come with you, Uncle Robert, when you go to see them at dinner-time?" "Of course you may, my dear. Indeed I particularly wish you to be with me. I want to present you to the people then. It will be the best opportunity for it." Esther raised her eyes with a questioning look, but then, remembering that he could not see, she said softly,-- "I don't think I quite understand, Uncle Robert." His clasp upon her fingers tightened; he did not speak for a while, and then he said slowly,-- "No, childie, I know you don't. I am debating in my mind whether or not to tell you." Esther looked up again with the same shade of perplexity in her eyes, but she asked no further question. She knew she would be told if Mr. Trelawny thought it well. At last he spoke, but rather as though to himself and not to her. It was as if he were debating some point in his own mind. "I don't know why she should not be told. The Queen was no older when she found out that in all probability she would one day have a kingdom to rule, and her first wish and resolve were that she might grow up a good woman. I believe it would be the same with this child in a very little kingdom. I want her to grow up feeling what are the duties which will some day be hers." Esther's heart was beating rather fast by this time. She felt as though something momentous was going to be spoken, and she was not wrong. They had reached the terrace by this time, and with the shelter of the house behind them, and the sunlight falling full upon it, the place was quite warm--so warm that Mr. Trelawny seated himself under the veranda, and drew the little girl between his knees. "My dear," he said, "I suppose you are too young ever to have wondered who will live at the Crag after I am gone." Esther did not speak. It had certainly never entered her head to think about such a thing as this. "I am the last of the Trelawnys," continued the old man; "I have not a single blood relation of that name to come after me. Once I thought it would be otherwise. For three happy years I had a wife living with me here, and a little boy who had just learned to call me 'daddy.' Then they were both taken away. It was all so long ago that the folks here have almost forgotten, and some of them speak of me as a bachelor. But I have never forgotten. I never could care for anybody else. I have lived my life alone, and I have nobody to come after me--nobody to love me now." Esther suddenly raised the hand she held and carried it to her lips. "We all love you, Uncle Robert," she said softly. He stooped and kissed her, putting his arm round her and holding her close. For with all her clinging, affectionate ways, Esther had never yet spoken of loving her father's old kinsman. "Thank you for telling me so, childie. Yes, I believe you, my dear. Esther, do you know that you are the only blood relation I have in the world?" She shook her head, and he felt the motion. "But that is so, my child. Your father was my only kinsman. At one time I looked upon him as my heir. Then he too was taken. I brought his wife and child to be near me, but I do not think I at once formed any plan for the future. The estate and income are my own property. I can dispose of them as I will. But I want to find a successor who will love the old place, and who will be a merciful as well as a just monarch in the little kingdom which lies around the Crag." He paused, and Esther neither spoke nor moved. "Kingdom is perhaps an obsolete word in these leveling days, yet down here amongst these simple folk the owner of the Crag wields no small power. It is a power I should fear to put into any but just and merciful hands. Little Esther, do you think you could be a just and merciful ruler here some day? Would you try--like our good and gracious Queen--to 'be good,' to love your people, to be a wise and God-fearing ruler, if ever that power were to be entrusted to you?" She hid her face upon his shoulder. She was startled, overcome, almost frightened. He felt her shiver through all her little frame. He saw that she had understood, and that it was all a very solemn and sacred thing to her. He held her very closely as he went on speaking. "Little Esther, it is a great charge, and you are but a little girl now, but you will grow older every year; and I believe I shall be spared many years longer myself, though I do not expect ever to be the same man that I was before my accident. I have talked to your mother about this, and she is willing that you should continue to live with me, to learn the ways of the place, and how to be its mistress one day. My will is drawn up, leaving all to you. I am just waiting till I have my sight back to sign it. I think you are learning every day to love and understand the people better and better. Perhaps some day you will take my name, so as to keep the old name with the old acres; but there is time enough to think of that. You have always been used to having the charge of something or somebody. It will only be adding a new one to the list. Do you think your little shoulders are strong enough to bear the burden? Will you be my little girl now, and be good to the people when I am gone?" Her tears came at that, not loudly or noisily, but raining down very fast. "O Uncle Robert, I will do what I can. I will try to be good. But, please, don't talk as though I were going to have it all. I can't bear that. I only want to help you, and learn to do things as you do them." "That is all I ask, my dear. I hope that is all that will be laid upon you for a good many years to come. Indeed, you would never have the sole burden in your childhood and youth, of course. But I should like to feel that you were growing up in the traditions of the place, knowing what is before you, just as you would know it if you were in very truth the little niece or granddaughter that I call you." For a few days after that talk Esther went about with a very grave face, and was absorbed in a multitude of new thoughts. But children quickly grow used to an idea, and so it was here. The little girl never spoke of it to anybody but Mr. Trelawny and her mother, but she began to have an understanding of the new charge which would one day in all probability be hers; and she followed Mr. Trelawny about more assiduously than ever, waiting upon him, watching him, trying to forestall all his wants and to understand all that he was doing; whilst he, on his part, took her more and more into his confidence, both feeling that a new and very tender bond had been established between them. The coming Christmas festivities kept the boys fully engrossed. They had leave to go into Penzance with Mr. Earle to make their purchases, and they were full of mystery and excitement for days before and after. At last they could bear the burden of their great secret no longer, and pulling Esther into their room one day, a little before Christmas Day, they whispered the tremendous secret. "Esther, we've got it; we got it all by ourselves. Nobody knows--not even Mr. Earle. Would you like to see it? It is such a funny thing; but we know what it must be, and we've bought it. It was very expensive, but we don't care if only he likes it. Would you like to see it first?" "What is it?" asked Esther, infected by the air of mystery around her. The boys' room was almost dark, for the light was fading fast. Puck was quivering all over in his excitement. He seemed able to contain himself no longer, and burst suddenly into speech. "It's an electric eye--an electric eye for Mr. Trelawny. We found it at last in a bicycle shop. Come here, Esther, and look. You know people do have such accidents on bicycles. I expect they knock out their eyes and have electric ones put in. It's rather big, but Mr. Trelawny has such big holes for his. I expect it'll go in.--Pickle, open the door and we'll show her." Pickle was fumbling under the carpet for a key, which was hidden in some crevice in the boards and when that was brought to light a cupboard was unlocked, and then suddenly one of the boys did something, and immediately a bright ray of white light shone forth from a small glass ball which had somewhat the look of an eye. "There, there, look!" cried Puck, dancing up and down in his excitement; "there it is--an electric eye! Do you think he'll like it? Don't you think he'll be pleased? Just see what a light it gives! He'd be able to see with that in the dark as well as in the light." Esther was immensely impressed, though rather perplexed. The eye was certainly very wonderful, and could be turned on and off at will; but whether it would help Mr. Trelawny in his present condition she did not feel quite certain, but the boys had no manner of doubt. "Won't it be jolly when he can go about without that horrid old shade, and without a stick, or anybody to lead him? I can't think why he didn't have one before, but I suppose he couldn't find one. We hunted all over, and people only laughed when we asked. But one man told us he'd seen something like one in the bicycle shop, and sure enough there it was. Sometimes it gets empty and has to be filled up, but Mr. Earle could do that, I'm sure. He can do lots of things with electricity. I can't think why he hasn't made Uncle Bob an electric eye all this time, but I'm glad he hasn't, because we shall so like to give it him." It was hard work waiting for Christmas Eve, when the presentation was to be made; but the preparations for the great feast took up much time and attention, and drew off the boys' thoughts from the engrossing subject of the electric eye. But when the dusk of Christmas Eve had really come, and when Mr. Trelawny suddenly appeared in their midst, showering parcels about him in the twilight, like a miniature snowstorm, then the boys made a rush upon him, and the electric eye was produced and exhibited, Pickle being the principal speaker, though Puck kept up a running, breathless commentary, almost choking in his excitement and ecstatic hopes. Mr. Trelawny received the gift, and felt it all over. Then he turned his head towards Mr. Earle, and said,-- "Come, Earle; we must retire and see what we can do with this wonderful eye. You're a bit of a genius, according to these young men, and we'll see whether you understand adjusting it or not." Mr. Earle's face lighted up, and he marched off with Mr. Trelawny, whilst the servants brought in lamps, and the children, in breathless delight, opened the parcels which had been showered upon them. The fairies must surely have whispered in Mr. Trelawny's ears, for the secret desire of every heart seemed to be gratified. There were the daintiest of working and writing materials for Esther, together with just the very books she would have chosen for herself had the whole world's library been at her disposal. There were model boats for the boys, and tools, and knives, and charts, and books; and the children had little presents for one another, which had to be opened and explained and admired; and Mrs. St. Aiden had not forgotten, or been forgotten, and her couch was the center of the busy, happy group. Then suddenly the door was thrown open and in stalked Mr. Trelawny, without his shade, and walking erect, with his eyes looking just as they did of old, save that they were protected by a pair of spectacles with thick glasses. The children did not know that there had been any previous rehearsal of such a scene as this, and that Mr. Trelawny had been permitted to try to use his eyes by degrees for the last week or more. Even Esther did not know this--it was to be kept for a Christmas surprise; and now, with the glint of the light upon the spectacles, it was small wonder that Puck broke into a shout of triumph, and yelled at the top of his voice,-- "The electric eye; the electric eye! Three cheers for Uncle Bob and Mr. Earle and the electric eye!" Esther had run forward and was grasping the hand of her kind old friend. Her eyes were brimming over with tears of joy. "O Uncle Robert, can you really see?" "Yes, my little maid; I can see everything clearly again, thank God! Let me have a good look at the face of my little woman, for once I thought I should never see it again." It was hard to say who was happiest that night--Mr. Trelawny with his newly-restored gift, which, if somewhat impaired, would still be strong and serviceable again; or the boys, in their conviction that they had found the means whereby this result had been achieved; or Mrs. St. Aiden, who had found a safe shelter for herself and her child under the care of this kind and wealthy kinsman; or little Esther, who somehow felt that, though another charge had been given her, yet the burden which had rested rather heavily upon her since her father's death had somehow been wonderfully lightened. There was Uncle Robert now to care for them and think for them, and she was so glad it should be so. And she somehow felt almost certain that the Crag would always be their home now. She was more sure of it upon the night of the feast, when Mr. Trelawny took her by the hand and led her into the big hall that was filled from end to end with people she knew, crowded together at the long tables. She did not understand all the speech that Mr. Trelawny made, for he spoke it in the broad dialect of the country and fisher folk. But they understood, and they shouted and cheered; and then Mr. Trelawny put his hand upon her head, and said,-- "You must make them a little bow, my dear, and I will make a speech for you. Don't you understand that they are paying homage to you? They are accepting you as my little grand-daughter, who will one day rule here in my stead, and they are promising to love and be loyal to you, as I hope you will be loyal and true to them." And then Mr. Trelawny stooped and lifted her up in his arms and kissed her before them all; and Esther, as she ran away, overcome with all the honor and notice she was receiving, felt as though such a wonderful Christmas-tide could never come again. THE END. A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONS For Young People BY POPULAR WRITERS, 97-99-101 Reade Street, New York. =Bonnie Prince Charlie:= A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a Jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches Paris, and serves with the French army at Dettingen. He kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of Prince Charlie, but finally settles happily in Scotland. "Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'Quentin Durward.' The lad's journey across France, and his hairbreadth escapes, make up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. For freshness of treatment and variety of incident Mr. Henty has surpassed himself."--_Spectator._ =With Clive in India=; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A. HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. At its commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and of the greater part of Southern India. The author has given a full and accurate account of the events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interest to the volume. "He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. Young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume."--_Scotsman._ =The Lion of the North=: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars of Religion. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by JOHN SCH�NBERG. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the Thirty Years' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in Germany. The army of the chivalrous king of Sweden was largely composed of Scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story. "The tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited."--_Times._ =The Dragon and the Raven=; or, The Days of King Alfred. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle between Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the ravages of the sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his home, takes to the sea and resists the Danes on their own element, and being pursued by them up the Seine, is present at the long and desperate siege of Paris. "Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish reader."--_Athenæum._ =The Young Carthaginian:= A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Boys reading the history of the Punic Wars have seldom a keen appreciation of the merits of the contest. That it was at first a struggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of Carthage, that Hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he defeated the Romans at Trebia, Lake Trasimenus, and Cannæ, and all but took Rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their knowledge. To let them know more about this momentous struggle for the empire of the world Mr. Henty has written this story, which not only gives in graphic style a brilliant description of a most interesting period of history, but is a tale of exciting adventure sure to secure the interest of the reader. "Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."--_Saturday Review._ =In Freedom's Cause:= A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In this story the author relates the stirring tale of the Scottish War of Independence. The extraordinary valor and personal prowess of Wallace and Bruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry, and indeed at one time Wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. The researches of modern historians have shown, however, that he was a living, breathing man--and a valiant champion. The hero of the tale fought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. "It is written in the author's best style. Full of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one side."--_The Schoolmaster._ =With Lee in Virginia:= A Story of the American Civil War. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving his sympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less courage and enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most exciting events of the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and readiness and, in two cases, the devotion of a black servant and of a runaway slave whom he had assisted, bring him safely through all difficulties. "One of the best stories for lads which Mr. Henty has yet written. The picture is full of life and color, and the stirring and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story."--_Standard._ =By England's Aid=; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE, and Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting Veres." After many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the Armada, and escapes only to fall into the hands of the Corsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain under the protection of a wealthy merchant, and regains his native country after the capture of Cadiz. "It is an admirable book for youngsters. It overflows with stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the era and of the scene are finely reproduced. The illustrations add to its attractiveness."--_Boston Gazette._ =By Right of Conquest=; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY, and Two Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.50. The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under the magnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightly ranked among the most romantic and daring exploits in history. With this as the groundwork of his story Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an English youth, Roger Hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship Swan, which had sailed from a Devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the Spaniards in the New World. He is beset by many perils among the natives, but is saved by his own judgment and strength, and by the devotion of an Aztec princess. At last by a ruse he obtains the protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of Mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming Aztec bride. "'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that Mr. Henty has yet published."--_Academy._ =In the Reign of Terror:= The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by J. SCH�NBERG. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau of a French marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the family to Paris at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. After hairbreadth escapes they reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned to death in the coffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage of their boy protector. "Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict.... The story is one of Mr. Henty's best."--_Saturday Review._ =With Wolfe in Canada=; or, The Winning of a Continent. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In the present volume Mr. Henty gives an account of the struggle between Britain and France for supremacy in the North American continent. On the issue of this war depended not only the destinies of North America, but to a large extent those of the mother countries themselves. The fall of Quebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race should predominate in the New World; that Britain, and not France, should take the lead among the nations of Europe; and that English and American commerce, the English language, and English literature, should spread right round the globe. "It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and field."--_Illustrated London News._ =True to the Old Flag:= A Tale of the American War of Independence. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who took part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which American and British soldiers have been engaged did they behave with greater courage and good conduct. The historical portion of the book being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins on the shores of Lake Huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven with the general narrative and carried through the book. "Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against American emancipation. The son of an American loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very Huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of Hawkeye and Chingachgook."--_The Times._ =The Lion of St. Mark:= A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and bloodshed. He contributes largely to the victories of the Venetians at Porto d'Anzo and Chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the daughter of one of the chief men of Venice. "Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark.' Mr. Henty has never produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious."--_Saturday Review._ =A Final Reckoning:= A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by W. B. WOLLEN. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to Australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. A few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. "Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully constructed, or a better written story than this."--_Spectator._ =Under Drake's Flag:= A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. "A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough, one would think, to turn his hair gray."--_Harper's Monthly Magazine._ =By Sheer Pluck:= A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. His hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but escapes, and accompanies the English expedition on their march to Coomassie. "Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'By Sheer Pluck' will be eagerly read."--_Athenæum._ =By Pike and Dyke:= A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by MAYNARD BROWN, and 4 Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. In this story Mr. Henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of an English boy in the household of the ablest man of his age--William the Silent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea-captain, enters the service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he passes through the great sieges of the time. He ultimately settles down as Sir Edward Martin. "Boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with the book, while the rest who only care for adventure will be students in spite of themselves."--_St. James' Gazette._ =St. George for England:= A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction of the Spanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie rising; these are treated by the author in "St. George for England." The hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a London apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend of the Black Prince. "Mr. Henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labors of Sir Walter Scott in the land of fiction."--_The Standard._ =Captain's Kidd's Gold:= The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor Boy. By JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea of buried treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy Portuguese and Spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes--sinister-looking fellows who once on a time haunted the Spanish Main, sneaking out from some hidden creek in their long, low schooner, of picaroonish rake and sheer, to attack an unsuspecting trading craft. There were many famous sea rovers in their day, but none more celebrated than Capt. Kidd. Perhaps the most fascinating tale of all is Mr. Fitts' true story of an adventurous American boy, who receives from his dying father an ancient bit of vellum, which the latter obtained in a curious way. The document bears obscure directions purporting to locate a certain island in the Bahama group, and a considerable treasure buried there by two of Kidd's crew. The hero of this book, Paul Jones Garry, is an ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water New England ancestry, and his efforts to reach the island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press. =Captain Bayley's Heir:= A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a considerable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves England for America. He works his passage before the mast, joins a small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with Indians to the Californian gold diggings, and is successful both as digger and trader. "Mr. Henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment; and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of John Holl, the Westminster dustman, Dickens himself could hardly have excelled."--_Christian Leader._ =For Name and Fame=; or, Through Afghan Passes. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the Malays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment proceeding to join the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the force under General Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner, carried to Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and takes part in the final defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan. "The best feature of the book--apart from the interest of its scenes of adventure--is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the Afghan people."--_Daily News._ =Captured by Apes:= The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal Trainer. By HARRY PRENTICE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. The scene of this tale is laid on an island in the Malay Archipelago. Philip Garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of New York, sets sail for Eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living curiosities. The vessel is wrecked off the coast of Borneo and young Garland, the sole survivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. The lad discovers that the ruling spirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic and vicious baboon, whom he identifies as Goliah, an animal at one time in his possession and with whose instruction he had been especially diligent. The brute recognizes him, and with a kind of malignant satisfaction puts his former master through the same course of training he had himself experienced with a faithfulness of detail which shows how astonishing is monkey recollection. Very novel indeed is the way by which the young man escapes death. Mr. Prentice has certainly worked a new vein on juvenile fiction, and the ability with which he handles a difficult subject stamps him as a writer of undoubted skill. =The Bravest of the Brave=; or, With Peterborough in Spain. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. There are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so completely fallen into oblivion as those of the Earl of Peterborough. This is largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the glory and successes of Marlborough. His career as general extended over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare which has never been surpassed. "Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth. Lads will read 'The Bravest of the Brave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."--_Daily Telegraph._ =The Cat of Bubastes=: A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. A story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the customs of the Egyptian people. Amuba, a prince of the Rebu nation, is carried with his charioteer Jethro into slavery. They become inmates of the house of Ameres, the Egyptian high-priest, and are happy in his service until the priest's son accidentally kills the sacred cat of Bubastes. In an outburst of popular fury Ameres is killed, and it rests with Jethro and Amuba to secure the escape of the high-priest's son and daughter. "The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is very skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. It is admirably illustrated."--_Saturday Review._ =With Washington at Monmouth:= A Story of Three Philadelphia Boys. By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Three Philadelphia boys, Seth Graydon "whose mother conducted a boarding-house which was patronized by the British officers;" Enoch Ball, "son of that Mrs. Ball whose dancing school was situated on Letitia Street," and little Jacob, son of "Chris, the Baker," serve as the principal characters. The story is laid during the winter when Lord Howe held possession of the city, and the lads aid the cause by assisting the American spies who make regular and frequent visits from Valley Forge. One reads here of home life in the captive city when bread was scarce among the people of the lower classes, and a reckless prodigality shown by the British officers, who passed the winter in feasting and merry-making while the members of the patriot army but a few miles away were suffering from both cold and hunger. The story abounds with pictures of Colonial life skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of Washington's soldiers which are given show that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study. =For the Temple:= A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by S. J. SOLOMON. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Mr. Henty here weaves into the record of Josephus an admirable and attractive story. The troubles in the district of Tiberias, the march of the legions, the sieges of Jotapata, of Gamala, and of Jerusalem, form the impressive and carefully studied historic setting to the figure of the lad who passes from the vineyard to the service of Josephus, becomes the leader of a guerrilla band of patriots, fights bravely for the Temple, and after a brief term of slavery at Alexandria, returns to his Galilean home with the favor of Titus. "Mr. Henty's graphic prose pictures of the hopeless Jewish resistance to Roman sway add another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world."--_Graphic._ =Facing Death=; or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit. A Tale of the Coal Mines. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. "Facing Death" is a story with a purpose. It is intended to show that a lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his determination, is sure to succeed. The hero of the story is a typical British boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though "shamefaced" to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of duty. "The tale is well written and well illustrated, and there is much reality in the characters. If any father, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend."--_Standard._ =Tom Temple's Career.= By HORATIO ALGER. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Tom Temple, a bright, self-reliant lad, by the death of his father becomes a boarder at the home of Nathan Middleton, a penurious insurance agent. Though well paid for keeping the boy, Nathan and his wife endeavor to bring Master Tom in line with their parsimonious habits. The lad ingeniously evades their efforts and revolutionizes the household. As Tom is heir to $40,000, he is regarded as a person of some importance until by an unfortunate combination of circumstances his fortune shrinks to a few hundreds. He leaves Plympton village to seek work in New York, whence he undertakes an important mission to California, around which center the most exciting incidents of his young career. Some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been reached. The tale is written in Mr. Alger's most fascinating style, and is bound to please the very large class of boys who regard this popular author as a prime favorite. =Maori and Settler:= A Story of the New Zealand War. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The Renshaws emigrate to New Zealand during the period of the war with the natives. Wilfrid, a strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the mainstay of the household. He has for his friend Mr. Atherton, a botanist and naturalist of herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humor. In the adventures among the Maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasant New Zealand valleys. "Brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and vivid pictures of colonial life."--_Schoolmaster._ =Julian Mortimer:= A Brave Boy's Struggle for Home and Fortune. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Here is a story that will warm every boy's heart. There is mystery enough to keep any lad's imagination wound up to the highest pitch. The scene of the story lies west of the Mississippi River, in the days when emigrants made their perilous way across the great plains to the land of gold. One of the startling features of the book is the attack upon the wagon train by a large party of Indians. Our hero is a lad of uncommon nerve and pluck, a brave young American in every sense of the word. He enlists and holds the reader's sympathy from the outset. Surrounded by an unknown and constant peril, and assisted by the unswerving fidelity of a stalwart trapper, a real rough diamond, our hero achieves the most happy results. Harry Castlemon has written many entertaining stories for boys, and it would seem almost superfluous to say anything in his praise, for the youth of America regard him as a favorite author. "=Carrots=:" Just a Little Boy. By MRS. MOLESWORTH. With Illustrations by WALTER CRANE. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. "One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very fond of."--_Examiner._ "A genuine children's book; we've seen 'em seize it, and read it greedily. Children are first-rate critics, and thoroughly appreciate Walter Crane's illustrations."--_Punch._ =Mopsa the Fairy.= By JEAN INGELOW. With Eight page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. "Mrs. Ingelow is, to our mind, the most charming of all living writers for children, and 'Mopsa' alone ought to give her a kind of pre-emptive right to the love and gratitude of our young folks. It requires genius to conceive a purely imaginary work which must of necessity deal with the supernatural, without running into a mere riot of fantastic absurdity; but genius Miss Ingelow has and the story of 'Jack' is as careless and joyous, but as delicate, as a picture of childhood."--_Eclectic._ =A Jaunt Through Java:= The Story of a Journey to the Sacred Mountain. By EDWARD S. ELLIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. The central interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of two cousins, Hermon and Eustace Hadley, on their trip across the island of Java, from Samarang to the Sacred Mountain. In a land where the Royal Bengal tiger runs at large; where the rhinoceros and other fierce beasts are to be met with at unexpected moments; it is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a lively experience. Hermon not only distinguishes himself by killing a full-grown tiger at short range, but meets with the most startling adventure of the journey. There is much in this narrative to instruct as well as entertain the reader, and so deftly has Mr. Ellis used his material that there is not a dull page in the book. The two heroes are brave, manly young fellows, bubbling over with boyish independence. They cope with the many difficulties that arise during the trip in a fearless way that is bound to win the admiration of every lad who is so fortunate as to read their adventures. =Wrecked on Spider Island=; or, How Ned Rogers Found the Treasure. By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. A "down-east" plucky lad who ships as cabin boy, not from love of adventure, but because it is the only course remaining by which he can gain a livelihood. While in his bunk, seasick, Ned Rogers hears the captain and mate discussing their plans for the willful wreck of the brig in order to gain the insurance. Once it is known he is in possession of the secret the captain maroons him on Spider Island, explaining to the crew that the boy is afflicted with leprosy. While thus involuntarily playing the part of a Crusoe, Ned discovers a wreck submerged in the sand, and overhauling the timbers for the purpose of gathering material with which to build a hut finds a considerable amount of treasure. Raising the wreck; a voyage to Havana under sail; shipping there a crew and running for Savannah; the attempt of the crew to seize the little craft after learning of the treasure on board, and, as a matter of course, the successful ending of the journey, all serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most captious boy could desire. =Geoff and Jim:= A Story of School Life. By ISMAY THORN. Illustrated by A. G. WALKER. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. "This is a prettily told story of the life spent by two motherless bairns at a small preparatory school. Both Geoff and Jim are very lovable characters, only Jim is the more so; and the scrapes he gets into and the trials he endures will, no doubt, interest a large circle of young readers."--_Church Times._ "This is a capital children's story, the characters well portrayed, and the book tastefully bound and well illustrated."--_Schoolmaster._ "The story can be heartily recommended as a present for boys."--_Standard._ =The Castaways=; or, On the Florida Reefs. By JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. This tale smacks of the salt sea. It is just the kind of story that the majority of boys yearn for. From the moment that the Sea Queen dispenses with the services of the tug in lower New York bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off the coast of Florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to the leeward, and feel her rise to the snow-capped waves which her sharp bow cuts into twin streaks of foam. Off Marquesas Keys she floats in a dead calm. Ben Clark, the hero of the story, and Jake, the cook, spy a turtle asleep upon the glassy surface of the water. They determine to capture him, and take a boat for that purpose, and just as they succeed in catching him a thick fog cuts them off from the vessel, and then their troubles begin. They take refuge on board a drifting hulk, a storm arises and they are cast ashore upon a low sandy key. Their adventures from this point cannot fail to charm the reader. As a writer for young people Mr. Otis is a prime favorite. His style is captivating, and never for a moment does he allow the interest to flag. In "The Castaways" he is at his best. =Tom Thatcher's Fortune.= By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. Like all of Mr. Alger's heroes, Tom Thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. He supports his mother and sister on meager wages earned as a shoe-pegger in John Simpson's factory. The story begins with Tom's discharge from the factory, because Mr. Simpson felt annoyed with the lad for interrogating him too closely about his missing father. A few days afterward Tom learns that which induces him to start overland for California with the view of probing the family mystery. He meets with many adventures. Ultimately he returns to his native village, bringing consternation to the soul of John Simpson, who only escapes the consequences of his villainy by making full restitution to the man whose friendship he had betrayed. The story is told in that entertaining way which has made Mr. Alger's name a household word in so many homes. =Birdie=: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L. CHILDE-PEMBERTON. Illustrated by H. W. RAINEY. 12mo, cloth, price 75 cents. "The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it that makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of children at play which charmed his earlier years."--_New York Express._ =Popular Fairy Tales.= By the BROTHERS GRIMM. Profusely Illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. "From first to last, almost without exception, these stories are delightful."--_Athenæum._ 
34175	----	file was produced from images produced by Core Historical Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University) Transcriber's Notes This plain text version of the book has been prepared using the Latin-1 character set. Italic typeface is represented by the use of _underscores_. Small capital typeface is represented using ALL CAPS. The oe ligature is indicated by [oe] and [OE]. Inconsistent spellings, hyphenation, formatting etc. are retained as in the original, except where typographical errors have been corrected: these are listed at the end of the book. * * * * * [Illustration: frontispiece] DOMESTIC ANIMALS. HISTORY AND DESCRIPTION OF THE HORSE, MULE, CATTLE, SHEEP, SWINE, POULTRY, AND FARM DOGS. WITH DIRECTIONS FOR THEIR MANAGEMENT, BREEDING, CROSSING, REARING, FEEDING, AND PREPARATION FOR A PROFITABLE MARKET ALSO, THEIR DISEASES, AND REMEDIES. TOGETHER WITH FULL DIRECTIONS FOR THE MANAGEMENT OF THE DAIRY. BY R. L. ALLEN, AUTHOR OF "COMPEND OF AMERICAN AGRICULTURE," ETC. NEW-YORK: ORANGE JUDD, 41 PARK ROW. AGRICULTURAL BOOK PUBLISHER. 1865. Entered according to an Act of Congress in the year 1847 By RICHARD L. ALLEN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. INTRODUCTION. The object of the following work, on the History, Breeding, Management, Diseases, &c., of Domestic Animals, is to afford the Stock-breeder and Grazier a connected view of the entire subject in which he has so deep an interest. The writer has endeavored to compress within the limited space assumed as necessary to secure a general circulation and perusal, such principles and practice, and give to each that relative prominence, which it becomes the practical man to observe, to realize the greatest amount of value for the labor and capital devoted to his pursuits. Their history is essential, as it shows their introduction into the United States, their progress during the various stages of their improvement, and the comparative value of the improved and ordinary breeds. A knowledge of the best mode of breeding and management is of still higher importance. The first will enable the breeder to preserve the high character of the animals in his hands, or perhaps still farther to advance them; while proper management and feeding will prevent that deterioration and loss from disease, which frequently subtract so much from his profits. A larger space has been purposely devoted to the last topics, in preference to the subject of diseases, as prevention is not only less troublesome than cure, but much more economical. Feeding and management, after breeding, are really the important objects in view to the Stock-breeder and Grazier, for if these be judiciously attended to, disease among the herds will rarely be known. The subject of animal diseases is complicated and little understood; and to be properly comprehended, requires years close, intelligent study, under every advantage for obtaining the necessary information. Nearly every disorder assumes various shades of difference, and to remove it effectually a corresponding change of treatment is required. How absurd then the idea, that a compilation of formal remedies, administered by an unskilful or inexperienced manager, will be of material service in rescuing his herds or flocks from the ravages of disease. All that can consistently be done, is to give a few simple remedies for the most common and well-known ailments, and leave to nature or a professional farrier, such as are more complex or unusual. This work (with many subsequent and important additions) constitutes a small part of the "Compend of American Agriculture," the favorable reception of which, though but recently given to the public, has induced the writer to offer this important division of the subject in its present detached form. New York, November, 1847 INDEX. PAGE Animals, domestic, reared in the U. States 9 their number and value 9 their improvement 10 adaptation to various objects 10 general form and characteristics 13 the lungs 14 respiration 14 effects of 17 perspiration 18 food which supplies respiration 18 circumstances which augment respiration 19 food 21 purposes fulfilled by food 22 nutritive qualities for various animals 23 profit of feeding 23 See CATTLE, SHEEP, &c. Ass, the 181 varieties 181 characteristics 182 breeding in the U. States 182 as a beast of burden 183 Breeding--principles of 11 See CATTLE, SHEEP, &c. Cattle--neat or horned 26 various domestic breeds 26 native cattle 27 Devons 29 short horns 30 Herefords 35 Ayrshire 38 management of calves 39 breeding 41 breaking steers 42 management of oxen 42 fattening and stall-feeding 45 Diseases 41, 50 hoven 50 choking 52 inflammation of stomach 52 mange or scab 52 horn-ail--jaundice 53 mad-itch--bloody murrain 54 hoof-ail 55 loss of cud--scours or diarrh[oe]a--warbles or grubs--wounds--puerperal or milk-fever 56 caked bags--garget--sore teats--warts 57 Cows for dairy 60 management of 61 milking 61 See DAIRY. Comparative value of oxen and horses 190 Churns 69 Dairy, the 60 Dairy--selection and management of cows 60, 61 milking 61 properties of milk 62 variations in 63 cream--clouted ditto 65 Making butter from sour, sweet, and clouted cream 66, 67 sourness of cream 68 quickness in churning 68 over-churning 69 temperature of milk and cream 69 advantages of churn'g the whole 69 cleanliness in churning 70 premium butter, how made 70 Orange county do. do. 71 Making cheese, how effected 72 creamed and uncreamed 73 buttermilk cheese 73 whey do. 74 vegetable substances added 74 preparation of rennet 75 different qualities of cheese 77 warming the milk 77 quality of rennet 78 quantity of rennet 78 treatment of curd 79 separation of whey 80 cheese, salting 81 addition of cream 81 size of cheese 81 mode of curing 82 ammoniacal cheese 82 inoculating do. 82 premium cheese, how made 83 Ducks--see POULTRY. Farm dogs 207-214 Feeding defined 21 See CATTLE, SHEEP, &c. Food, comparative nutritive qualities of 22 how given, purposes fulfilled by it 22 changes in 24 See ANIMALS, PRODUCTS, &c. Geese--see POULTRY. Guinea-hen--see ditto. Hens--see POULTRY. Hinny--see ASS. Horse--the Arabian and Barb 138 the English 139 American 141 Arabians in America 139, 140 Ranger, the Barb--Bussorah--Narraganset pacers--Messenger, imported 140 Morgan horses 142 Canadian and Spanish 143 Conestoga 143 Norman 144 Cart, Cleveland bay, Belfounder 145 Eclipse, American 141 points of 146 habits 147 breeding 148 management of colts 149 breaking 150 longevity, feeding 151 Diseases 154 glanders 154 lampas, heaves, &c. 155 catarrh or distemper, spasmodic colic 156 flatulent colic 158 inflammation of bowels 159 physicking 162 worms 164 bots 164 wind-galls 165 the fetlock 166 cutting 166 sprain of the coffin-joint--ringbone 167 enlargement of the hock 168 curb 168 bone-spavin--swelled legs 170 grease 171 setons 173 founder--poison from weeds 174 inflammation of the eyes 175 stings of hornets, &c. 175 sprain 175 bruises--fistula 176 wounds--galls 176 shoeing, contraction of the foot 176 corns 177 over-reach, forging or clicking 178 the bearing-rein 178 the bit 179 stables 180 comparative labor with oxen 190 Mule, the--breeding in the U. S. 183 rearing and management 184 advantages over horse labor 185 valuable qualities 185 enduringness of 186 in California 188 economy of mule-labor 189 Poultry--their value 214 Hens--constituent of eggs 214 food 215 general management 216 the poultry-house 218 varieties 220, 221 diseases 222 Turkey, the 223 breeding and management 223 Peacock, the 224 Goose, the--varieties--breeding 225 feeding and food 225 Ducks--feeding--varieties 226 breeding and rearing 227 Sheep, the 84 uses of--importance of 85 varieties of wild--domesticated 87 native 89 Merino, the, history of 90 exportation from Spain 92 importation into the U. States 93 varieties 94 Saxon, the 96 Rambouillet, the 99 history of Merino in U. States 101 improvements of 102 peculiarities of 103 breeding 104 localities for rearing 106 South-Down, the, history of 106 Cheviot, the 109 Long-wools, the 110 improvement of the Bakewell 110 improvement of Cotswold and Lincolnshire 112 peculiarities of the Long-wools 113 importation into the U. States 113 breeding sheep 113 Winter management 116 sheep-barns and sheds 116 racks, mangers, and troughs 117 food 118 management of ewes, yeaning 119 management of lambs 119 castrating and docking 120 tagging or clatting 121 Summer management and food 121 washing 122 shearing 124 smearing and salving 125 weaning 126 drafting 126 stall feeding--management on the prairies 127 Diseases 128 diarrh[oe]a or scours 129 looseness in lambs, dysentery 130 hoven, braxy 130 costiveness, stretches, poison, inflammation of lungs, rot 131 foot-rot 132 flies, maggots, gad-fly 133 swollen mouth, foul noses, weakness, scab 134 ticks, pelt-rot, staggers or sturdy 135 abortion, garget, bleeding 136 wounds 137 to protect from wolves and foxes 138 Shepherd's dog 209 Swine 192 various breeds 194 breeding and rearing 198 rearing and fattening, large weights 199 treatment of food 201 products of the carcass 202 lard oil, how made 203 slearine and oleine 203 curing pork and hams 203 Diseases 204 coughs and inflammation of the lungs, costiveness, itch, kidney-worm 205 blind staggers 206 Wild Boar 193 DOMESTIC ANIMALS. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS--GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF BREEDING, NUTRITION, MANAGEMENT, &c. The principal domestic animals reared for economical purposes in the United States, are Horned or neat cattle, the Horse, the Mule, Sheep, and Swine. A few Asses are bred, but for no other object than to keep up the supply of jacks for propagating mules. We have also goats, rabbits, and the house domestics, the dog and cat; the two former, only in very limited numbers, but both the latter much beyond our legitimate wants. There have been a few specimens of the Alpaca imported, and an arrangement is now in progress for the introduction of a flock of several hundred, which, if distributed among intelligent and wealthy agriculturists, as proposed, will test their value for increasing our agricultural resources. We shall confine ourselves to some general considerations, connected with the first-mentioned and most important of our domestic animals. Their number as shown by the agricultural statistics collected in 1839, by order of our General Government, was 15,000,000 neat cattle; 4,335,000 horses and mules, (the number of each not being specified;) 19,311,000 sheep; and 26,300,000 swine. There is much reason to question the entire accuracy of these returns, yet there is doubtless an approximation to the truth. Sheep have greatly increased since that period, and would probably number, the present year, (1848,) not less than 30,000,000; and if our own manufactures continue to thrive, and we should moreover become wool exporters, of which there is now a reasonable prospect, an accurate return for 1850, will undoubtedly give us not less than 33,000,000 for the entire Union. There has been a great increase in the value of the other animals enumerated, but not in a ratio corresponding with that of sheep. This is not only manifest in their augmented numbers, but in the gradual and steady improvement of the species. It may be safely predicted, that this improvement will not only be sustained, but largely increased; for there are some intelligent and spirited breeders to be found in every section of the country, whose liberal exertions and successful examples are doing much for this object. Wherever intelligence and sound judgment are to be found, it will be impossible long to resist the effects of a comparison between animals, which, on an equal quantity of the same food, with the same attention and in the same time, will return 50, 20, or even 10 per cent. more in their intrinsic value or marketable product, than the ordinary class. This improvement has been, relatively, most conspicuous in the Western and Southern states; not that the present average of excellence in their animals surpasses, or even reaches that of the North and East; but the latter have long been pursuing this object, with more or less energy, and they have for many years had large numbers of excellent specimens of each variety; while with few exceptions, if we exclude the blood-horse or racing nag, the former have, till recently, paid comparatively little attention to the improvement of their domestic animals. The spirit for improvement through extensive sections, is now awakened, and the older settled portions of the country may hereafter expect competitors, whose success will be fully commensurate with their own. Before going into the management of the different varieties, we will give some general principles and remarks applicable to the treatment of all. _The purpose for which animals are required_, should be first determined, before selecting such as may be necessary either for breeding or use. Throughout the Northeastern states, cows for the dairy, oxen for the yoke, and both for the butcher, are wanted. In much of the West and South, beef alone is the principal object; while the dairy is neglected, and the work of the ox is seldom relied on, except for occasional drudgery. Sheep may be wanted almost exclusively for the fleece, or for the fleece and heavy mutton, or in the neighborhood of markets, for large early lambs. The pastures and winter food, climate, and other conditions, present additional circumstances, which should be well considered before determining on the particular breed, either of cattle or sheep, that will best promote the interest of the farmer. The kind of work for which the horse may be wanted, whether as a roadster, for the saddle, as a heavy team horse, or the horse of all work, must be first decided, before selecting the form or character of the animal. The range of pig excellence is more circumscribed, as it is only necessary to breed such as will yield the greatest amount of valuable carcass, within the shortest time, and with the least expense. PRINCIPLES OF BREEDING. All breeding is founded on the principle, that _like begets like_. This is, however, liable to some exceptions, and is much more generally true when _breeding down_ than when _breeding up_. If two animals (which can never be exactly similar in all respects) are requisite to the perpetuation of the species, it necessarily results, that the progeny must differ in a more or less degree from each parent. With wild animals, and such of the domestic as are allowed to propagate without the interference of art, and whose habits, treatment, and food are nearly similar to their natural condition, the change through successive generations is scarcely perceptible. It is only when we attempt to improve their good qualities, that it is essential carefully to determine, and rigidly to apply, what are adopted as the present scientific principles of breeding. We cannot believe that we have penetrated beyond the mere threshold of this art. Unless, then, we launch into experiments, which are necessarily attended with uncertainty, our duty will be, to take for our guide the most successful practice of modern times, until further discoveries enable us to modify or add to such as are already known and adopted. We may assume, then, as the present rules for this art, 1st. That the animals selected for breed, should unite in themselves all the good qualities we wish to perpetuate in the offspring. 2d. These qualities, technically called _points_, should be inbred in the animals as far as practicable, by a long line of descent from parents similarly constituted. The necessity for this rule is evident from the fact, that in mixing different species, and especially mongrels, with a long-established breed, the latter will most strongly stamp the issue with its own peculiarities. This is forcibly illustrated in the case of the Devon cattle, an ancient race, whose color, form, and characteristics are strikingly perpetuated, sometimes to the sixth or even a later generation. So far is this principle carried by many experienced breeders, that they will use an animal of indifferent external appearance, but of approved descent, (_blood_,) in preference to a decidedly superior one, whose pedigree is imperfect. 3d. All the conditions of soil, situation, climate, treatment, and food, should be favorable to the object sought. 4th. As a general rule, the female should be relatively larger than the male. This gives ample room for the perfect development of the f[oe]tus, easy parturition, and a large supply of milk for the offspring, at a period in its existence, when food has a greater influence in perfecting character and form, than at any subsequent time. 5th. Exceptions to this rule may be made, when greater size is required than can be obtained from the female, and especially when more vigor and hardiness of constitution are desirable. For this purpose, strong masculine development in the sire is proper, and if otherwise unattainable, something of coarseness may be admitted, as this may be afterwards corrected, and nothing will atone for want of constitution and strength. 6th. Pairing should be with a strict reference to correcting the imperfections of one animal, by a corresponding excellence in the other. 7th. _Breeding in-and-in_, or propagating from animals nearly allied, may be tolerated under certain circumstances, though seldom; and only in extreme cases between those of the same generation, as brother and sister. When the animal possesses much stamina and peculiar merit, which it is desired to perpetuate in the breed, it may be done either in the ascending or descending line, as in breeding the son to the parent, or the parent to his own progeny. This has been practised with decided advantage, and in some cases has even been continued successively, as low as the sixth generation. 8th. It is always better to avoid close relationship, by the selection of equally meritorious stock-getters of the same breed, from other sources. 9th. Wholesome, nutritious food, at all times sufficient to keep the animals steadily advancing, should be provided, but they must never be allowed to get fat. Of the two evils, starving is preferable to surfeit. Careful treatment, and the absence of disease, must be always fully considered. 10th. Animals should never be allowed to breed either too early or too late in life. These periods cannot be arbitrarily laid down, but must depend on their time of maturity, the longevity of the breed, and the stamina of the individual. 11th. No violent cross, or mixing of distinct breeds, should ever be admitted for the purposes of perpetuation, as of cattle of diverse sizes; horses of unlike characters; the Merino and the long-wools, or even the long, or short, and the middle-wools. For carcass and constitution, these crosses are unexceptionable; and it is a practice very common in this country, and judicious enough where the whole produce is early destined for the shambles. But when the progeny are designed for breeders, the practice should be branded with unqualified reprehension. GENERAL FORM AND CHARACTERISTICS. Within certain limits, these may be reduced to a common standard. All animals should have a good head, well set up; a clean fine muzzle, and a blight, clear and full, yet perfectly placid eye. With the exception of the dog and cat, whose original nature is ferocity, and whose whole life, unless diverted from their natural instincts, is plunder and prey; and the jockey racehorse, which is required to take the purse, at any hazard of life or limb to the groom; a mild, quiet eye is indispensable to the profitable use of the domestic brute. The neck should be well formed, not too long, tapering to its junction with the head, and gradually enlarging to a firm, well-expanded attachment to the back, shoulders, and breast. The back or chine should be short, straight, and broad; the ribs springing out from the backbone nearly at right angles, giving a rounded appearance to the carcass, and reaching well behind to a close proximity to the hip; tail well set on, and full at its junction with the body, yet gradually tapering to fineness; thighs, fore-arms, and crops well developed; projecting breast or brisket; the fore-legs straight, and hind ones properly bent, strong and full where attached to the carcass, but small and tapering below; good and sound joints; dense, strong bones, but not large; plenty of fine muscle in the right places; and hair or wool, fine and soft. The chest in all animals should be full, for it will be invariably found, that only such will do the most work, or fatten easiest on the least food. The Lungs. From the last-mentioned principle, founded on long experience and observation, Cline inferred, and he has laid it down as an incontrovertible position, that the lungs should always be large; and Youatt expresses the same opinion. This is undoubtedly correct as to working beasts, the horse and the ox, which require full and free respiration, to enable them to sustain great muscular efforts. But later physiologists have assumed, perhaps from closer and more accurate observations, that the fattening propensity is in the ratio of the smallness of the lungs. Earl Spencer has observed, that this is fully shown in the pig, the sheep, the ox, and the horse, whose aptitude to fatten and smallness of lungs, are in the order enumerated. This position is further illustrated by the different breeds of the same classes of animals. The Leicester sheep have smaller lungs than the South Down; and it has been found, that a number of the former, on a given quantity of food, and in the same time, reached 28 lbs. a quarter, while the South Downs with a greater consumption of food, attained in the same period, only 18 lbs. The Chinese pigs have much smaller lungs than the Irish, and the former will fatten to a given weight, on a much less quantity of food than the latter. (_Playfair._) The principle would seem to be corroborated by the fact, that animals generally fatten faster in proportion to the quantity of food they consume, as they advance towards a certain stage of maturity; during all which time, the secretion of internal fat is gradually compressing the size, by reducing the room for the action of the lungs. Hence, the advantage of carrying the fattening beast to an advanced point, by which not only the quality of carcass is improved, but the quantity is relatively greater for the amount of food consumed. These views are intimately connected, and fully correspond, with the principles of RESPIRATION IN ANIMALS. From careful experiments, it has been found that all animals daily consume a much larger quantity of food than the aggregate of what may have been retained in the system, added to what has been expelled in the f[oe]ces and urine, and what has escaped by perspiration. Boussingault, who combines the characteristics of an ingenious chemist, a vigilant observer, and a practical agriculturist, made an experiment with a "milch-cow and a full-grown horse, which were placed in stalls so contrived that the droppings and the urine could be collected without loss. Before being made the subjects of experiment, the animals were ballasted or fed for a month with the same ration that was furnished to them, during the three days and three nights which they passed in the experimental stalls. During the month, the weight of the animals did not vary sensibly, a circumstance which happily enables us to assume that neither did the weight vary during the seventy-two hours when they were under especial observation. The cow was foddered with after-math, hay, and potatoes; the horse with the same hay and oats. The quantities of forage were accurately weighed, and their precise degree of moistness and their composition were determined from average samples. The water drunk was measured, its saline and earthy constituents having been previously ascertained. The excrementitious matters passed, were of course collected with the greatest care; the excrements, the urine, and the milk were weighed, and the constitution of the whole estimated from elementary analyses of average specimens of each. The results of the two experiments are given in the table on the next page. The oxygen and hydrogen that are not accounted for in the sum of the products have not disappeared in the precise proportions requisite to form water; the excess of hydrogen amounts to as many as from 13 to 15 dwts. It is probable that this hydrogen of the food became changed into water by combining during respiration with the oxygen of the air." FOOD CONSUMED BY THE HORSE IN 24 HOURS. Key to columns: [F] = Forage. [W] = Weight in the wet state [D] = Weight in the dry state -----+---+-------+----------------------------------------------------------- | | | Elementary Matter in the Food. [F] |[W]| [D] |-------+------------+------------+------------+------------ | | | | | | |Salts and | | |Carbon.| Hydrogen. | Oxygen. | Azote. | Earths. -----+---+-------+-------+------------+------------+------------+------------ |lb.|lb. oz.|lb. oz.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt. Hay |20 |17 4 | 7 11 | 0 10 7 | 6 8 8 | 0 3 2 | 1 6 14 Oats | 6 | 5 2 | 2 7 | 0 3 18 | 1 10 14 | 0 1 7 | 0 2 10 Water|43 | ... | ... | ... | ... | ... | 0 0 8 Total|69 |22 6 |10 6 | 1 2 5 | 8 7 2 | 0 4 9 | 1 9 12 -----+---+-------+-------+------------+------------+------------+------------ PRODUCTS VOIDED BY THE HORSE IN 24 HOURS. -----------------+------------+------------+ ... | | | | Weight in | Weight in | [P]=Products. | the wet | the dry | | state. | state. | -----------------+------------+------------+ |lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.| [U]=Urine | 3 6 15 | 9 9 14 | [E]=Excrements |38 2 2 | 9 5 6 | -----------------+------------+------------+ [T]= Total |71 8 17 |10 3 0 | [F]=Total matter}|69 0 0 |22 6 0 | of the food}| | | +------------+------------+ [D]=Difference |27 3 3 |12 3 0 | -----------------+------------+------------+ ... ----+---------------------------------------------------------------- | Elementary Matter in the Products. +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [P] | | | | |Salts and | Carbon. | Hydrogen. | Oxygen. | Azote. | Earths. ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ |lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt. [U] | 0 3 10 | 0 0 7 | 0 1 2 | 0 1 4 | 0 3 10 [E] | 3 7 17 | 0 5 15 | 3 6 14 | 0 2 10 | 1 6 10 ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [T] | 3 11 7 | 0 6 2 | 3 7 16 | 0 3 14 | 1 10 0 [F] |10 6 0 | 1 2 5 | 8 7 2 | 0 4 9 | 1 9 12 | | | | +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [D] | 6 6 13 | 0 8 3 | 4 11 6 | 0 0 15 | 0 0 12 ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ WATER CONSUMED BY THE HORSE |WATER VOIDED BY THE HORSE IN 24 HOURS. | IN 24 HOURS. ------------------+---------------+--------------------+------------ | lbs. oz. | | lbs. oz. With the hay | 2 3 |With the urine | 2 6 With the oats | 0 14 |With the excrements | 23 8 Taken as drink | 35 3 | | +---------------| |------------ Total consumed | 38 4 | Total voided | 25 14 |Water consumed | 38 4 | |------------ Water exhaled by pulmonary and cutaneous transpiration | 12 6 -------------------------------------------------------+------------ * * * * * FOOD CONSUMED BY THE COW IN 24 HOURS. -------------------+------------+------------+ ... | | | [F]=Fodder. | Weight in | Weight in | | the wet | the dry | | state. | state. | -------------------+------------+------------+ |lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.| [P]=Potatoes | 40 2 5 |11 2 1 | [H]=After-math hay | 20 1 2 |16 11 0 | [W]=Water |160 0 0 | ... | +------------+------------+ [T]= Total |220 3 7 |28 1 1 | -------------------+------------+------------+ ... ----+---------------------------------------------------------------- | Elementary Matter in the Food. [F] +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ | | | | |Salts and | Carbon. | Hydrogen. | Oxygen. | Azote. | Earths. ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ |lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt. [P] | 4 11 2 | 0 7 15 | 4 10 17 | 0 1 12 | 0 6 13 [H] | 7 11 11 | 0 11 7 | 5 10 17 | 0 4 17 | 1 8 6 [W] | ... | ... | ... | ... | 0 1 12 +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [T] |12 10 13 | 1 7 2 |10 9 14 | 0 6 9 | 2 4 11 ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ PRODUCTS VOIDED BY THE COW IN 24 HOURS. ------------------------+-------------+------------+ ... | | | | Weight in | Weight in | [P]=Products. | the wet | the dry | | state. | state. | ------------------------+-------------+------------+ | lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.| [E]=Excrements | 76 1 9 |10 8 12 | [U]=Urine | 21 11 12 | 2 6 17 | [M]=Milk | 22 10 10 | 3 1 0 | +-------------+------------+ [T]=Total |120 11 11 |16 4 9 | [F]= " matter of food |220 3 7 |28 1 1 | +-------------+------------+ [D]=Difference | 99 3 16 |11 8 12 | ------------------------+-------------+------------+ ... ----+---------------------------------------------------------------- | Elementary Matter in the Products. +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [P] | | | | |Salts and | Carbon. | Hydrogen. | Oxygen. | Azote. |Earths. ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ |lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt.|lb. oz. dwt. [E] | 4 7 0 | 0 6 13 | 4 0 9 | 0 2 19 | 1 3 8 [U] | 0 8 7 | 0 0 16 | 0 8 3 | 0 1 3 | 1 0 6 [M] | 1 8 3 | 0 3 3 | 0 10 6 | 0 1 9 | 0 1 16 +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [T] | 6 11 10 | 0 10 12 | 5 6 18 | 9 5 11 | 2 5 10 [F] |12 10 13 | 1 7 2 |10 9 14 | 0 6 9 | 2 4 11 +------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ [D] | 5 11 3 | 0 8 10 | 5 2 16 | 0 0 18 | 0 0 19 ----+------------+------------+------------+------------+------------ WATER CONSUMED BY THE COW | WATER VOIDED BY THE COW IN 24 HOURS. | IN 24 HOURS. ------------------------+------------+----------------------+----------- | lbs. oz. | | lbs. oz. With the potatoes | 23 12 |With the excrements | 53 10 With the hay | 2 9 |With the urine | 15 14 Taken as drink | 132 0 |With the milk | 16 3 +------------+ +----------- Total consumed | 158 5 | Total voided | 85 11 |Water consumed | 158 5 +----------- Water passed off by pulmonary and cutaneous transpiration | 79 2 We here perceive a large loss of water, carbon, hydrogen, &c. Nearly all this loss of carbon and hydrogen escaped by respiration, while most of the water, oxygen, nitrogen, and salts, passed off in perspiration. In further illustration of the subject of respiration, Liebig says, "from the accurate determination of the quantity of carbon daily taken into the system in the food, as well as of that proportion of it which passes out of the body in the f[oe]ces and urine, _unburned_, that is, in some form uncombined with oxygen, it appears that an adult taking moderate exercise, consumes 13.9 oz. of carbon daily." The foregoing are facts in the animal economy, capable of vast practical bearing in the management of our domestic animals. But before following out these principles to their application, let us briefly examine The Effects of Respiration. We have seen from the experiment of Boussingault, that there is a loss of 6 lbs. 6 oz. of carbon, and 8 oz. 3 dwt. of hydrogen in the food of the horse, and something less in that of the cow, every 24 hours, which has not been left in the system, nor has it escaped by the evacuations. What has become of so large an amount of solid matter? It has escaped through the lungs and been converted into air. The carbon and hydrogen of the food have undergone those various transformations which are peculiar to the animal economy, digestion, assimilation, &c., which it is not necessary, nor will our limits permit us here to explain; and they appear at last in the veinous blood, which in the course of its circulation is brought into the cells of the lungs. The air inhaled is sent through every part of their innumerable meshes, and is there separated from the blood, only by the delicate tissues or membranes which enclose it. A portion of the carbon and hydrogen escapes from the blood into the air-cells, and at the instant of their contact with the air, they affect a chemical union with its oxygen, forming carbonic acid and the vapor of water, which is then expired, and a fresh supply of oxygen is inhaled. This operation is again repeated, through every successive moment of animal existence. Besides other purposes which it is probably designed to subserve, but which have hitherto eluded the keenest research of chemical physiology, one obvious result of respiration is, the elevation of the temperature of the animal system. By the ever-operating laws of nature, this chemical union of two bodies in the formation of a third, disengages latent heat, which taking place in contact with the blood, is by it diffused throughout the whole frame. The effect is precisely analogous to the combustion of fuel, oils, &c., in the open air. Perspiration Is the counteracting agent which modifies this result, and prevents the injurious effects, which, under exposure to great external heat, would ensure certain destruction. And this too, it will have been seen, is provided at the expense of the animal food. When from excessive heat, caused by violent exercise or otherwise, by which respiration is accelerated and the animal temperature becomes elevated, the papillæ of the skin pour the limpid fluid through their innumerable ducts, which in its conversion into vapor, seize upon the animal heat and remove it from the system, producing that delicious coolness so grateful to the laboring man and beast in a sultry summer's day. These two opposing principles, like the antagonistic operations of the regulator in mechanics, keep up a perfect balance in the vital machine, and enable that entire division of the animal creation, distinguished as warm-blooded, including man and the brute, all the feathered tribes, the whale, the seal, the walrus, &c., to maintain an equilibrium of temperature, whether under the equator or the poles; on the peaks of Chimborazo, the burning sands of Zahara, or plunged in the depths of the Arctic Ocean. The connection between the size of the lungs, and the aptitude of animals to fatten, will be more apparent from the fact, that the carbon and hydrogen which are abstracted, constitute two of the only three elements of fat. The larger size, the fuller play, and the greater activity of the lungs, by exhausting more of the materials of fat, must necessarily diminish its formation in the animal system; unless it can be shown, which has never yet been done, that the removal of a portion of the fat-forming principles accelerates the assimilation of the remainder. The Food which supplies Respiration. This, in the herbivorous animals, after they are deprived of the milk, which furnishes it in abundance, is the starch, gum, sugar, vegetable fats, and oils that exist in the vegetables, grain, and roots which they consume; and in certain cases where there is a deficiency of other food, it is sparingly furnished in woody and cellular fibre. All these substances constitute the principal part of dry vegetable food, and are made up of three elements, _which in starch, gum, cane-sugar, and cellular fibre, exist in precisely the same proportions_, viz: 44 per cent. of carbon, 6.2 of hydrogen, and 40.8 of oxygen. Grape sugar, woody fibre, and vegetable and animal fats and oils are made up of the same elements, but in different proportions, the last containing much more carbon and hydrogen than those above specified. In the fattening animals, it is supposed the vegetable fats and oils are immediately transferred to the fat cells, undergoing only such slight modification as perfectly adapts them to the animal economy, while respiration is supplied by the other enumerated vegetable matters. If these last are taken into the stomach beyond the necessary demand for its object, they too are converted by the animal functions into fat, and are stored up in the system for future use. But if the supply of the latter is insufficient for respiration, it first appropriates the vegetable fat contained in the food; if this is deficient, it draws on the accumulated stores of animal fat already secreted in the system, and when these too are exhausted, it seizes upon what is contained in the tissues and muscle. When the animal commences drawing upon its own resources for the support of its vital functions, deterioration begins; and if long continued, great emaciation succeeds, which is soon followed by starvation and death. The carnivorous animals are furnished with their respiratory excretions, from the animal fat and fibre which exist in their food, and which the herbivoræ had previously abstracted from the vegetable creation. Circumstances which augment Respiration. These are, exercise, cold, and an abundant supply of food. Exercise, besides exhausting the materials of fat, produces a waste of fibre and tissue, the muscular and nitrogenized parts of the animal system; and it is obvious from the foregoing principles, that cold requires a corresponding demand for carbon and hydrogen to keep up the vital warmth. The consumption of food to the fullest extent required for invigorating the frame, creates a desire for activity, and it insensibly induces full respiration. The well-fed, active man, unconsciously draws a full, strong breath; while the abstemious and the feeble, unwittingly use it daintily, as if it were a choice commodity not to be lavishly expended. If the first be observed when sleep has effectually arrested volition, the expanded chest will be seen, heaving with the long-drawn, sonorous breath; while that of the latter will exhibit the gentle repose of the infant on its mother's breast. The difference between the food of the inhabitants of the polar and equatorial regions, is strikingly illustrative of the demands both for breathing and perspiration. The latter are almost destitute of clothing, and subsist on their light, juicy, tropical fruits, which contain scarcely 12 per cent. of carbon, yet furnish all the elements for abundant perspiration; while the former are imbedded in furs, and devour gallons of train oil or its equivalent of fat, which contains nearly 80 per cent. of carbon, that is burnt up in respiration to maintain a necessary warmth. The bear retires to his den in the beginning of winter, loaded with fat, which he has accumulated from the rich, oily mast abounding in the woods in autumn. There he lies for months, snugly coiled and perfectly dormant; the thickness of his shaggy coat, his dry bed of leaves, and well-protected den, effectually guarding him from cold, which in addition to his want of exercise, draw slightly upon respiration to keep up the vital heat. When the stores of carbon and hydrogen contained in the fat are expended, his hunger and cold compel him to leave his winter-quarters, again to wander in pursuit of food. Many of the swallow tribes, in like manner, hybernate in large hollow trees, and for months eke out a torpid, scarcely perceptible existence, independent of food. Activity and full respiration, on the return of spring, demand a support, which is furnished in the myriads of flies they daily consume. The toad and frog have repeatedly been found in a torpid state, imbedded in limestones, sandstones, and the breccias, where they were probably imprisoned for thousands of years without a morsel of food; yet when exposed to the warmth of the vital air and the stimulus of its oxygen, they have manifested all the activity of their species. This they are enabled to sustain only by an enormous consumption of insects. Dr. Playfair states, that in an experiment made by Lord Ducie, 100 sheep were placed in a shed, and ate 20 pounds of Swedes turnips each per day; another 100 were placed in the open air, and ate 25 pounds per day; yet the former, which had one-fifth less food, weighed, after a few weeks, three pounds more per head than the latter. He then fed five sheep in the open air, between the 21st November and 1st December. They consumed 90 pounds of food per day, the temperature being at 44°, and at the end of this time, they weighed two pounds less than when first exposed. Five sheep were then placed under a shed, and allowed to run about in a temperature of 49°. At first they consumed 82 pounds per day; then 70 pounds, and at the end of the time they had gained 23 pounds. Again, five sheep were placed under a shed as before, and not allowed to take any exercise. They ate at first, 64 pounds of food per day, then 58 pounds, and increased in weight 30 pounds. Lastly, five sheep were kept quiet and covered, and in the dark. They ate 35 pounds per day, and increased eight pounds. Mr. Childers states, that 80 Leicester sheep in the open field, consumed 50 baskets of cut turnips per day, besides oil-cake. On putting them in a shed, they were immediately able to consume only 30 baskets, and soon after but 25, being only half the quantity required before, and yet they fattened as rapidly as when eating the largest quantity. The minimum of food, then, required for the support of animals, is attained when closely confined in a warm, dark shelter; and the maximum, when running at large, exposed to all weathers. THE FEEDING OF ANIMALS. This should be regulated by a variety of considerations. The young which may be destined for maturity, should be supplied with milk from the dam until weaning-time. No food can be substituted for the well-filled udder of the parent, which is so safe, healthful, and nutritious. If from any cause there is deficiency or total privation, it must be made up by that kind of food, meal-gruel, &c., which, in its composition, approaches nearest in quality to the milk. At a more advanced age, or the time for weaning, grass, hay, roots, or grain, may be substituted, in quantities sufficient to maintain a steady but _not a forced growth_. Stuffing can only be tolerated in animals which are speedily destined for the slaughter. Alternately improving and falling back, is injurious to all stock. _An animal should never be fat but once._ Especially is high feeding bad for breeding animals. Much as starving is to be deprecated, the prejudicial effects of repletion are still greater. The calf or lamb intended for the butcher, may be pushed forward with all possible rapidity. Horses or colts should never exceed a good working or breeding condition. Purposes fulfilled by different Kinds of Food. The objects designed to be answered by food, are to a certain extent the same. All food is intended to meet the demands of respiration and nutrition, and fattening to a greater or less degree. But some are better suited to one object than others, and it is for the intelligent farmer to select such as will most effectually accomplish his particular purposes. The very young animal requires large quantities of the phosphate of lime for the formation of bone; and this is yielded in the milk in larger proportions than from any other food. The growing animal wants bone, muscle, and a certain amount of fat, and these are procured from the grasses, roots, and grain; from the former when fed alone, and from the two latter when mixed with hay or grass. Horses, cattle, and sheep need hay to qualify the too watery nature of the roots, and the too condensed nutritiveness of the grain. Animals that are preparing for the shambles, require vegetable oils or fat, starch, sugar, or gum. The first is contained in great abundance in flax and cotton-seed, the sun-flower, and many other of the mucilaginous seeds. Indian corn is the most fattening grain. The potato contains the greatest proportion of starch, and the sugar-beet has large quantities of sugar, and both consequently are good for stall-feeding. The ripe sugar-cane is perhaps the most fattening of vegetables, if we except the oily seeds and grain. The Swedes turnip is a good food to commence with fattening cattle and sheep; but where great ripeness in animals is desired, they should be followed with beets, carrots or potatoes, and grain. The table of the average composition of the different crops, which we subjoin from Johnston, shows the comparative qualities of various kinds of food, and it will be found a valuable reference for their nutritive and fattening qualities. He says, "In drawing up this table, I have adopted the proportions of gluten, for the most part, from Boussingault. Some of them, however, appear to be very doubtful. The proportions of fatty matter are also very uncertain. With a few exceptions, those above given have been taken from Sprengel, and they are, in general, stated considerably too low. It is an interesting fact, that the proportion of fatty matter in and immediately under the husk of the grains of corn, is generally much greater than in the substance of the corn itself. Thus I have found the pollard of wheat to yield more than twice as much oil as the fine flour obtained from the same sample of grain. The four portions separated by the miller from a superior sample of wheat grown in the neighborhood of Durham, gave of oil respectively: fine flour, 1·5 per cent.; pollard, 2·4; boxings, 3·6; and bran, 3·3 per cent. Dumas states that the husk of oats sometimes yields as much as five or six per cent. of oil." The columns under starch, &c., and fatty matter, denote the value for respiration or sustaining life, and the fattening qualities; that under gluten, the capacity for yielding muscle and supporting labor; and saline matter indicates something of the proportions which are capable of being converted into bones. Water. Husk or Starch, Gluten, Fatty Saline woody gum, and albumen, matter. matter fibre. sugar. legumen, &c. Wheat, 16 15 55 10 to 15 2 to 4 J. 2·0 Barley, 15 15 60 12? 2·5 J. 2·0 Oats, 16 20 50 14·5? 5·6 J. 3·5 Rye, 12 10 60 14·5 3·0 1·0 Indian corn, 14 15? 50 12·0 5 to 9 D. 1·5 Buckwheat, 16? 25? 50 14·5 0·4? 1·5 Beans, 16 10 40 28·0 2 + 3·0 Peas, 13 8 50 24·0 2·8? 2·8 Potatoes, 75? 5? 12? 2·25 0·3 0·8 to 1 Turnips, 85 3 10 1·2 ? 0·8 to 1 Carrots, 85 3 10 2·0 0·4 1·0 Meadow hay, 14 30 40 7·1 2 to 5 D. 5 to 10 Clover hay, 14 25 40 9·3 3·0 9 Pea straw, 10 to 15 25 45 12·3 1·5 5 Oat do. 12 45 35 1·3 0·8 6 Wheat do. 12 to 15 50 30 1·3 0·5 5 Barley do. do. 50 30 1·3 0·8 5 Rye do. do. 45 38 1·3 0·5 3 Indian corn do. 12 25 52 3·0 1·7 4 This table, it will be perceived, is far from settling the _precise_ relative value of the different enumerated articles. An absolute, unchanging value can never be assumed of any one substance, as the quality of each must differ with the particular variety, the soil upon which it is grown, the character of the season, the manner of curing, and other circumstances. An approximate relative value is all that can be expected, and this we may hope ere long to obtain, from the spirit of analytical research, which is now developed and in successful progress. More especially do we need these investigations with _American products_, some of which are but partially cultivated in Europe, whence we derive most of our analyses. And many which are there reared, differ widely from those produced here, as these also differ from each other. What, for instance, is the character of _meadow hay_? We know that this varies as four to one, according to the particular kinds grown; and our Indian corn has certainly a less range than from five to nine. The Changes in the Food of Animals. Potatoes, when first ripe, are estimated to be worth, for feeding purposes, nearly twice as much as when old; and the relative value of the different kinds, varies greatly at the same age and under similar conditions of growth. Perrault ascertained by careful experiment, that hay, clover, and lucerne lost much of their nutritive qualities by drying, and in lucerne this loss amounted to about thirty-five per cent. This is an important consideration in the feeding of green and dry forage. Oats are among the best feed, both for young and working animals; but it has been found that they are greatly improved for the latter, and perhaps for both, by allowing the new crop to remain till the latter part of winter, before feeding. The improvement by steaming and cooking food, is seldom sufficiently appreciated. Food properly managed, can never be made worse by cooking for any stock; although it has not been considered so essential for working, and generally, for ruminating animals, as for swine, and such as were stall-feeding. But the alteration produced in cooking, by fitting it for a more ready assimilation, must, as a general rule, add much to the value of the food, and the rapid improvement of the animal. The effect of slight fermentation, or souring the food, produces the same result. Animals accustomed to this acid food, will reject what is unprepared when they can get at the former; and we have no doubt, from our own experience, that there is a saving in thus preparing it, from 20 to 40 per cent. A mixture of food should be supplied to all animals. Like man, they tire of any constant aliment. For such, especially, as are fattening, and which it is desirable to mature with the greatest rapidity, a careful indulgence of their appetite should be studied. They should be provided with whatever they most crave, if it be adapted to the secretion of fat. Cutting, crushing, and grinding the food; cooking, souring, and mixing it, are each by themselves an improvement for feeding; and frequently two or more of these preparations combined, are of great utility in effecting the object proposed. The Profit of Feeding. It is evident, that this consists in a valuable return from the animal of the food consumed. In the horse, this can only be received in labor or breeding; in the ox, from labor and flesh; in the cow, from the milk, the flesh, and her young. In the sheep, it may be returned in its fleece, its carcass, or its progeny; and in the swine only by its progeny and flesh. The manure we expect from all; and if this be not secured and judiciously used, few animals about the farm will be found to yield a satisfactory profit for their food and attention; though it is evident, it should form but a small part of the return looked for. Animals are only profitable to the farmer, when they yield a daily income, as in their milk or labor; or annually, by their young or fleece; unless it be in a course of regular improvement, either in their ordinary growth or preparation for the butcher. The animal must consume a certain amount of food merely to keep up its stationary condition, and to supply the materials for waste, respiration, perspiration, and the evacuations. These must first be provided for in all cases, before the farmer can expect any thing for the food. Frequent observation has shown, that an ox will consume about two per cent, of his weight of hay per day, to maintain his condition. If put to moderate labor, an increase of this quantity to three per cent., will enable him to perform his work, and still maintain his flesh. If to be fattened, he requires about 4½ per cent. of his weight daily, in nutritious food. A cow to remain stationary and give no milk, eats two per cent. of her weight daily; and if in milk, she will consume three per cent. If these statements are correct, which it is certain they are in principle, though they may not be entirely in degree, it will require the same food to keep three yoke of cattle in idleness, as two at work; and the food of every two that are idle, will nearly support one under the most rapid condition of fatting. Two cows may be kept in milk, with the same feed that will keep three without. No practice is more impolitic, than barely to sustain the stock through the winter, or a part of the year, as is the case in too many instances, and allow them to improve only when turned on grass in summer. Besides subjecting them to the risk of disease, consequent upon their privation of food, nearly half the year is lost in their use, or in maturing them for profitable disposal; when if one-third of the stock had been sold, the remainder would have been kept in a rapidly improving condition, and at three years of age, they would probably be of equal value, as otherwise at five or six. It is true that breed has much to do with this rapid advancement, but breed is useless without food to develop and mature it. CHAPTER II. NEAT OR HORNED CATTLE. The value of our neat cattle exceeds that of any other of the domestic animals in the United States. They are as widely disseminated, and more generally useful. Like sheep and all our domestic brutes, they have been so long and so entirely subject to the control of man, that their original type is unknown. They have been allowed entire freedom from all human direction or restraint for hundreds of years, on the boundless pampas of South America, California, and elsewhere; but when permitted to resume that natural condition, by which both plants and animals approximate to the character of their original head, they have scarcely deviated in any respect, from the domestic herds from which they are descended. From this it may be inferred, that our present races do not differ, in any of their essential features and characteristics, from the original stock. Various Domestic Breeds. Cultivation, feed, and climate, have much to do in determining the form, size, and character of cattle. In Lithuania, cattle attain an immense size, with but moderate pretensions to general excellence, while the Irish Kerry and Scotch Grampian cows but little exceed the largest sheep; yet the last are compact and well-made, and yield a good return for the food consumed. Every country, and almost every district, has its peculiar breeds, which by long association have become adapted to the food and circumstances of its position, and when found profitable, they should be exchanged for others, only after the most thorough trial of superior fitness for the particular location, in those proposed to be introduced. More attention has been paid to the improvement of the various breeds of cattle in England, than in any other country; and it is there they have attained the greatest perfection in form and character for the various purposes to which they are devoted. We have derived, directly from Great Britain, not only the parent stock from which nearly all our cattle are descended, but also most of those fresh importations, to which we have looked for improvement on the present race of animals. A few choice Dutch cattle, generally black and white, and of large size, good forms, and good milkers, with a decided tendency to fatten, have been occasionally introduced among us, but not in numbers sufficient to keep up a distinct breed; and in the hands of their importers, or immediate successors, their peculiar characteristics have soon become merged in those herds by which they were surrounded. Some few French and Spanish cattle, the descendants of those remote importations, made when the colonies of those kingdoms held possession of our northern, western, and southern frontiers, still exist in those sections; and although possessing no claims to particular superiority, at least in any that have come within our notice, yet they are so well acclimated, and adapted to their various localities, as to render it inexpedient to attempt supplanting them, except with such as are particularly meritorious. Native Cattle. This is a favorite term with Americans, and comprehends every thing in the country, excepting such as are of a pure and distinct breed. It embraces some of the best, some of the worst, and some of almost every variety, shape, color, and character of the bovine race. The designation has no farther meaning, than that they are indigenous to the soil, and do not belong to any well-defined or distinct variety. The best native cattle of the Union are undoubtedly to be found in the Northeastern states. Most of the early emigrant cattle in that section were from the southern part of England, where the Devon cattle abound; and though not at the present time bearing a close resemblance to that breed, unless it has been impressed upon them by more recent importations, yet a large number have that general approximation in character, features, and color, which entitles them to claim a near kindred with one of the choicest cultivated breeds. They have the same symmetry, but not in general the excessive delicacy of form, which characterizes the Devons; the same intelligence, activity, and vigor in the working cattle, and the same tendency to fattening; but they are usually better for the dairy than their imported ancestors. Some valuable intermixtures have occasionally been made among them. Among these, there have been many brindled cattle widely disseminated, of great merit as workers, and not often surpassed for the dairy and shambles. The Herefords have in a few instances been introduced among the eastern cattle, and apparently with great improvement. The importation made by Admiral Coffin, of four choice Hereford bulls and cows, which were presented to the State Agricultural Society of Massachusetts, nearly thirty years since, is especially to be mentioned, as resulting in decided benefit wherever they were disseminated. Some of the old Yorkshire, or as they are sometimes styled, the long-horned Durhams, have been introduced, though these have been isolated individuals and never perpetuated as a separate breed. A few small importations have been made of the Short Horns and Ayrshires, but neither of these have been bred in the New England states in distinct herds, to any extent. Their _native breed_ has hitherto, and generally with good reason, possessed claims on the attention of their owners, which, with some slight exceptions, it has not been in the power of any rivals to supplant. With entire adaptedness to the soil, climate, and wants of the farmer, an originally good stock has, in frequent instances, been carefully fostered, and the breeding animals selected with a strict reference to their fitness for perpetuating the most desirable qualities. As a consequence of this intelligent and persevering policy, widely, but not universally pursued, they have a race of cattle, though possessing considerable diversity of size and color, yet coinciding in a remarkable degree in the possession of those utilitarian features, which so justly commend them to our admiration. In proceeding southwestwardly through New York, New Jersey, and elsewhere, we shall find in this branch of stock, a greater diversity and less uniform excellence; though they have extensive numbers of valuable animals. Here and there will be found a choice collection of some favorite foreign breed, which emigrants have brought from their native home, as did the Pagan colonists their penates or household gods; the cherished associates of early days, and the only relics of their father-land. Such are an occasional small herd of polled or hornless cattle, originally derived from Suffolk or Galloway, excellent both for the dairy and shambles; the Kyloe, or West Highland, (Scottish,) a hardy animal, unrivalled for beef; the Welsh runt; the Irish cattle; the crumpled-horn Alderney, and some others. The Devon Is among the oldest distinctly cultivated breeds in this country, as it undoubtedly is of England, and probably it is the most universal favorite. This popularity is well deserved, and it is based upon several substantial considerations. They are beautifully formed, possessing excessive fineness and symmetry of frame, yet with sufficient bone and muscle to render them perfectly hardy; and they are among the most vigorous and active of working cattle. They have great uniformity of appearance in every feature, size, shape, horns, and color. The cows and bulls appear small, but the ox is much larger; and both he and the dam, on cutting up, are found to weigh much beyond the estimates which an eye accustomed only to ordinary breeds, would have assigned to them. The flesh is finely marbled or interspersed with alternate fat and lean, and is of superior quality and flavor. The cows invariably yield milk of great richness, and when appropriately bred, none surpass them for the quantity of butter and cheese it yields. Mr. Bloomfield, the manager of the late Lord Leicester's estate at Holkham, has, by careful attention, somewhat increased the size, without impairing the beauty of their form, and so successful has he been in developing their milking properties, that his average product of butter from each cow, is 4 lbs. per week for the whole year. He has challenged England to milk an equal number of cows of any breed, against 40 pure Devons, to be selected out of his own herd, without as yet having found a competitor. Although this is not a test of their merits, and by no means decides their superiority, yet it shows the great confidence reposed in them by their owner. The Devon ox, under six years old, has come up to a nett dead weight of 1,593 lbs.; and at three years and seven months, to 1,316 lbs., with 160 lbs. of rough tallow. _Description._ The Devon is of medium size, and so symmetrical, as to appear small. The color is invariably a deep mahogany red, with usually a white udder and strip under the belly; and the tuft at the end of the tail is red while they are calves, but white in the older animal. The head is small, broad in the forehead, and somewhat indented. The muzzle is delicate, and both the nose and the rings around the eye, in the pure breed, are invariably of a bright, clear orange. The cheeks and face are thin and fleshless; the horns clear, smooth, and of a yellowish white, handsomely curved upward. The neck is small and delicate at its junction with the head, but is well expanded in its attachment to the breast and shoulders. The last has the true slant for activity and strength, in which it excels all other breeds of equal weight. The barrel is round and deep, with a projecting brisket. The back is broad and level; the flank full; hips wide; the rumps long; the quarters well developed, and capable of holding a great quantity of the most valuable meat. The tail is on a level with the back, and gracefully tapers like a drum-stick, to the tuft on the end. The legs are of peculiar delicacy and fineness, yet possess great strength. The skin is of medium thickness, of a rich orange hue, pliable to the touch, and covered with a thick coating of fine, soft, curly hair. The Devon is intelligent, gentle, and tractable; is good for milk, and unsurpassed for the yoke and for fattening. No animal is better suited to our scanty or luxuriant hill pastures than the Devon, and none make a better return for the attention and food received. They ensure a rapid improvement when mixed with other cattle, imparting their color and characteristics in an eminent degree. Several importations have been made into this country within the last 30 years, of the choicest animals, and though not yet numerous in the United States, we possess some of the best specimens that exist. The Short Horns, or Durhams. Are decidedly the most showy among the cattle species. They are of all colors between a full, deep red, and a pure creamy white; but generally have both intermixed in larger or smaller patches, or intimately blended in a beautiful roan. Black, brown, or brindled, are colors not recognised among pure-bred Short Horns. Their form is well-spread, symmetrical, and imposing, and capable of sustaining a large weight of valuable carcass. The horn was originally branching and turned upward, but now frequently has a downward tendency, with the tips pointing towards each other. They are light, and comparatively short; clear, highly polished, and waxy. The head is finely formed, with a longer face but not so fine a muzzle as the Devon. The neck is delicately formed without dewlap, the brisket projecting; and the great depth and width of the chest giving short, well-spread fore-legs. The crops are good; back and loin broad and flat; ribs projecting; deep flank and twist; tail well set up, strong at the roots and tapering. They have a thick covering of soft hair, and are mellow to the touch, technically termed, _handling well_. They mature early and rapidly for the quantity of food consumed, yielding largely of good beef with little offal. As a breed, they are excellent milkers; though some families of the Short Horns surpass others in this quality. They are inferior to the Devons, in their value as working oxen, and in the richness of their milk. [Illustration: A Short-Horn Bull.] The Short Horns are assigned a high antiquity, by the oldest breeders in the counties of Durham and Yorkshire, England, the place of their origin, and for a long time, of their almost exclusive breeding. From the marked and decided improvement which they stamp upon other animals, they are evidently an ancient breed, though much the juniors of the Devon and Hereford. Their highly artificial style, form, and character, are unquestionably the work of deeply studied and long-continued art; and to the same degree that they have been moulded in unresisting compliance with the dictation of their intelligent breeders, have they departed from that light and more agile form of the Devon, which conclusively and beyond the possibility of contradiction, marks the more primitive race. THE IMPORTATION OF SHORT HORNS INTO THIS COUNTRY. This is claimed to have been previous to 1783. They are the reputed ancestors of many choice animals existing in Virginia, in the latter part of the last century, and which were known as the _milk breed_; and some of these, with others termed the _beef breed_, were taken into Kentucky by Mr. Patton, as early as 1797, and their descendants, a valuable race of animals, were much disseminated in the West, and known as the _Patton stock_. The first authentic importations we have recorded, are those of Mr. Heaton, into Westchester, N. Y., in 1791 and '96, from the valuable herds of Messrs. Culley and Colling, which consisted of several choice bulls and cows. These were for many years bred pure, and their progeny was widely scattered. (_American Herd Book._) They were also imparted into New York, by Mr. Cox, in 1816; by Mr. Bullock, in 1822; by the late Hon. S. Van Rensselaer in 1823; and immediately after, by Mr. Charles Henry Hall, of Harlem. Some small importations were made into Massachusetts between 1817 and '25, by several enterprising agriculturists, Messrs. Coolidge, Williams, and others; into Connecticut by Mr. Hall and others; into Pennsylvania by Mr. Powell; and into Ohio and some other states, by various individuals early in the present century. [Illustration: Fig. 2. Short-Horned Cow.] Since the first importations, larger accessions from the best English herds have been frequently made; and with the nice regard for pedigrees which the introduction of the herd book, and careful purity in breeding has produced, the Short Horns have become the most extensive pure-bred family of cattle in the United States. During the speculative times of 1835 to 1840, they brought high prices, frequently from $500 to $1000, and sometimes more. The following years of financial embarrassment, reduced their market price below their intrinsic value; but the tide is again turning, and they are now in demand, but still at prices far below their utility and merits. They have from the first, been favorites in the rich, corn valleys of the West, their early maturity and great weight giving them a preference over any other breed. The only drawback to this partiality, is their inability, from their form and weight, to reach remote eastern markets in good condition; an objection now in a great measure remedied, by the recent remission of duties on foreign beef in the English market, which makes them of nearly equal value where fed, to pack for exportation. On light lands and scanty pastures, they will probably never be largely introduced. All heavy animals require full forage within a limited compass, so as to fill their stomachs at once, and quietly compose themselves to their digestion. The weights reached by the Short Horns in England, as given by Mr. Berry, have been enormous. Two oxen, six years old, weighed nett, 1820 lbs. each. A heifer of three years, and fed on grass and hay alone, weighed 1260 lbs. A four-year-old steer, fed on hay and turnips only, dressed 1890 lbs. A cow reached the prodigious weight of 1778 lbs. A heifer, running with her dam, and on pasture alone, weighed at seven months, 476 lbs. An ox, seven years old, weighed 2362 lbs. From their comparatively small numbers in this country, most of them have been retained for breeders; few, as yet, have been fattened, and such only as were decidedly inferior. Such animals as have been extensively produced by crossing this breed upon our former stocks, have given evidence of great and decided improvement; and the Short Horns, and their grade descendants are destined, at no distant day, to occupy a large portion of the richest feeding grounds in the United States. [Illustration: Fig. 3. Hereford Cow] Herefords. This is the only remaining pure breed, which has hitherto occupied the attention of graziers in this country. Like the Devons, they are supposed to be one of the most ancient races of British cattle. Marshall gives the following description. "The countenance pleasant, cheerful, open; the forehead broad; eye full and lively; horns bright, taper, and spreading; head small; chap lean; neck long and tapering; chest deep; bosom broad, and projecting forward; shoulder-bone thin, flat, no way protuberant in bone (?) but full and mellow in flesh; chest full; loin broad; hips standing wide, and level with the chine; quarters long, and wide at the neck; rump even with the level of the back, and not drooping, nor standing high and sharp above the quarters; tail slender and neatly haired; barrel round and roomy; the carcass throughout deep and well spread; ribs broad, standing flat and close on the outer surface, forming a smooth, even barrel, the hindmost large and full of length; round-bone small, snug, and not prominent; thigh clean, and regularly tapering; legs upright and short; bone below the knee and hock small; feet of middle size; flank large: flesh everywhere mellow, soft, and yielding pleasantly to the touch, especially on the chine, the shoulder, and the ribs; hide mellow, supple, of a middle thickness, and loose on the neck and huckle; coat neatly haired, bright and silky; color, a middle red, with a bald face characteristic of the true Herefordshire breed." [Illustration: Fig. 4. Hereford Bull.] Youatt further describes them as follows: "They are usually of a darker red; some of them are brown, and even yellow, and a few are brindled; but they are principally distinguished by their white faces, throats, and bellies. In a few the white extends to the shoulders. The old Herefords were brown or red-brown, with not a spot of white about them. It is only within the last fifty or sixty years that it has been the fashion to breed for white faces. Whatever may be thought of the change of color, the present breed is certainly far superior to the old one. The hide is considerably thicker than that of the Devon, and the beasts are more hardy. Compared with the Devons, they are shorter in the leg, and also in the carcass; higher, and broader, and heavier in the chine; rounder and wider across the hips, and better covered with fat; the thigh fuller and more muscular, and the shoulders larger and coarser. They are not now much used for husbandry, although their form adapts them for the heavier work; and they have all the honesty and docility of the Devon ox, and greater strength, if not his activity. The Herefordshire ox fattens speedily at a very early age, and it is therefore more advantageous to the farmer, and perhaps to the country, that he should go to market at three years old, than be kept longer as a beast of draught. They are not as good milkers as the Devons. This is so generally acknowledged, that while there are many dairies of Devon cows in various parts of the country, a dairy of Herefords is rarely to be found. To compensate for this, they are even more kindly feeders than the Devons. Their beef may be objected to by some as being occasionally a little too large in the bone, and the fore-quarters being coarse and heavy; but the meat of the best pieces is often very fine-grained and beautifully marbled. There are few cattle more prized in the market than the genuine Herefords." There have been several importations of the Herefords into the United States, which by crossing with our native cattle, have done great good; but with the exception of a few fine animals at the South, we are not aware of their being kept in a state of purity, till the importation of the splendid herd. within the last six years, by Messrs. Corning and Sotham of Albany, N. Y. These Herefords are among the very best which England can produce, and come up fully to the description of the choicest of the breed. Mr. Sotham, after an experience of several years, is satisfied with the cows for the dairy; and he has given very favorable published statements of the results of their milking qualities, from which it may be properly inferred, that Youatt drew his estimates from some herds which were quite indifferent in this property. They are peculiarly the grazier's animal, as they improve rapidly and mature early on medium feed. They are excelled for the yoke, if at all, only by the Devons, which, in some features, they strongly resemble. Both are probably divergent branches of the same original stock. The Ayrshire Is a breed that has been much sought after of late years, from their reputation for fine dairy qualities. The milk is good both in quantity and quality, yielding, according to a recent statement of Mr. Tennant, of Scotland, who owns a large herd, fifteen quarts per day during the best of the season, twelve of which made a pound of butter. The product of the latter averages about 170 pounds per annum to each cow. Another authority says, on the best low-land pasture, a good cow yields nearly 4000 quarts per year. This is a large quantity, and implies good cows and extra feed. Mr. Cushing, of Massachusetts, who imported several select animals, without regard to their cost, informed us, after three or four years' trial, that he did not perceive any superiority in them, over the good native cows of that state, for dairy purposes. A large number have been imported in detached parcels, and scattered through the country. They are good animals, but seem to combine no valuable properties in a higher degree than are to be found in our own good cattle, and especially such as are produced from a cross of the Short Horn bull of a good milking family, on our native cows. They are evidently a recent breed, and do not therefore possess that uniformity of appearance and quality, which attaches to one of long cultivation. Mr. Aiton, of Scotland, gives the following account of them. "The dairy breed of Scotland have been formed chiefly by skilful management, within the last 50 years; and they are still improving and extending to other countries. Till after 1770, the cows in Cunningham were small, ill-fed, ill-shaped, and gave but little milk. Some cows of a larger breed and of a brown and white color, were about that time brought to Ayrshire from Teeswater, and from Holland, by some of the patriotic noblemen of Ayrshire; and these being put on good pasture, yielded more milk than the native breed, and their calves were much sought after by the farmers." We may fairly infer from the foregoing, which is deemed indisputable authority; from the locality of their origin, in the neighborhood of the Short Horns; and from their general resemblance, both externally and in their general characteristics to the grade animals, that they owe their principal excellence to this long-established breed. MANAGEMENT OF CALVES. The safest and least troublesome manner of raising calves, is at the udder of the dam; and whenever the milk is converted into butter and cheese, we believe this to be the most economical. The milk of one good cow is sufficient, with a run of fresh, sweet pasture, to the feeding of two calves at the same time; and if we allow the calves to arrive at three or four months of age before weaning, we may safely estimate, that one good cow will yield a quantity of milk in one season, fully equivalent to bringing up four calves to a weaning age. By keeping the calf on the fresh milk, whether he take it directly from the udder, or warm from the pail, all risk of disordered bowels is avoided. The milk is precisely adapted to the perfect health and thrift of the young, and whenever we substitute for it any other food, we must watch carefully that not the slightest mismanagement produces disorder, lest more is lost by disease or want of improvement, than is gained by the milk of which they are robbed. The first milk of the cow after calving, is slightly purgative, which is essential to cleanse the stomach of the calf. It is, moreover, perfectly worthless for two or three days, for any other purpose except for swine. The calf will seldom take all the milk at first, and whatever is left in the bag should be thoroughly removed by the hand. If the calf is destined for the butcher, he must have all the milk he wants for at least six weeks, and eight or ten is better; and if the cow does not furnish enough, he ought to be fed gruel or linseed tea. He must be closely confined in a snug, but clean and airy stable, and the darker this is, and the more quiet he is kept, the more readily he will fatten. If designed to be reared, the safest and least troublesome method, is to keep the calf on new milk. If saving the milk be an object, it is still doubtful whether it is not better that he should have a part of it fresh from the cow, and depend for his remaining food on a good grass or clover pasture, meal, or roots. Some farmers never allow the calf to approach the dam, but take it when first dropped, and put a handful of salt in its mouth, which is daily repeated till he is put to grass. This has a purgative effect, similar to the first milk. Flaxseed is then prepared, by boiling a pint in four to six quarts of water, and diluted with hay tea till it is rather thicker than milk, and fed at blood heat. _Hay tea_ is made, by boiling a pound of sweet, well-cured clover, in one and a half gallons of clean water. As the calf becomes older, oat, barley, rye, or Indian meal may be scalded and added to the flaxseed. When the skim-milk is of little consequence, a better way is to withdraw him from the cow after three or four days, then scald the milk, adding a little oat meal, and cool to the natural temperature of the milk, and feed it. Oats, either crushed or ground, is the best and safest grain for all young stock. The milk should not stand more than half a day before feeding to young calves. As they advance in age, it may be fed rather older, but should never be allowed to become sour; nor should it ever be fed cold. Connected with this feed, should be a good range of short, sweet pasture, and shelter against both sun and storms. If expedient, at about 10 weeks old, he may be safely weaned, but four months' nursing is better for the calf. If allowed too much milk for several months, it is injurious to the future development of the young. It does not distend the stomach properly, nor call into use its ruminating habits. Calves thus brought up, have often proved light-bellied, indifferent feeders, and decidedly inferior animals. When the calf is removed from the cow, they should be effectually separated from sight and hearing, as recognition creates uneasiness, and is an impediment to thrift in both. If there be any deficiency of suitable pasture for the calf, a small rack and trough should be placed under the shed in his range, and fine hay put in the former, and wheat bran or oat meal with a little salt in the latter. Diseases and Remedies. For _disordered bowels_, mix 2 dr. rhubarb, 2 oz. castor oil, and ½ dr. ginger, with a little warm milk or gruel; or give 2 oz. castor oil alone; or 3 oz. of Epsom salts. For _scours_ and _diarrh[oe]a_, a homely remedy is, to administer half a pint of cider, with an equal quantity of blood drawn from the calf's neck. Or, add a little rennet to its food. A good remedy is, 1 oz. powdered canella bark; 1 oz. laudanum; 4 oz. prepared chalk; and one pint water. Mix together, and give a wine-glass full or more, according to the size of the calf, three times a day. _Costiveness_ is removed by giving pork broth. Or, give 3 to 4 oz. Epsom salts, dissolved in 3 pints of water, injected into the stomach; and repeat part of this dose every 3 or 4 hours, till the desired effect is produced. Calves, like all young stock, should be allowed to change their feed gradually, from new milk to skimmed, or from the latter to other food. Their stomachs are delicate, and need gentle, moderate changes, when necessary to make them at all. Much depends on the care and attention they receive. It is well to have a little resin within its reach. A comfortable shelter, with a dry, warm bed, suitable food, regularly given three times a day, at blood heat, and keeping the stomach in proper order, will do much to bring them forward rapidly, and with a small expenditure of food. The calf requires to be supplied through the winter with an abundance of fine, sweet hay and roots, the latter either chopped or mashed by a roller, with the addition of a trifle of meal or oats, and a full supply of salt and pure water. When there are larger animals on the premises, the calves ought to be kept by themselves. They should be sustained on their winter feed through the following spring, until the grass furnishes a good bite on a well-compacted sod. The change from hay to grass must be gradual, unless the latter is considerably matured. The extreme relaxation of the bowels from the sudden change, frequently produces excessive purging. A slight and temporary relax from the early spring grass, is not objectionable. Breeding. The young animals should never be put to breeding under 15 months old, so as to bring their first calf at two years old nor then, unless they have large size and good feed. Much depends on the progress towards maturity, and the supply of food in selecting the proper time for breeding. Some are as ready for this at a year and a half as others are at three. Early breeding gives delicacy and symmetry to the form of the heifer, but it checks its growth; and when it is found to put her back too much, she may be allowed to rest for a few months, or even a year, to brings her up to the desired standard. These remarks apply principally to choice breeders, or as they are sometimes termed, _fancy stock_. For ordinary milch cows which have been moderately fed, three years is a proper age to come in, after which they must be milked as regularly, and as late before drying as possible. Breaking Steers Should be commenced when two or three years old. Some begin with the calf, accustoming him to a light yoke and occasional training. This practice will do as a pastime for trustworthy boys, as it makes them gentle and manageable afterwards, but is hardly worth a man's time. If always carefully handled when young, they will be found tractable. They should at first be placed behind a pair of well-broke cattle, nor should they be put to hard labor until quite grown, strong, and perfectly accustomed to the yoke. If properly managed, cattle may be trained with all the docility, intelligence, and much of the activity of the horse. That they are not, is more frequently the fault of their masters. Management of Oxen. To procure perfect working cattle, it is necessary to begin with the proper breed. Many parts of the country furnish such as are well suited to this purpose. A strong dash of Devon or Hereford blood is desirable, when it needs to be improved. A well-formed, compact, muscular body; clean, sinewy limbs; strong, dense bones; large, well-formed joints, with a mild expressive eye, are essential for good working oxen. After breaking, they must be led along gently, and taught before they are required to perform their task; and never put to a load which they cannot readily move, nor dulled by prolonging exertion beyond that period when it becomes irksome. A generous diet is necessary, to keep up the spirit and ability of cattle, when there is hard work to be done. The horse and mule are fed with their daily rations of grain when at hard service, and if the spirit of the ox is to be maintained, he should be equally well fed, when as fully employed. Great and permanent injury is the result of niggardly feeding and severe toil, exacted from the uncomplaining animal. His strength declines, his spirit flags, and if this treatment be continued, he rapidly becomes the stupid, moping brute, which is shown off in degrading contrast with the more spirited horse, that performs, it may be, one half the labor, on twice his rations. The ox should be as little abused by threats and whipping, as by stinted feed and overtasked labor. Loud and repeated hallooing, or the severe use of the lash, is as impolitic as it is cruel and disgraceful. We never witness this barbarity without wishing the brutes could change places, long enough at least to teach the biped that humanity by his own sufferings which his reason and sensibility have failed to inspire. Clear and intelligible, yet low and gentle words are all that are necessary to guide the well-trained, spirited ox. The stick, or whip, is needed rather to indicate the precise movement desired, than as a stimulant or means of punishment. The ox understands a moderate tone more perfectly than a boisterous one, for all sounds become indistinct as they increase. It is of great advantage to have oxen well trained to _backing_. They may soon be taught, by beginning with an empty cart on a descent; then on a level; then with an increasing load, or uphill, till the cattle will back nearly the same load they will draw. Some oxen have a bad trick of _hauling_ or _crowding_. Changing to opposite sides, longer or shorter yokes, and more than all, gentle treatment, are the only remedies, and those not unfrequently fail. Cattle will seldom contract this habit, in the hands of a judicious, careful driver. _The yokes_ should be carefully made, and set easy, and the bows fitted to the necks and properly attached to the yoke. Cattle are liable to sore necks if used in a storm; and when subject to this exposure, they must be well rubbed with grease, where the yoke chafes them, and respite from work should be allowed till the necks heal. Management of Bulls or Vicious Animals. If inclined to be vicious, the bulls should have rings thrust through the cartilage of their nose when young. They are to be found at the agricultural warehouses; and are made of round iron, three-eighths of an inch diameter, with a joint in one side to open, and when thrust through the nose, are fastened in a moment, by a rivet previously prepared. [Illustration: Fig. 5. Cattle-Handler.] Fig. 5 is a _cattle-handler_, consisting of a bar of iron A, eight inches long, with a ring for a man's hand, which turns on a swivel at B, and at the other end is a pair of calliper-shaped legs, one stationary, and the other opening on a joint. The fixed leg is inserted against one side of the nostril, and the other is pressed upon the opposite side, and there fastened by a slide, C, when the animal is firmly held for administering medicine or performing any operation. [Illustration: Fig. 6. Fig. 7. For taming savage Animals.] Figs. 6 and 7, for _taming a bull_; b, in Fig. 6, is a cap screwed on to the tip of the horn; a c, an iron rod hanging on a pivot in the cap, with a chain reaching to the ring in the nose. The effect of his attempting to hook, is illustrated by the various positions of the chain in Fig. 7. If the rod at a, is pushed in either direction, it jerks up the nose in a manner that cures him of his inclination. [Illustration: Fig. 8. Cattle-Tie.] Fig. 8, shows a _cattle-tie_.--This is a much more convenient and comfortable mode of fastening cattle in the stable, than the common stanchions. The proper time for turning off Cattle. This must depend on their previous feeding and management, the breed, and the purposes required. The improved breeds and many of their crosses, will mature for the butcher as fully at three or four, as inferior cattle at five to seven years old. If pushed rapidly with proper food, they will of course be _ripe_ much sooner than if stinted. When cattle have to be purchased for work, or cows for the dairy, it becomes an object to keep them as long as they can be made profitable, and yet be turned off for fattening at a fair price. We have seen active and spirited oxen in the yoke at 16 or 17; but they seldom do as well after 12 or even 10 years. Old cattle are liable to more diseases than young; are less hardy; and they recover more slowly when exposed to scanty feed or hard usage. They also fatten with more difficulty, and their meat is inferior. When they can be sold advantageously to the feeder, and replaced without inconvenience, it is found to be most profitable to turn them off at seven or eight years. They will by that time have attained full maturity; they will feed rapidly, and make the largest amount of good beef. If there are extraordinary milkers among the cows, or superior workers among the oxen, it is better to keep them as long as they maintain their full vigor. Fattening Cattle. Such as are designed for the shambles the ensuing fall or winter, may be allowed to do their spring's labor; or if cows, they may be milked into summer after calving, or go farrow during the previous year. They should early be put on the best summer feed, and it is better to be occasionally changed, to give variety and freshness, and keep the animal in good appetite. Let the fattening animals have the best, and after they have cropped it a while, give them a fresh field; and the other animals or sheep can follow and clear off the remaining herbage, preparatory to shutting it up for a new growth. Some prefer an extensive range of rich feed, which is unchanged throughout the season; and when it is not necessary to divide the pasture with the other animals, this is a good practice. [Illustration: Fig. 9.] [Illustration: Fig. 10.] [Illustration: Fig. 11.] Three cuts of improved forms, Nos. 9, 10, and 11. The above cuts illustrate the forms which the most improved beef-cattle should possess. The selection of Animals for Stall Fattening. This is a nice point, and none without a practised eye and touch, can choose such as will make the best return for the food consumed. The characteristics of choice animals, heretofore enumerated, are particularly essential in those intended for profitable fattening. But the most important of all, is that firm mellowness, and quick elasticity of touch, which unerringly mark the kindly feeder and profitable bullock. When other means for ascertaining fail, it is a safe rule to select the best-conditioned animals, out of a herd of grass-fed; for if all were of equal flesh and health, when turned out, those which have thriven most on their summer pasture, will generally fatten quickest on their fall and winter keep. Only the best should be selected. The remainder, after consuming the coarser forage, may be at once disposed of for early use. From repeated trials, it is found that the carcass of stall-fed animals will barely return the value of the materials consumed, and their manure is generally the only compensation for the time and attention bestowed. None but choice, thrifty beasts will pay for their food and attention, and all others will make their best returns, by an immediate disposal, after the surplus fodder is gone. [Illustration: Fig. 12. Points of Cattle Illustrated. EXPLANATION.--A, forehead; B, face; C, cheek; D, muzzle; E, neck; F, neck vein; G, shoulder point; H, arm; I, shank; J, gambril, or hock; K, elbow; L, brisket, bosom, or breast; M, shoulder; N, crops; O, loin; P, hip, hucks, hocks, or huckles; Q, crupper bone, or sacrum; R, rump, or pin-bone; S, round bone, thurl, or whirl; T, buttock; U, thigh, or gaskit; V, flank; W, plates; X, back, or chine; Y, throat; Z, chest.] Stall-Feeding. This ought to be commenced early in the season. An ox may be fed in a box-stall, or if accustomed to a mate, they do better by tying together with sufficient room, yet not so near as to allow of injuring each other. The building should be warm, but not hot; well ventilated, yet having no current of cold air passing through; and as dark as possible. The stall ought to be kept clean and dry, and a deep bed of clean straw is of decided advantage. The ox should be first fed the inferior and most perishable roots with his grain and dry forage, and his food should be gradually increased in richness, as he advances towards maturity. The food and water should be given three times a day, from thoroughly cleaned mangers or troughs. The animal likes a change of food, in which he should be indulged as often as may be necessary. If he refuses his food, a temporary privation, or variety is essential. When the food is changed, he should be moderately fed at first, till he becomes accustomed to it, as there is otherwise danger of cloying, which is always injurious. The moment the animal has done feeding, the remainder of the food ought to be at once removed. He then lies down, and if undisturbed, rests quietly till the proper hour induces him again to look for his accustomed rations. Regularity in the time of feeding, is of the utmost consequence. An animal soon becomes habituated to a certain hour, and if it be delayed beyond this, he is restless and impatient, which are serious obstacles to speedy fattening. [Illustration: Fig. 13. Ox cut up. Fig. 13--Shows the London method of cutting up the carcass--Fig. 1, is the loin; 2, rump; 3, aitch or adz-bone; 4, buttock; 5, hock; 6, thick flank; 7, thin flank; 8, fore-rib; 9, middle rib; 10, cuck-rib; 11, brisket; 12, leg of mutton piece; 13, clod or neck; 14, brisket.] [Illustration: Fig. 14. Skeleton of an Ox. 1. Temporal bone.--2. Frontal bone, or bone of the forehead.--3. Orbit of the eye.--4. Lachrymal bone.--5. Malar, or cheek bone.--6. Upper jaw bone.--7. Nasal bone, or bone of the nose.--8. Nippers, found on the lower jaw alone.--9. Eight true ribs.--10. Humerus, or lower bone of the shoulder.--11. Sternum.--12. Ulna, its upper part forming the elbow.--13. Ulna.--14. Radius, or principal bone of the arm.--15. Small bones of the knee.--16. Large metacarpal, or shank bone.--17. Bifurcation at the pasterns, and the two larger pasterns to each foot.--18. Sesamoid bones.--19. Bifurcation of the pasterns.--20. Lower jaw and the grinders.--21. Vertebræ, or bones of the neck.--22. Navicular bones.--23. Two coffin bones to each foot.--24. Two smaller pasterns to each foot.--25. Smaller or splint-bone.--26. False ribs, with their cartilages.--27. Patella, or bone of the knee.--28. Small bones of the hock.--29. Metatarsals, or larger bones of the hind leg.--30. Pasterns and feet.--31. Small bones of the hock.--32. Point of the hock.--33. Tibia, or proper leg-bone.--34. Thigh-bone.--35. Bones of the tail.--36, 37. Haunch and pelvis.--38. Sacrum.--39. Bones of the loins.--40. Bones of the back--41. Ligament of the neck and its attachments.--42. Scapula, or shoulder-blade.--43. Bones of the back.--44. Ligament of the neck.--45. Dentata.--46. Atlas.--47. Occipital bone, deeply depressed below the crest or ridge of the head--48. Parietal bone, low in the temporal fossa.--49. Horns, being processes or continuations of the frontal bone.] DISEASES IN CATTLE. Hoven, or Swelling of the Paunch, Is a temporary ailment, caused by eating too freely of fresh and generally wet clover, or other succulent food. The animal gorges the first stomach with so much food, that its contents cannot be expelled. Inflammation of the membrane takes place, and decomposition of the food soon follows. This is known by the distension of the paunch, and difficulty of breathing, and unless speedily relieved, suffocation and death will ensue. Both sheep and cattle are subject to it. _Remedies._[1]--In its early stages, when not too severe, it has been removed by administering some one of the following remedies. A pint of gin poured down the throat. From one to two pints of lamp or other oil. Strong brine. New milk with one-fifth its bulk of tar mixed. An egg-shell full of tar forced down the throat, followed by a second, if the first fails. A tablespoonful of volatile spirit of ammonia, diluted with water. A wine-glass full of powder, mixed with cold lard and forced in balls into the stomach. A teaspoonful of unslaked lime dissolved in a pint of warm water, shaken and given immediately. A pint of tolerably strong lye. [1] Besides his own experience, the writer has drawn from the N. E. Farmer, the Albany Cultivator, the American Agriculturist, and other reliable American and English works, some of the remedies for diseases herein mentioned. The Proper Mode of giving the above Remedies Is for a person to hold the horn and cartilage of the nose, while another seizes and draws out the tongue as far as possible, when the medicine is thrust below the root of the tongue. If liquid, it must be inserted by the use of a bottle. _The probang_ is used when the former remedies are ineffectual. This consists of a tarred rope, or a flexible whip-stalk, three-fourths of an inch in diameter, with a swab or bulbous end. Two persons hold the head of the animal, so as to keep the mouth in a line with the throat, while a third forces it into the stomach, when the gas finds a passage out. A stiff leather tube with a lead nozzle pierced with holes, is best for insertion, through which the gas will readily escape. Some one of the above purgatives should be given after the bloat has subsided, and careful feeding for some days must be observed. Light gruels are best for allaying inflammation, and restoring the tone of the stomach. When no other means are available, the paunch may be tapped with a sharp penknife, plunging it 1½ inches forward of the hip bone, towards the last rib in the left side. If the hole fills up, put in a large goose-quill tube, which to prevent slipping into the wound, may remain attached to the feather, and the air can escape through a large hole in the upper end. _Prevention_ is vastly better than cure, and may be always secured, by not allowing hungry cattle to fill themselves with clover, roots, apples, &c. When first put upon such feed, it should be when the dew and rain are off, and their stomachs are already partially filled; and they should then be withdrawn before they have gorged themselves. [Illustration: Fig. 15.] [Illustration: Fig. 16. The Stomach Pump.] This is a convenient instrument for extracting poisonous substances from the stomach. It is also highly useful for administering medicines and injections, and if fitted with several tubes, one may suffice for animals of any size. It consists of a syringe, _a_, with a side opening at _b_, and another at the bottom _d_, as shown in Fig. 16. For injections, Fig. 15 is used, and the end of the syringe is placed in a vessel containing the fluid, when a probang or injection-tube is screwed on to the side opening at _b_, through which the fluid is forced into the stomach or rectum, as may be required. The probang should be a tube of thick but elastic leather, and it may be passed into the mouth, through an aperture in a block, placed on edge between the teeth, which is easily done while a person holds the head of the animal firmly. Choking Is frequently relieved by some of the following expedients. The use of the probang or whip-stock, mentioned under the head of _remedies for Hoven_, by which the root is forced into the stomach. A soft root may be crushed so as to allow of swallowing, by holding a smooth block against it, and striking with a mallet on the opposite side. If within arms-length, the root may be removed by hand. It is said this can be done, by tying up the fore-leg with a small cord, close to the body, and giving the animal a sudden start with a whip; or by jerking the fore-leg out forward. Or pour down the throat a pint bottle full of soft soap, mixed with sufficient hot water to make it run freely. _Prevention_ consists in cutting the roots; not feeding them when the animals are very hungry, and not disturbing them while eating. Inflammation of the Stomach. This is frequently produced by a sudden change from dry to green food, and some other causes. Epsom salts, castor oil, sulphur, and carbonate of soda, in sufficient quantity to purge freely, are good remedies. It may be prevented by changing the food gradually. Mange, or Scab. This is denoted by the animal rubbing the hair off about the eyes and other parts. The skin is scaly or scabby, sometimes appearing like a large seed-wart. _Remedies._--Rub the spots with sulphur and lard, after scraping and washing with soap. When the skin is cracked, take sulphur, 1 lb.; turpentine, ¼ lb.; unguentum, (or mercurial ointment,) 2 ounces; linseed oil, 1 pint. Melt the turpentine and warm the oil, and when partly cooled, stir in the sulphur; when cold, add the unguentum, mixing all well. Rub this thoroughly with the hand on the parts affected. We have no doubt this, like scab in sheep and itch in the human species, will be found, on close investigation, to be caused by minute insects located in the skin. Salt and water ought, in that case, to be a good remedy. Hollow Horn, or Horn Ail. This is not unfrequently _hollow stomach_, and very often follows stinted fare, hard usage, and exposure to cold. We have noticed this as most prevalent among oxen that have done a severe winter's work. _Symptoms._--Bloody urine; swollen udder; shaking the head; eyes and head swollen; standing with the head against a fence or barn; eyes dull and sunken, and horns cold. _Remedies._--Bleed and physic, shelter and feed properly. Take a half pint of good vinegar, two tablespoonfuls of salt, one teaspoonful of pepper, and mix and pour into each ear, holding the head on one side for two minutes. Bore with a large gimlet on the under side of the horn, three or four inches from the head; and if hollow, bore nearer the head and let out all the matter, and syringe two or three times a day with salt and water, or soap-suds, or salt and vinegar. Spirits of turpentine rubbed in around the base of the horns, will arrest the disease in its incipient stages. Pour a spoonful of boiling hot brimstone into the cavity between the horns. Pour a teakettle of boiling water on the horns, holding so as to prevent injury to the other parts. Soot and pepper given internally are good. Jaundice, or Yellows. This is owing to gall-stones or calculi, which occasionally accumulate in large numbers, and is sometimes owing to increased or altered quality of the bile. It is manifested by the yellowness of the eye and skin, and high color of the urine, and poor appetite. _Remedies._--Bleed, and purge with Epsom salts. If taken in season, 2 ounces of ground mustard may be mixed with a liquid, and given twice a day. Green food is a good preventive. Mad Itch. This disease exists in some of the Western states, and shows itself by jerking of the head, and itching around the nose and base of the horns. They will lick their sides and backs, and jerk and hiccup till they fill themselves with wind; afterwards they froth at the mouth, and in 24 hours die raving mad. _Remedy._--Give as much soot and salt as the animal will eat; soon after, give ¾ or 1 lb. of brimstone or sulphur; and 8 hours after, as many salts. Bloody Murrain, or Red Water. This disease first shows itself in a cough, then heaving of the flanks, with bloody, black, and f[oe]tid evacuations, tenderness over the loins, and coldness of the horns. Tumors and biles sometimes appear. The animal holds down the head, moans, is restless, and staggers when walking. _Causes._--We have lost several animals by this fatal disease, and are not aware of having cured any when severely attacked. In repeated instances, we have seen large flukes taken out of the liver, strongly resembling the common leech, which abounds in many of our swampy lands. It is certain that on new, low swamps and clay lands, cattle are most liable to it; and when they have been subject to repeated attacks in such localities, clearing and draining have checked it. Youatt attributes it to certain kinds of forage, which are peculiar to the above situations. We are rather inclined to ascribe it to exposure, to excessive dampness, and especially to miasma; for although the brute creation are perhaps less sensitive to these influences than man, yet, as they are governed by the same unvarying laws of nature, when subjected to conditions totally unsuited to their economy, they must suffer equally in kind, though probably not in degree, with the more refined human frame. But it is evident the disease, its causes, and remedies, are as yet imperfectly understood. _Remedies._--However intelligent men may differ as to its causes, all agree that the animal should first be bled, and then thoroughly purged. In obstinate cases, this last is a difficult matter. We have given repeated doses of powerful cathartics without producing any effect; and whenever the medicine is inoperative, death speedily follows. Large doses of common salt, or Epsom salts dissolved in water, are good purgatives, and if the animal neglects drinking after taking them, he should be drenched with copious draughts of water. These should be repeated every few hours, if ineffectual. Injections are sometimes useful, when medicine fails to act. These may be made of soap and water; or take 2 or 3 gills of oats boiled, 3 drachms saltpetre, 1½ oz. linseed oil, mix and use them when warm. The opening of the bowels may be followed with a pint of linseed oil, as an additional and gentle laxative. When the animal begins to recover, gentle astringents and tonics may be given. _Preventives._--We have more confidence in preventives than in remedies. Good keep, shelter, dryness, and clean pastures, will generally prevent attack. The cattle should at all times be supplied with two or three troughs under cover, on the sides and bottoms of which tar should be plentifully spread. Let equal portions of salt and slaked lime be in one; salt and wood ashes in another; and salt and brimstone in a third. Many farmers have entirely avoided this disease while using one or more of these, when they annually lost many by it previously. Hoof Ail Is indicated by lameness, fever, and a soft swelling just above the hoof. _Remedies._--Carefully wash the foot in warm soap-suds, and while still damp, apply between the claws on the affected part from one to three grains of corrosive sublimate. If it does not fully adhere, it must be mixed with hog's lard, but it should be so applied as to be out of the reach of the animal's tongue, as it is a powerful poison, and the extreme irritability of the feet will induce him to lick them. The claw is efficiently cleansed, by drawing a cord briskly through it, when either of the above applications, or blue vitriol put on two or three times a day, or spirits of turpentine, will effect a cure. It is sometimes cured by putting the animals in the stanchions, and applying a sharp chisel three-fourths of an inch from the toe, and striking it with a mallet till it is cut off. If it does not bleed freely, cut off shavings till it does. If the animal is refractory, let a person hold up the opposite foot. Keep them in the stable two or three days, and out of the mud for a week. Loss of Cud Is loss of appetite, prostration, and general ill-health. _Remedies._--Give a warm bran mash, with good hay, and warm water with salt. An aloe tincture, made with brandy and ginger, is good. Afterwards give good, dry, nourishing food; and bitter infusions, chamomile flowers, hoarhound, oak bark, &c., in beer. Scours, or Diarrh[oe]a. A common remedy, is to boil the bark of white oak, white pine, and beech, and give a strong infusion in bran. If they refuse to eat it, pour it down. The oak is astringent, and the pine and beech soothing and healing. Warbles Are grubs, the egg of which is deposited in the back of cattle by the gad-fly, (_[OE]strus bovis._) They are discernible by a protuberance or swelling on the back. They may be pressed out by the thumb and finger; or burnt out by plunging a hot wire in them; or a few applications of strong brine will remove them. Wounds In cattle are readily healed, when the animal's blood is in good order, by applying a salve made of 1 oz. green copperas; 2 oz. white vitriol; 2 oz. salt; 2 oz. linseed oil; 8 oz. molasses. Boil over a slow fire 15 minutes in a pint of urine, and when almost cold, add 1 oz. oil of vitriol, and 4 oz. spirits turpentine. Apply it with a feather to the wound, and cure soon follows. Milk, or Puerperal Fever, Is a common disease with cows in high condition, at the time of calving. It may, in almost every case, be avoided, by keeping them in moderate feed and flesh. _Remedies._--Bleed freely, say 6 to 10 quarts, according to the circulation of the blood; then give 1 to 1½ lbs. of Epsom salts, according to the size of the beast, to be repeated in half lb. doses every six hours, till she purges freely. Injections should always be given when purgatives are tardy in their operation. Caked Bag May be removed by simmering the bark of the root of bitter-sweet in lard, till it becomes very yellow. When cool, apply it to the swollen udder once in 8 or 10 hours; or wash it several times a day in cold water. A pint of horseradish, fed once a day, cut up with potatoes or meal, is useful for the same purpose. This is also a tonic, helps the appetite, and is good for oxen subject to heat. Garget Is a more intense degree of inflammation than exists in caked bag and sore, swollen teats, and shows itself in hard bunches on the udder. The cow should be bled, and take a large dose of physic; then wash the udder as in caked bag. Repeated doses of sulphur is a good remedy. Garget, or scoke root, given of the size of a large finger, grated and fed in their food, is a general application with farmers. The garget plant grows from three to six feet high, with a purple stalk, and strings of berries hanging down between the branches. Sore Teats May be healed by rubbing with goose oil, cream, new milk; or make the same applications for it as for caked bag. The bag and teats should be well cleansed with warm soft water, if to be followed by any ointment. The following application is recommended by Youatt: One ounce of yellow wax and three of lard; melt together, and when cooling, rub in one quarter ounce of sugar of lead, and a drachm of alum finely powdered. Warts Are of two kinds; the first, on the outer skin, may be removed by rubbing with camphorated olive oil. The others penetrate into the flesh, and may be removed by a ligature of fine twine, or silk, or india-rubber drawn into a string, and tied tightly around the wart, which falls off in a few days. _Remedies._--Nitrate of silver, (lunar caustic,) applied to the wart, will remove it, but it produces a sore. Apply a strong wash of alum. Rub with the juice of milk-weed. Poultice with grated carrot. Cut off the wart with sharp scissors, when the cow is dry. It will bleed little, and soon heal. Sore Necks on Working Oxen. These occur when worked in wet weather, or with bad yokes. The _remedy_ is, rub with a healing application. The _preventive_ is, good yokes; the application of grease; or a decoction of white or yellow oak bark applied to the affected parts. Or, a better preventive is a canvass or leather cap to protect the neck entirely from the storm. The Bite of Poisonous Snakes May be cured by shaking together equal parts of olive oil and hartshorn, and rubbing the wound and adjacent parts three or four times a day. For a full-grown animal, one quart of olive oil and an ounce of hartshorn should be administered internally, in addition to the above. For Stings of Bees, Hornets, &c. Apply warm vinegar and salt, rubbing the parts thoroughly. For a Forming Tumor. Rub thoroughly with strong brine, or a solution of sal ammoniac dissolved in eight times its weight of water. If the tumor comes to a head, open it near the bottom with a lancet; or place a seton in it so as to admit the escape of purulent matter. Lice and Vermin Sometimes abound on cattle during the latter part of winter and spring. These are generally the result of _mange_, which is itself the effect of ill-feeding and ill-condition. They are removed with the cause. We doubt if they can be permanently kept off, where the animal is losing flesh and health. _Remedies._--Restore the health and condition, and sprinkle sand, ashes, or dirt plentifully around the roots of the horns, and along the ridge of the neck and back. A liberal application of train or other oil has nearly a similar effect. Never apply an ointment containing corrosive sublimate or other poison, as it may be licked by the animal or its fellows, who may thus become seriously poisoned. The Trembles, Producing _milk sickness_ (a most fatal disease) in the human family, from eating the milk or flesh of animals affected by it. This disease, which exists principally in the region of the Wabash River, is supposed by Dr. Drake to be owing to the _poison oak_, (Rhus Toxicodendron,) or _poison vine_, (Radicans,) which the animals eat. _Symptoms._--The animal mopes, is feverish and costive, but apparently preserves its appetite. The next stage of the disease is faintness and vertigo, which is shown when the animal is put upon exertion, being followed by excessive _trembling_ and entire prostration. _Remedy._--Almost every cathartic has been tried in vain. Indian corn, both dry and green, has been fed to all animals accustomed to eating it, and when they can be induced to feed upon it freely, purging is generally secured. Rest of the animal is absolutely essential while the disease continues, and is itself an effectual remedy in mild cases. * * * * * Besides the diseases enumerated, there are occasional epidemics, such as _black tongue_, _black foot_, or _foot root_, _&c._, which carry off great numbers of animals. Remedies for these are frequently not discovered, and the epidemic is allowed to run its course unchecked. The only preventives are such care, food, and management as the experienced herdsman knows to be best suited to the maintenance of the health and thrift of his stock. _Note._--Some ailments will be found under the head of _diseases_ of the other animals mentioned in this work, the general resemblance of which to each other will justify nearly a similar treatment. If intelligent _farriers_ are at hand, they may sometimes be called in with advantage; though we acknowledge our distrust of the quackery of most of those passing under this title. There is little science or intelligent study in the composition of this class, the world over; and much of their practice is the merest empiricism. The owner should see to it, if he employs one of whose attainments he is doubtful, that neither medicines nor operations be used, unnecessarily severe or hazardous to the animal. Especially, should the diabolical practice be interdicted, of the abundant and indiscriminate use of poisons, boiling oils, turpentine, and tar, and the hot iron applied to the sensitive wound or naked flesh. If certain or effectual remedies for the removal of disease cannot he applied, such as augment the suffering or endanger the life of the poor dumb things, may at least be avoided. CHAPTER III. THE DAIRY. Cows for the Dairy. From what has been said on the various characteristics of the different breeds of cattle, it must be evident, that no very definite criteria of excellence can be given for all good dairy cows. But there are certain points in a good milker, that can hardly be mistaken. She should be descended from the best milking stock; her head should be small or of medium size, muzzle fine, and nostrils flexible and expanded; face long, slender, and dishing; cheeks thin; eyes full, mild, and prominent; horns delicate and waxy, and they may be either branching, lopped, crumpled, or hornless; long, thin, lively ear, and the inside of an orange color; neck thin and small at its junction with the head; deep chest, but not too heavy before; back level and broad; well ribbed; belly large; low flank; wide thighs, but thin; short legs, and standing well apart; large milking veins; loose, capacious udder, coming well out behind; good teats; loose, mellow skin, of a deep yellow; and a fine, thick coat of glossy hair; and she must be of a good disposition, and free from tricks. Yet, with all the skill of a well-practised taste in the selection of animals, the dairyman will frequently find his theories and results at sad variance. One may sometimes select a fine animal, with every appearance of good milking qualities, which is but a medium cow at the pail; and another, that hardly seems worthy of notice, and which sets at defiance many established milking points, and all preconceived notions of symmetry, may yet prove a good milker. A cow that runs to flesh while in milk, is generally an indifferent animal for the dairy. Perfection in a cow, consists in converting all she eats into milk while yielding it, and when dry, in turning all she consumes into valuable meat. Management of Dairy Cows. A cow may have her first calf when between two and three years of age, according to her size and development. After calving, she should be stinted in her food for two or three days, and not fed freely for a week. Avoid fat in a breeding cow. Too high feeding is the cause of milk-fever, caked bag, garget, and a host of evils; and very poor feed is almost equally objectionable. The average time of a cow with young, is from 40 to 41 weeks; but they sometimes go only 34, and occasionally overrun 44. A dry, unoccupied stall or yard is best for her to calve in; and if there is any serious delay or difficulty in the operation, she may be assisted by placing the f[oe]tus in the right position, and gently pulling it, with every throe of the dam. After the calf has drawn all he wants at morning and evening, the bag should be thoroughly and quickly emptied of all the milk. If strong and vigorous, the calf is the best doctor for garget or caked bag. He may be allowed to suck the cow or not, at the option of the owner; there are reasons for and against the practice, as will be seen under the head of rearing calves, and each person must determine in his own case on which side the balance lies. Milking. This is an important operation, and on its proper performance depends much of the success of the dairyman. A cow regularly, gently, yet quickly and thoroughly milked, will give much more than if neglected. If a herd of cows be separated into two divisions, each yielding the same quantity of milk, and one is given to a good milker, and the other to a shiftless or lazy one, the latter will speedily reduce his milk much below the quantity obtained by the former; and if the milkers then exchange cows, they will be found to change quantity too, those before affording the least, soon giving the most. An indifferent milker ought never to be tolerated in a herd, good ones are cheaper at double the price. It is best to milk at intervals of about 12 hours; which may be done when pastures are convenient, or cows are soiled or fed in the yard. But as this is not often the case in the season of green food, they should be milked early in the morning and turned into pasture, to fill themselves before the sun is oppressive; and if they are to be kept up at night, let them browse in the pasture as long as possible, before they are brought to the yard. MILK Is produced from the females of all the warm-blooded animals, which are enumerated among the mammaliæ. The milk of several animals is employed for domestic purposes, among different nations. That of the camel is used by the Arabs; the milk of the ass by the Spaniards, the Maltese, and the inhabitants of the Levant; that of the mare by the Cossacks, the Kirgheez, and other Tartars; and that of the goat, the ewe, and the cow, by most of the ancient, and with few exceptions, by every modern European nation. Within the last century, however, the use of all excepting cow's milk has been almost entirely discarded, among the most highly civilized people. If we except some few Welsh and Swiss, or other emigrants, who resort to the goat and ewe for their dairy materials, for the first few years of their residence here, the cow is the only animal which is employed in America for producing milk. For this, she is pre-eminently fitted, and the modern improvement of this invaluable animal has carried her product of milk almost as far as can be reasonably looked for from a given amount of food; and although this is of about the average richness of the goat and ewe, and before that of the ass, the quantity she yields is frequently as 60 to 1, in favor of the cow, over the first two competitors. As a milk-giving animal, the cow is the best fitted for the purposes of civilized man; and she is made to contribute, not only to his health, his comfort, and his economy, but to many of his choicest luxuries. Milk contains every element of nutrition necessary to animal existence; and man can subsist, with unimpaired health and strength, if limited to this food alone. The Constituents of Milk Are butter, which varies from 2 to 6 per cent.; casein or cheese, usually 4 to 5, but sometimes varying from 3 to 15 per cent.; (the last excessive quantity, yielded only by the first milk after calving;) milk-sugar, 4 to 6; salts or saline matter, 0.2 to 0.6; and water, 80 to 89. _There is much diversity in the product and quality of milk_ from cows of the same breed, the same food, and other circumstances and conditions, apparently equal. Thus, of a herd of 22, chiefly Ayrshire, one gave 84 quarts in one week, which afforded 3½ lbs. of butter; two others in the same time gave 86, yielding 5½ lbs.; and a fourth gave 88 quarts, making 7 lbs. The amount of butter, however, which a given quantity of milk will produce, is not the only criterion of the value of the milk, except for this purpose alone. Some cows will yield more butter, others will produce more cheese; while for consumption, another may partially compensate, in the increased quantity of milk-sugar, and the saline matters, for a deficiency of both the other ingredients. But for dairy purposes, butter and cheese are the only measure of the value of milk; and a cow is esteemed good or indifferent, as she gives one or the other in the greatest abundance. Circumstances which modify the Quantity and Character of Milk. Besides the accidental variation in the quantity and quality of milk in different animals, before adverted to, there are many reliable causes which influence both. Of these, parentage has a most decided and uniform influence, frequently modified, however, in the particular individual, by some personal and controlling causes. But a cow, whose maternal ancestry on both sides are choice milkers, is almost certain to resemble them. Food influences the quantity, rather than the quality. Boussingault tried numerous experiments, with cows fed on various kinds of food, and found the difference hardly appreciable in the quality of milk. Its true benefit is to be looked for in the increased quantity, through which, the valuable ingredients are distributed in nearly the same proportion, as when the product is materially lessened. By quality we mean to be understood, the amount of the ingredients, _valuable for nutrition only_; for it is certain, that there is a rich aromatic flavor, not only in milk, but in butter and cheese, which is afforded in various articles of food, and especially by the fresh green herbage which abounds in the pastures from spring to autumn. Activity or rest has a great effect on both quantity and quality. The less action, and the more quiet and rest, the greater the amount of milk and butter. But exercise is absolutely essential to the production of cheese. Butter may be made from cows confined in a stable, but cheese can only be profitably made from animals at pasture. It is supposed by physiologists, that the exercise in gathering their food, rather than any peculiarity in its character, is necessary to convert the nitrogenized tissues into the nitrogenized principle of caseum or cheese. The time from calving, has also its effect. The first milk drawn from a cow after calving, has been found to yield over 15 per cent. of casein, while in its ordinary state it gives only three to five and a half. As the quantity of milk diminishes in a farrow cow, the quality improves within certain limits. Pregnancy affects the quality injuriously, and especially towards its latter stages; and a cow that is predisposed to giving milk, should be dried off a few weeks before its expiration, as it is then unfit for use. Fat cows give poorer milk than such as are moderately lean; and young animals do not come up to the maximum of their quality, till after their third or fourth calving. The milk first drawn from the udder, will yield only an eighth, and sometimes even a much less proportion of cream, than the strippings; and the milk which is drawn three times a day, is greatly inferior to such as is taken but once, though the latter is less abundant. Excitement, or fretfulness; change of locality, or to a different herd, with new companions; separation from her calf; periodical heat; annoyance from flies, or worry from dogs; exposure to storms, severe cold, or an oppressive sun, and many similar causes, diminish the quantity of milk and butter; but some of these may reasonably be expected to increase the proportion of its casein. Dr. Playfair found that the quantity of butter in the evening milk, after the cow had been at pasture all day, was 3.7 per cent., while the casein was 5.4; after lying quietly all night, the milk from the same cow, on the following morning, contained 5.6 per cent. of butter, and only 3.9 of casein. In stabling the cow, the butter was invariably in greater proportion than when allowed to ramble in the pasture; and the casein, with a single exception, was equally diminished. [Illustration: Fig. 17. Lactometer, or Cream Guage.] Fig. 17, is a number of glass tubes of equal size, set in a frame called a _lactometer_ or _cream guage_. If milk from different cows be set in these, the depth of the cream will indicate their comparative richness. Cream. If milk be immediately set away in shallow vessels, after being taken from the cow, the cream rises to the surface, carrying with it most of the butter contained in the milk, and much of its casein also. Hence, the great nutritive properties of buttermilk, which retains the casein in very large proportions, much of it being rejected by the butter in its separation from the cream. A temperature below 34°, will prevent the cream from rising in any considerable quantity, and preserve the milk unaltered for some weeks. Coagulating the milk from any cause, will equally prevent the separation of the cream. The elevation of temperature within certain limits, hastens the separation. Thus, at 50°, the cream will mostly have risen in 36 hours; at 55°, in 24; at 68°, in 18 or 20; and at 77°, in 10 or 12 hours. Heating the milk near the boiling point, and then setting it away and allowing it to remain undisturbed, will soon cause the cream to rise. In the celebrated Orange dairy, near Baltimore, Md., this system was practised, by which, not only most of the cream was secured for butter, but in consequence of its rapid separation, the skimmed milk was sent to market within a few hours after being drawn; and the scalding imparted to it an agreeable flavor and apparent richness, which it did not really possess. The celebrated clouted cream of Devonshire, England, and the butter made from it, contains an unusual quantity of casein, the consequence of heating the milk. "It is prepared by straining the warm milk into large shallow pans into which a little water has previously been put, allowing these to stand from six to twelve hours, and then carefully heating them over a slow fire, or on a hot plate, till the milk approaches the boiling point. The milk, however, must not actually boil, nor must the skin of the cream be broken. The dishes are now removed into the dairy, and allowed to cool. In summer the cream should be churned on the following day; in winter it may stand over two days. The quantity of cream obtained is said to be one-fourth greater by this method, and the milk which is left is proportionably poor."--[_Johnston._] BUTTER. Electricity Has much to do with the changes in milk, as in all other substances. Glass milk-pans might, therefore, be supposed to be the best vessels for keeping the milk unchanged and sweet. It may possibly not afford any practical result, yet intelligent experiments for introducing a stream of electricity might well be justified, to aid in the separation of the butteraceous particles in the operation of churning. Sour Cream. Cream, for the purpose of churning, is usually allowed to become sour. It ought to be at least one day old, but may with advantage be kept several days in cool weather, if it be previously well freed from milk, and be frequently stirred to keep it from curdling. This sour cream is put into the churn, and worked in the usual way until the butter separates. This is collected into lumps, well beat and squeezed free from the milk, and in some dairies is washed with pure cold water as long as the water is rendered milky. In other localities the butter is not washed, but after being well beat, is carefully freed from the remaining milk by repeated squeezings and dryings with a clean cloth. Both methods, no doubt, have their advantages. In the same circumstances, the washed butter may be more easily preserved in the fresh state, while the unwashed butter will probably possess a higher flavor. Sweet Cream May be put into the churn and the butter be obtained, but in most cases it requires more labor and longer time, without, in the opinion of good judges, affording in general a finer quality of butter. In all cases the cream becomes sour during the agitation, and before the butter begins distinctly to form. Clouted Cream The churning of the clouted cream of this and other countries, forms an exception to the general rule just stated, that more time is required in the churning of sweet creams. Clouted cream may be churned in the morning after it is made, that is, within twenty-four hours of the time when the milk was taken from the cow; and from such cream it is well known that the butter separates with very great ease. But in this case, the heating of the cream has already disposed the oily matter to cohere, an incipient running together of the globules has probably taken place before the cream is removed from the milk, and hence the comparative ease with which the churning is effected. There is something peculiar in butter prepared in this way, as it is known in other countries by the name of Bohemian butter. It is said to be very agreeable in flavor, but it must contain more cheesy matter than the butter from ordinary cream. Churning the whole Milk Is a much more laborious method, from the difficulty of keeping in motion such large quantities of fluid. It has the advantage, however, of giving a larger quantity of butter. At Rennes, in Brittany, the milk of the previous evening is poured _into the churn_ along with the warm morning's milk, and the mixture is allowed to stand for some hours, when the whole is churned. In this way it is said that a larger quantity of butter is obtained, and of a more delicate flavor. In the neighborhood of Glasgow, according to Mr. Aiton, the milk is allowed to stand six, twelve, or twenty-four hours in the dairy, till the whole has cooled, and the cream has risen to the surface. Two or three milkings, still sweet, are then poured together with their cream, into a large vessel, and are left undisturbed till the whole has become quite sour, and is completely coagulated. The proper sourness is indicated by the formation of a stiff _brat_ upon the surface _which has become uneven_. Great care must be taken to keep the brat and curd unbroken until the milk is about to be churned, for if any of the whey be separated, the air gains admission to it and to the curd, and fermentation is induced. By this fermentation, the quality of the butter may or may not be affected, but that of the buttermilk is almost sure to be injured. In Holland the practice is a little different. The cream is not allowed to rise to the surface at all, but the milk is stirred two or three times a day, till it gets sour, and so thick that a wooden spoon will stand in it. It is then put into the churn, and the working, or the separation of the butter is assisted by the addition of a quantity of cold water. By churning the sour milk in one or other of these ways, the butter is said to be "rich, sound, and well-flavored." If it be greater in quantity, it is, according to Sprengel, because the fatty matter carries with it from the milk a larger quantity of casein than it does in most cases from the cream alone. Sourness of the Cream. For the production of the best butter, it is necessary that the cream should be sufficiently sour before it is put into the churn. Butter made from sweet cream (not clouted) is neither good in quality, nor large in quantity, and longer time is required in churning. It is an unprofitable method. [Illustration: Fig. 18.] Fig. 18 is a _Cylindrical Thermometer Churn_, of any required size, with false metal bottom to hold cold or hot water for bringing the cream to the proper temperature. A thermometer, permanently set in the side, indicates the heat. Quickness in Churning. The more quickly milk or cream is churned, the paler, the softer, and the less rich the butter. Cream, according to Mr. Aiton, may be safely churned in an hour and a half, while milk ought to obtain from two to three hours. The churning ought always to be regular, slower in warm weather, that the butter may not be soft and white, and quicker in winter, that the proper temperature may be kept up. A barrel-churn, lately introduced into this country, being placed in a trough of water of the proper temperature, readily imparts the degree of heat required by the milk or cream without the necessity of adding warm water to the milk, _and churns the whole in ten or twelve minutes_. It is said also to give a larger weight of butter from the same quantity of milk. If the quality be really as good by this quick churning, the alleged inferiority in the quality of butter churned quickly in the common churn cannot be due to the mere rapidity of churning alone. Over-churning. When the process of churning is continued after the full separation of the butter, it loses its fine yellowish, waxy appearance, and becomes soft and light-colored. The weight of the butter, however, is considerably increased; and hence, in Lancashire, over-churning is frequently practised in the manufacture of fresh butter for immediate sale. Temperature of the Milk or Cream. Much also depends upon the temperature of the milk or cream when the churning is commenced. Cream when put into the churn should never be warmer than 55° Fahrenheit It rises during the churning from 4° to 10° F. above its original temperature. When the whole milk is churned, the temperature should be raised to 65° F., which is best done by pouring in hot water into the churn _while the milk is kept in motion_. In winter, either of these temperatures may be easily attained. In cold weather it is often necessary to add hot water to the cream to raise it even to 55°. But in summer, and especially in hot weather, it is difficult, even in cool and well-ordered dairies, (without the use of ice,) to keep the cream down to this comparatively low temperature. Hence, if the cream be then churned, a second-rate butter, at best, is all that can be obtained. The alleged advantages of Churning the entire Milk. The proper temperature can be readily obtained both in winter and summer. A hundred gallons of entire milk, will give, in summer, five per cent. more butter than the cream from the same quantity of milk. Butter of the best quality can be obtained without difficulty, both in winter and summer. No special attention to circumstances, or change of method, is at any time required. The churning in winter and summer is alike simple and easy. The butter is not only of the best quality while fresh, but is also best for long-keeping, when properly cured or salted. Cleanliness in all the operations of the Dairy. This is peculiarly necessary to the manufacture of good butter. Cream is remarkable for the rapidity with which it absorbs and becomes tainted by any unpleasant odors. It is very necessary that the air of the dairy should be sweet, that it should be often renewed, and that it should be open in no direction from which bad odors can come. (_Johnston and other authorities._) The statement of J. T. Lansing, who received the first premium for butter from the New York State Agricultural Society, is as follows:-- _Keep the cows stabled through the inclement season_; feed them from three to four times per day with good hay or green stalks; when near coming in, add some oats, barley, or corn cracked. In summer, good pasture, with living water accessible at all times, and plenty of salt. _Treatment of milk and cream before churning._--Strain the milk in tin pans; place them in a cool cellar for the cream to rise. When sufficiently risen, separate the cream from the milk; put in stone jars, well prepared before churning. _The mode of churning in summer._--Rinse the churn with cold water; then turn in the cream, and add to each jar of cream put in the churn, full one-fourth of the same quantity of cold water. The churn used is a patent one, moved by hand with a crank, having paddles attached, and so constructed as to warm the milk (if too cold) with hot water, without mixing them together. The milk and cream receive the same treatment in winter as in summer; and in churning, use hot instead of cold water, if necessary. _The method of freeing the butter from the milk_, is to wash the butter with cold water, till it shows no color of the milk, by the use of a ladle. _Salting the butter._--Use the best kind of Liverpool sack-salt; the quantity varies according to the state in which the butter is taken from the churn; if soft, more; if hard, less; always taking the taste for the surest guide. Add no saltpetre, nor other substances. _The best time for churning_ is the morning, in hot weather, and to keep the butter cool till put down. _The best mode of preserving butter_, in and through the summer and winter, is as follows:--The vessel is a stone jar, clean and sweet. The mode of putting it down is to put in a churning of butter, and put on strong brine; let it remain on until the next churning is ready to put down, and so on till the jar is filled; then cover it with fine salt the same to remain on till used. Mr. McWilliams, of Orange county, the celebrity of whose butter is unsurpassed, thus details his method of butter-making: "Our practice is not to churn the milk until it becomes thick or loppered, the milk and cream is then churned together. The temperature of the milk is about fifty degrees. In warm weather about a quart of cold water is put in each pan before the milk is strained, so as to keep it sweet as long as possible. The cellar-floor is brick. This in warm weather is daily cleansed with cold water. A drain from the cellar carries off the water thus applied. The churn is filled about half full with milk, with the addition of two pails of cold water before starting the churn. In cold weather the same quantity of warm water is applied. When the churning is finished, which usually occupies about two hours of time, there are then two more pails of cold water applied to raise the butter and cool it. The butter is then taken out of the churn and put in a large tray; this is immediately filled with cold water, and the butter carefully washed; after which the water is thrown off. The butter now undergoes the process of salting; it is then placed in a cool situation, where it stands about an hour, and is worked carefully over. This finished, it is placed in the same situation as before, where it stands three or four hours, and is again worked over; again replaced for five or six hours, when it is worked over for the third time. It is now replaced, where it stands till the next morning, and worked over for the fourth time. A small quantity of nitre is then put in the butter. Thus finished, it is placed in firkins holding about eighty-five pounds. Previous to packing, the firkin is scalded with hot water, rinsed and cooled with cold water, then rubbed all around with fine salt; this prevents the butter from adhering to the sides of the firkin. When the firkin is full, a linen cloth is placed over the top of the butter; on this cloth a covering of salt is put one inch deep, and cold water enough added to it to form a brine. It then stands till it is to be sent to market, when the cloth and salt are removed, the firkin turned down, the top of the butter in the keg washed with cold water, and the pickle drained off. The firkin is now neatly headed up and sent to market." The salt added to the butter should be from 1-24th to 1-28th of its weight, or about two-thirds of an ounce to a pound, and this must be of the best quality. All the buttermilk must be thoroughly extracted by repeated washings; and when completed, the butter should be immediately packed, and not a particle of air allowed to come in contact with it till opened for the table. CHEESE. The Circumstances affecting the Quality of Cheese. "All cheese consists essentially of the curd, mixed with a certain portion of the fatty matter, and of the sugar of milk. But differences in the quality of the milk, in the proportion in which the several constituents of milk are mixed together, or in the general mode of dairy management, give rise to varieties of cheese almost without number. Nearly every dairy district produces one or more qualities of cheese peculiar to itself. Natural Differences in the Milk It is obvious that whatever gives rise to natural differences in the quality of the milk, must affect also that of the cheese prepared from it. If the milk be poor in butter, so must the cheese be. If the pasture be such as to give a milk rich in cream, the cheese will partake of the same quality. If the herbage or other food affect the taste of the milk or cream, it will also modify the flavor of the cheese. Milk of Different Animals. So the milk of different animals will give cheese of unlike qualities. The ewe-milk cheeses of Tuscany, Naples, and Languedoc, and those of goats' milk made on Mont Dor and elsewhere, are celebrated for qualities which are not possessed by cheeses prepared from cows' milk in a similar way. Buffalo milk also gives a cheese of peculiar qualities, which is manufactured in some parts of the Neapolitan territory." Other kinds of cheese are made from mixtures of the milk of different animals. Thus the strong-tasted cheese of Lecca and the celebrated Roquefort cheese are prepared from mixtures of goat with ewe milk, and the cheese of Mont Cenis from both of these mixed with the milk of the cow. Creamed or Uncreamed Milk. Still further differences are produced, according to the proportion of cream which is left in or is added to the milk. Thus, if cream only be employed, we have the rich _cream-cheese_ which must be eaten in a comparatively recent state. Or, if the cream of the previous night's milking be added to the new milk of the morning, we may have such cheese as the _Stilton_ of England, or the small, soft, and rich _Brie_ cheeses, so much esteemed in France. If the entire milk only be used, we have such cheeses as the _Cheshire_, the _Double Gloucester_, the _Cheddar_, the _Wiltshire_, and the _Dunlop_ cheeses of Britain, the Kinnegad cheese of Ireland, and the Gouda and Edam cheeses of Holland. Even here, however, it makes a difference, whether the warm milk from the cow is curdled alone, as at Gouda and Edam, or whether it is mixed with the milk of the evening before, as is generally done in Cheshire and Ayrshire. Many persons are of opinion that cream, which has once been separated, can never be so well mixed again with the milk, that a portion of the fatty matter shall not flow out with the whey and render the cheese less rich. If the cream of the evening's milk be removed, and the skimmed milk added to the new milk of the next morning, such cheeses as the _Single Gloucester_ are obtained. If the cream be taken once from _all_ the milk, the better kinds of skimmed-milk cheese, such as the Dutch cheese of Leyden, are prepared; while if the milk be twice skimmed, we have the poorer cheeses of Friesland and Groningen. If skimmed for three or four days in succession, we get the hard and horny cheeses of Essex and Sussex, which often require the axe to break them up. Buttermilk Cheese. But poor or butterless cheese will also differ in quality according to the state of the milk from which it is extracted. If the new milk be allowed to stand to throw up its cream, and this be then removed in the usual way, the ordinary skimmed-milk cheese will be obtained by adding rennet to the milk. But if, instead of skimming, we allow the milk to stand till it begins to sour, and then remove the butter by churning the whole, we obtain the milk in a sour state, (_buttermilk_.) From this milk the curd separates naturally by gentle heating. But being thus prepared from sour milk, and without the use of rennet, buttermilk cheese differs more or less in quality from that which is made from sweet skimmed-milk. The acid in the buttermilk, especially after it has stood a day or two, is capable of coagulating new milk also; and thus, by mixing more or less sweet milk with the buttermilk before it is warmed, several other qualities of mixed butter and sweet-milk cheese may readily be manufactured. Whey Cheese. The whey which separates from the curd, and especially the white whey, which is pressed out towards the last, contains a portion of curd, and not unfrequently a considerable quantity of butter also. When the whey is heated, the curd and butter rise to the surface, and are readily skimmed off. This curd alone will often yield a cheese of excellent quality, and so rich in butter, that a very good imitation of Stilton cheese may sometimes be made with alternate layers of new-milk curd and this curd of whey. Mixtures of Vegetable Substances with the Milk. New varieties of cheese are formed by mixing vegetable substances with the curd. A green decoction of two parts of sage leaves, one of marigold, and a little parsley, gives its color to the _green cheese_ of Wiltshire; some even mix up the entire leaves with the curd. The celebrated Schabzieger cheese of Switzerland, is made by crushing the skim-milk cheese after it is several months old to fine powder in a mill, mixing it then with one-tenth of its weight of fine salt, and one-twentieth of the powdered leaves of the mellilot trefoil, (_trifolium melilotus cerulea_,) and afterwards with oil or butter, working the whole into a paste, which is pressed and carefully dried. Potato Cheeses, As they are called, are made in various ways. One pound of sour milk is mixed with five pounds of boiled potatoes and a little salt, and the whole is beat into a pulp, which, after standing five or six days, is worked up again, and then dried in the usual way. Others mix three parts of dried boiled potatoes with two of fresh curd, or equal weights, or more curd than potato, according to the quality required. Such cheeses are made in Thuringia, in Saxony, and in other parts of Germany. In Savoy, an excellent cheese is made by mixing one of the pulp of potatoes with three of ewe-milk curd; and in Westphalia, a potato cheese is made with skimmed milk. Preparation of Rennet. Rennet is prepared from the salted stomach or intestines of the sucking calf, the unweaned lamb, the young kid, or even the young pig. In general, however, the stomach of the calf is preferred, and there are various ways of curing and preserving it. The stomach of the newly killed animal contains a quantity of curd derived from the milk on which it has been fed. In most districts, it is usual to remove by a gentle washing the curd and slimy matters which are present in the stomach, as they are supposed to impart a strong taste to the cheese. In Cheshire, the curd is frequently salted separately for immediate use. In Ayrshire and Limburg, on the other hand, the curd is always left in the stomach and salted along with it. Some even give the calf a copious draught of milk shortly before it is killed, in order that the stomach may contain a larger quantity of the valuable curd. Salting the Stomach. In the mode of salting the stomach, similar differences prevail. Some merely put a few handfuls of salt into and around it, then roll it together, and hang it near the chimney to dry. Others salt it in a pickle for a few days, and then hang it up to dry; while others pack several of them in layers, with much salt both within and without, and preserve them in a cool place, till the cheese-making season of the following year. They are then taken out, drained from the brine, spread upon a table, sprinkled with salt which is rolled in with a wooden roller, and then hung up to dry. In some foreign countries, the recent stomach is minced very fine, mixed with salt and bread into a paste, put into a bladder, and then dried. In Lombardy, the stomach, after being salted and dried, is minced and mixed up with salt, pepper, and a little whey or water into a paste, which is preserved for use. In whatever way the stomach or intestine of the calf is prepared and preserved, the almost universal opinion seems to be, that it should be kept for 10 or 12 months, before it is capable of yielding the best and strongest rennet. If newer than 12 months, the rennet is thought to make the cheese heave or swell, and become full of eyes or holes. Making the Rennet. In making the rennet, different customs also prevail. In some districts, a bit of the dried stomach is put into half a pint of lukewarm water, with as much salt as will lie upon a shilling, is allowed to stand over night, and in the morning the infusion is poured into the milk. For a cheese of 60 lbs. weight, a piece of the size of a dollar will often be sufficient, though of some skins as much as 10 square inches are required to produce the same effect. It is, however, more common to take the entire stomach, and to pour upon them from one to three quarts of water for each stomach, and to allow them to infuse for several days. If only one has been infused, and the rennet is intended for immediate use, the infusion requires only to be skimmed and strained. But if several be infused, or as many as have been provided for the whole season, about two quarts of water are taken for each, and, after standing not more than two days, the infusion is poured off, and is completely saturated with salt. During the summer it is constantly skimmed, and fresh salt added from time to time. Or a strong brine may at once be poured upon the skins, and the infusion, when the skins are taken out, may be kept for a length of time. Some even recommend, that the liquid rennet should not be used until it is at least two months old. When thus kept, however, it is indispensable that the water should be fully saturated with salt. In Ayrshire, and in some other countries, it is customary to cut the dried stomach into small pieces, and to put it, with a handful or two of salt and one or two quarts of water, into a jar, to allow it to stand for two or three days, afterwards to pour upon it another pint for a couple of days, to mix the two decoctions, and when strained, to bottle the whole for future use. In this state it may be kept for many months. In making rennet, some use pure water only, others prefer clear whey, others a decoction of leaves, such as those of the sweetbrier, the dog-rose, and the bramble, or of aromatic herbs and flowers; while others again, put in lemons, cloves, mace, or brandy. These various practices are adopted for the purpose of making the rennet keep better, of lessening its unpleasant smell, of preventing any unpleasant taste it might give to the curd, or finally of directly improving the flavor of the cheese. The acidity of the lemon will, no doubt, increase also the coagulating power of any rennet to which it may be added. The rennet thus prepared is poured into the milk previously raised to the temperature of 90° or 95° F., and is intimately mixed with it. The quantity which it is necessary to add varies with the quality of the rennet, from a tablespoonful to half a pint for 30 or 40 gallons of milk. The time necessary for the complete fixing of the curd varies also from 15 minutes to an hour or even an hour and a half. The chief causes of this variation, are the temperature of the milk, and the quality and quantity of the rennet employed. Different Qualities of Cheese. The temperature of new or entire milk, when the rennet is added, should be raised to about 95° F.; that of skimmed milk need not be quite so high. If the milk be warmer the curd is hard and tough, if colder, it is soft and difficult to obtain free from the whey. When the former happens to be the case, a portion of the first whey that separates may be taken out into another vessel, allowed to cool, and then poured in again. If it prove to have been too cold, hot milk or water may be added to it; or a vessel containing hot water may be put into it before the curdling commences; or the first portion of whey that separates may be heated and poured again upon the curd. The quality of the cheese, however, will always be more or less affected, when it happens to be necessary to adopt any of these remedies. To make the best cheese, the true temperature should always be attained as nearly as possible, before the rennet is added. Mode in which the Milk is warmed. If, as is the case in some dairies, the milk be warmed in an iron pot upon the naked fire, great care must be taken that it is not singed or _fire-fanged_. A very slight inattention may cause this to be the case, and the taste of the cheese is sure to be more or less affected by it. In Cheshire, the milk is put into a large tin pail, which is plunged into a boiler of hot water, and frequently stirred till it is raised to the proper temperature. In large dairy establishments, however, the safest method is to have a pot with a double bottom, consisting of one pot within another, after the manner of a glue-pot; the space between the two being filled with water. The fire applied beneath, thus acts only upon the water, and can never, by any ordinary neglect, do injury to the milk. It is desirable in this heating, not to raise the temperature higher than is necessary, as a great heat is apt to give an oiliness to the fatty matter of the milk. The time during which the Curd stands. This is also of importance. It should be broken up as soon as the milk is fully coagulated. The longer it stands after this, the harder and tougher it will become. The quality of the Rennet. This is of much importance, not only in regard to the certainty of the coagulation, but also to the flavor of the cheese. In some parts of Cheshire, it is usual to take a piece of the dried membrane and steep it overnight with a little salt for the ensuing morning's milk. It is thus sure to be fresh and sweet, if the dried _maw_ be in good preservation. But where it is customary to steep several skins at a time, and to bottle the rennet for after-use, it is very necessary to saturate the solution completely with salt, and to season it with spices, in order that it may be preserved in a sweet and wholesome state. The quantity of Rennet added. This ought to be regulated as carefully as the temperature of the milk. Too much renders the curd tough; too little causes the loss of much time, and may permit a larger portion of the butter to separate itself from the curd. It is to be expected also, that when rennet is used in great excess, a portion of it will remain in the curd, and will naturally affect the kind and rapidity of the changes it afterwards undergoes. Thus, it is said to cause the cheese to heave or swell out from fermentation. It is probable, also, that it will affect the flavor which the cheese acquires by keeping. Thus it may be, that the agreeable or unpleasant taste of the cheeses of certain districts or dairies may be less due to the quality of the pastures or of the milk itself, than to the quantity of rennet with which it has there been customary to coagulate the milk. The way in which the Rennet is made. This, no less than its state of preservation and the quantity employed, may also influence the flavor or other qualities of the cheese. For instance, in the manufacture of a celebrated French cheese, that of Epoisse, the rennet is prepared as follows:--Four fresh calf-skins, with the curd they contain, are well washed in water, chopped into small pieces, and digested in a mixture of 5 quarts of brandy with 15 of water, adding at the same time 2½ lbs. of salt, half an ounce of black pepper, and a quarter of an ounce each of cloves and fennel seeds. At the end of six weeks, the liquor is filtered and preserved in well-corked bottles, while the membrane is put into salt-water to form a new portion of rennet. For making rich cheeses, the rennet should always be filtered clear. On Mont d'Or, the rennet is made with white wine and vinegar. An ounce of common salt is dissolved in a mixture of half a pint of vinegar with 2½ pints of white wine, and in this solution a prepared goat's stomach or _a piece of dried pig's bladder_ is steeped for a length of time. A single spoonful of this rennet is said to be sufficient for 45 or 50 quarts of milk. No doubt the acid of the vinegar and of the wine aid the coagulating power derived from the membrane. The way in which the Curd is treated. It is usual in our best cheese districts, carefully and slowly to separate the curd from the whey, not to hasten the separation, lest a larger portion of the fatty matter should be squeezed out of the curd, and the cheese should thus be rendered poorer than usual. But in some places, the practice prevails of washing the curd with hot water, after the whey has been partially separated from it. Thus at Gouda in Holland, after the greater part of the whey has been gradually removed, a quantity of hot water is added, and allowed to remain upon it for at least a quarter of an hour. The heat makes the cheese more solid and causes it to keep better. In Italy, the pear-shaped _caccio-cavallo_ cheeses and the round _palloni_ cheeses of Gravina, in the Neapolitan territory, are made from curd, which after being scalded with boiling whey, is cut into slices, kneaded in boiling water, worked with the hand till it is perfectly tenacious and elastic, and then made into shapes. The water in which the curd is washed, after standing twenty-four hours, throws up much oily matter, which is skimmed off and made into butter. The Separation of the Whey Is a part of the process, upon which the quality of the cheese in a considerable degree depends. In Cheshire, more time and attention is devoted to the perfect extraction of the whey than in almost any other district. Indeed, when it is considered that the whey contains sugar and lactic acid, which may undergo decomposition, and a quantity of rennet which may bring on fermentation, by both of which processes the flavor of the cheeses must be considerably affected, it will appear of great importance that the whey should be as completely removed from the curd as it can possibly be. To aid in effecting this, a curd-mill, for chopping it fine after the whey is _strained_ off, is in use in many of the large English dairies, and a very ingenious and effectual pneumatic cheese-press for sucking out the whey, was lately invented. But the way in which the whey is separated is not a matter of indifference, and has much influence upon the quality of the cheese. Thus, in Norfolk, according to Marshall, when the curd is fairly set, the dairy-maid bares her arm, plunges it into the curd, and with the help of her wooden ladle, breaks up minutely, and intimately mixes the curd with the whey. This she does for ten or fifteen minutes, after which the curd is allowed to subside, and the whey is drawn off. By this agitation, the whey must carry off more of the butter and the cheese must be poorer. In Cheshire and Ayrshire, the curd is cut with a knife, but is gently used and slowly pressed till it is dry enough to be chopped fine, and thus more of the oily matter is retained. On the same principle, in making the Stilton cheese, the curd is not cut or broken at all, but is pressed gently and with care till the whey gradually drains out. Thus the butter and the curd remain intermixed, and the rich cheese of Stilton is the result. Thus, while it is of importance that all the whey should be extracted from the curd, yet the quickest way may not be the best. More time and care must be bestowed in order to effect this object, the richer the cheese we wish to obtain. The quality of the milk or of the pastures, may often be blamed for the deficiencies in the richness or other qualities of cheese, which are in reality due to slight but material differences in the mode of manufacturing it. _The kind of salt_ used, is considered by many to have some effect upon the taste of the cheese. Thus the cheese of Gerome, in the Vosges, is supposed to derive a peculiar taste from the Lorena salt with which it is cured. In Holland, the efficacy of one kind of salt over another for the curing of cheese is generally acknowledged. The Mode in which the Salt is applied. In making the large Cheshire cheeses, the dried curd, for a single cheese of sixty pounds, is broken down fine and divided into three equal portions. One of these is mingled with double the quantity of salt added to the others, and this is so put into the cheese-vat as to form the central part of the cheese. By this precaution, the after-salting on the surface is sure to penetrate deep enough to cure effectually the less salted parts. In the counties of Gloucester and Somerset the curd is pressed without salt, and the cheese, when formed, is made to absorb the whole of the salt afterwards through its surface. This is found to answer well with the small and thin cheeses made in those counties, but were it adopted for the large cheeses of Cheshire and Dunlop, or even for the pine-apple cheeses of Wiltshire, there can be no doubt that their quality would frequently be injured. It may not be impossible to cause salt to penetrate into the very heart of a large cheese, but it cannot be easy in this way to salt the whole cheese equally, while the care and attention required must be greatly increased. Addition of Cream or Butter to the Curd. Another mode of improving the quality of cheese, is by the addition of cream or butter to the dried and crumbled curd. Much diligence, however, is required fully to incorporate these, so that the cheese may be uniform throughout. Still this practice gives a peculiar character to the cheeses of certain districts. In Italy, they make a cheese _after the manner of the English_, into which a considerable quantity of butter is worked; and the _Reckem_ cheese of Belgium is made by adding half an ounce of butter and the yolk of an _egg_, to every pound of pressed curd. Size of the Cheese. From the same milk, it is obvious that cheeses of different sizes, if treated in the same way, will, at the end of a given number of months, possess qualities in a considerable degree different. Hence, without supposing any inferiority, either in the milk or in the general mode of treatment, the size usually adopted for the cheeses of a particular district or dairy, may be the cause of a recognised inferiority in some quality, which it is desirable that they should possess in a high degree. The Method of Curing. This has very much influence upon the quality of the cheese. The care with which they are salted, the warmth of the place in which they are kept during the first two or three weeks, the temperature and closeness of the cheese-room in which they are afterwards preserved, the frequency of turning, of cleaning from mould, and rubbing with butter; all these circumstances exercise a remarkable influence upon the after-qualities of the cheese. Indeed, in very many instances, the high reputation of a particular dairy district or dairy farm, is derived from some special attention to some or to all of these apparently minor points. In Tuscany, the cheeses, after being hung up for some time at a proper distance from the fire, are put to ripen in an underground, cool, and damp cellar; and the celebrated French cheeses of Roquefort, are supposed to owe much of the peculiar estimation in which they are held, to the cool and uniform temperature of the subterranean caverns in which the inhabitants of the village have long been accustomed to preserve them. Ammoniacal Cheese. The influence of the mode of curing, is shown very strikingly in the small ammoniacal cheeses of Brie, which are very much esteemed in Paris. They are soft unpressed cheeses, which are allowed to ripen in a room, the temperature of which is kept between 60° and 70° Fahrenheit, till they begin to undergo the putrefactive fermentation, and emit an ammoniacal odor. They are generally unctuous, and sometimes so small as not to weigh more than an ounce. Inoculating Cheese. It is said that a cheese, possessed of no very striking taste of its own, may be inoculated with any flavor we approve, by putting into it with a scoop a small portion of the cheese which we are desirous that it should be made to resemble. Of course, this can apply only to cheeses otherwise of equal richness, for we could scarcely expect to give a Gloucester the flavor of a Stilton, by merely patting into it a small portion of a rich and esteemed Stilton cheese. [_Johnston and various other authorities._] [Illustration: Fig. 19. Cheese-Press.] Fig. 19 is a _self-acting cheese-press_, light yet strong. The cheese itself gives a pressure of twelve times its own weight; and if this is insufficient, additional weight may be added as required. The following statements were made by those receiving premiums from the New York State Agricultural Society: "Number of cows kept, eleven. Cheese made from two milkings, in the English manner; no addition made of cream. For a cheese of twenty pounds, a piece of rennet about two inches square is soaked about twelve hours in one pint of water. As rennets differ much in quality, enough should be used to coagulate the milk _sufficiently_ in about forty minutes. No salt is put _into_ the cheese, nor any on the outside during the first six or eight hours it is pressed; but a thin coat of fine Liverpool salt is kept on the outside during the remainder of the time it remains in press. The cheeses are pressed forty-eight hours, under a weight of seven or eight cwt. Nothing more is required but to turn the cheeses once a day on the shelves." "The milk is strained in large tubs over night; the cream stirred in milk, and in the morning strained in same tub; milk heated to natural heat; add color and rennet; curd broke fine and whey off, and broke fine in hoop with fast bottom, and put in strainer; pressed twelve hours; then taken from hoop, and salt rubbed on the surface; then put in hoop, without strainer, and pressed forty-eight hours; then put on tables, and salt rubbed on surface, and remain in salt six days, for cheese weighing thirty pounds. The hoops to have holes in the bottom; the crushings are saved, and set, and churned, to grease the cheese. The above method is for making one cheese per day. As in butter-making, the utmost cleanliness is required in every part of the cheese-making premises." CHAPTER IV. SHEEP With the exception of the dog, there is no one of the brute creation which exhibits the diversity of size, color, form, covering, and general appearance, which characterizes the sheep, and none which occupies a wider range of climate, or subsists on a greater variety of food. In every latitude between the equator and the arctic, he ranges over the sterile mountains, and through the fertile valleys. He feeds on almost every species of edible forage, the cultivated grasses, clovers, cereals and roots; he browses on aromatic and bitter herbs; he crops the leaves and bark from the stunted forest shrubs, and the pungent, resinous evergreens. In some parts of Norway and Sweden, when other resources fail, he subsists on fish or flesh during their long and rigorous winters, and if reduced to necessity, he eats his own wool. He is diminutive like the Orkney, or massive like the Teeswater. He is policerate or many horned; he has two large or small spiral horns like the Merino, or is polled or hornless like the mutton sheep. He has a long tail like our own breeds; a broad tail, like many of the eastern; or a mere button of a tail, like the fat-rumps, discernible only by the touch. His coat is sometimes long and coarse, like the Lincolnshire; short and hairy, like those of Madagascar; soft and furry, like the Angola; or fine and spiral, like the silken Saxon. His color, either pure or fancifully mixed, varies from the white or black of our own country, to every shade of brown, dun, buff, blue, and gray, like the spotted flocks of the Cape of Good Hope and other parts of Africa and Asia. This wide diversity is the result of long domestication, under almost every conceivable variety of condition. Uses. Among the antediluvians, sheep were immolated for sacrificial offerings, and their fleeces probably furnished them with clothing. Since the deluge, their flesh has with all nations been used as a favorite food for man. By many of the rude, roving nations of the East, they are employed in carrying burdens. Their milk is generally used by the uncivilized, and to some extent by the refined nations of Europe, not only as a beverage, but for making into cheese, butter, and curds. Job refers to its use, as do Isaiah and other of the Old Testament writers. Most of the Greek and Roman authors describe its general use and manufacture. The ewe's milk scarcely differs in appearance from that of the cow, but is generally thicker, and yields a pale, yellowish butter, that is always soft and soon becomes rancid. Culley remarks, "the cheese from their milk is exceedingly pungent, and for that reason is preferred by many to that from the cow." In Wales, the milk is mixed with that of the dairy, and makes a tart, palatable cheese. We have never seen it appropriated for dairy purposes in the United States, except by a few Welsh and Highland emigrants. The sheep is frequently employed in the dairy regions of this country, at the tread-mill or horizontal wheel, to pump the water, churn the milk, or perform other light domestic work. The dignity and importance of the shepherd's vocation have ever been conspicuous. Abel, the supposed twin-brother of the first-born of the human race, was a "keeper of sheep;" and from this, it may be fairly inferred, that there is no animal which has so long been under the immediate control of man. Abraham and his descendants, as well as most of the ancient patriarchs, were shepherds. Job had 14,000 sheep. It is said of Rachel, the favored mother of the Jewish race, "she came with her father's sheep, for she kept them." The seven daughters of the priest of Midian, "came and drew water for their father's flocks." Moses, the statesman and lawgiver, who "was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians, kept the flocks of Jethro, his father-in-law;" and David, the future monarch of Israel, the hero, poet, and divine, was a keeper of sheep. It was to shepherds, while "abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night," that the birth of the Saviour was announced. The root of the Hebrew name for sheep, signifies fruitfulness, abundance, plenty; as indicating the blessings they were destined to confer on the human race. With the sacred writers, they were the chosen symbol of purity and the gentler virtues; they were the victims of propitiatory sacrifices; and finally, they became the type of redemption to fallen man. These may not be considered accidental allusions in a book, whose every feature is full of design. Nor has the sheep been less the subject of eulogy and attention with profane writers. Among these, Homer and Hesiod, Virgil and Theocritus, introduced them with evident delight in their pastoral themes; while their heroes and demigods, Hercules and Ulysses, �neas and Numa, carefully perpetuated them throughout their regal domains. In modern times, they have commanded the attention of the most enlightened nations; and their prosperity has in no instance been independent of those useful animals, wherever wool and its manufactures have been regarded as essential staples. Spain and Portugal, for more than two centuries, were the most enterprising nations of Europe, and during that period, they excelled in the production and manufacture of wool. Flanders, for a time, was before England in the perfection of the arts and the enjoyments of life, and _England then sent the little wool she raised to that country to be manufactured_. Her politic sovereigns soon found this a losing game, and offered large bounties for the importation of artists and machinery. By a systematic and thorough course of legislation, which looked to the utmost protection and augmentation of wool and woollens, she has carried their production beyond any thing the world has ever seen. The small islands of Great Britain and Ireland, in addition to the support of their 26,000,000 of people, 15,000,000 of cattle, 2,250,000 horses, 18,000,000 swine, and innumerable smaller domestic animals, maintain over 40,000,000 sheep, worth $250,000,000; and besides manufacturing nearly all their fleeces, annually import nearly an equal amount from abroad. The sumptuary law for burying the dead in woollen, still occupies its place in their statute book. And beyond all question, England is the leading power of the nineteenth century, in the combination of all those qualities which constitute national greatness, civilization, and strength. VARIETIES. Naturalists have divided the wild sheep into four varieties. The _Musimon_, (_Ovis Musimon_,) inhabiting Corsica, Sardinia, and other islands of the Mediterranean, the mountainous parts of Spain and Greece, and some other regions bordering upon that inland sea, have been frequently domesticated and mixed with the long-cultivated breeds. The _Argali_, (_O. Ammon_,) ranges over the steppes, or elevated plains of Central Asia, northward and eastward to the ocean. They are larger, more hardy, and more untameable than the Musimon. The _Rocky Mountain Sheep_, (_O. Montana_,) frequently called the _Big-horn_ by our western hunters, is found on the prairies west of the Mississippi, and throughout the wild mountainous regions, extending through California and Oregon to the Pacific. They are larger, but in other respects resemble the Argali, of which they are probably descendants, as they could easily cross upon the ice at Behring's Straits, from the northeastern coast of Asia. Like the Argali, when caught young they are easily tamed; but we are not aware that they have ever been bred with the domestic sheep. Before the country was overrun by the white man, they probably inhabited the region bordering on the Mississippi. Father Hennepin, a French Jesuit, who wrote nearly two hundred years ago, often speaks of meeting with goats in his travels through what is now the territory embraced by Illinois and Wisconsin. The wild, clambering propensities of these animals, occupying the giddy heights far beyond the reach of the traveller, and the outer coating of hair (supplied underneath, however, with a thick coating of soft wool) gives to them much of the appearance of that animal. In summer they are generally found single; but when they descend from their isolated, rocky heights in winter, they are gregarious, marching in flocks under the guidance of leaders. The _Bearded Sheep of Africa_ (_O. Tragelaphus_) inhabit the mountains of Barbary and Egypt. They are covered with a soft, reddish hair, and have a mane hanging below the neck, and large locks of hair at the ankle. The Domesticated Sheep (_O. Aries_) Embraces all the varieties of the subjugated species. Whether they have descended from any one of the wild races, is a question yet undetermined among naturalists; but however this may be, many of the varieties apparently differ less from their wild namesakes than from each other. The _fat-rumped_ and _the broad-tailed sheep_ are much more extensively diffused than any other. They occupy nearly all the southeastern part of Europe, Western and Central Asia, and Northern Africa. They are supposed to be the varieties which were propagated by the patriarchs and their descendants, the Jewish race. This is inferred from various passages in the Pentateuch, Exodus xxix. 22; Leviticus iii. 9; viii. 25; ix. 19, and some others, where "the fat and the rump" are spoken of in connection with offerings, in which the fat was always an acceptable ingredient. Dr. Boothroyd renders one of the foregoing passages, "the large, fat tail entire, taken clear to the rump." It is certain this variety gives indisputable evidence of remote and continued subjugation. Their long, pendent, drowsy ears, and the highly artificial posterior developments, are characteristic of no wild or recently-domesticated race. This breed consists of numerous sub-varieties, differing in all their characteristics of size, fleece, color, &c., with quite as many and marked shades of distinction as the modern European varieties. In Madagascar, they are covered with hair; in the south of Africa, with coarse wool; in the Levant, and along the Mediterranean, the wool is comparatively fine; and from that of the fat-rumped sheep of Thibet the exquisite Cashmere shawls are manufactured. Both rams and ewes are sometimes bred with horns, and sometimes without, and they exhibit a great diversity of color. Some yield a carcass of scarcely 30 lbs., while others have weighed 200 lbs. dressed. The tail or rump varies greatly, according to the purity and style of breeding; some are less than one-eighth, while others exceed one-third the entire dressed weight. The fat of the rump or tail is considered a great delicacy, and in hot climates resembles oil, and in colder, suet. The broad-tailed sheep were brought into this country, about 50 years since, by Commodore Barron and Judge Peters, and bred with the native flocks. They were called the Tunisian mountain sheep. Some of them were subsequently distributed by Col. Pickering, of Massachusetts, among the farmers of Pennsylvania; and their mixed descendants were highly prized as prolific and good nurses, coming early to maturity, attaining large weights, of a superior quality of carcass, and yielding a heavy fleece of excellent wool. The principal objection brought against them, was the difficulty of propagation, which always required the assistance of the shepherd. The lambs were dropped white, red, tawny, bluish, or black; but all excepting the black, grew white as they approached maturity, retaining some spots of the original color on the cheeks and legs, and sometimes having the entire head tawny or black. The few which descended from those originally imported into this country, have become blended with American flocks, and are now scarcely distinguishable from them. Native or Common Sheep of the United States. Strictly speaking, there are no sheep indigenous to North America, excepting the _Ovis Montana_, or Rocky Mountain sheep. Before the introduction of the improved European breeds, during the present century, our sheep were generally a hardy, long-legged, coarse, open-fleeced animal, which yielded, according to attention and feed, from 1½ to 4 lbs. of indifferent wool. We have seen numerous flocks within the last 20 years, of the pure-bred native, whose bellies were entirely destitute of wool, and sometimes the whole carcass was bare, excepting a mere strip or ridge like a mane, reaching from the head to the tail. The wool which was retained on the neck, back, and sides, was frequently matted almost as firmly as a leather apron; and that on the thighs, and sometimes on the sides, was often composed almost wholly of long hair. Although indifferently formed in comparison with the best breeds of the present day, being thin in the breast and back, light quartered, and slow in coming to maturity, they yet possessed some good qualities. They were prolific, excellent nurses, tallowed well, and yielded good mutton. There were, occasionally, some smutty-nosed or brockle-faced sheep among them, distinguished by their additional size, superior merits, and courage. These were usually the leaders of the flock, in their marauding expeditions on their neighbor's domains; and in common with the others, they were eminently adapted to purvey for themselves on the frontier settlements. There were, besides, some black or dark chocolate-brown members in every flock, which were much valued by the thrifty housewife for their wool, which afforded an economical mixture for jackets, hose, and trousers, known as sheep's gray. Our original stock were principally derived from England, where their counterparts may be seen at the present day, in the refuse breeds of that country. When these sheep were well selected and properly bred, there was rapid and satisfactory improvement, and from such flocks, mixed with some of the more recently improved varieties, have sprung many valuable animals. There was but one exception to this general character of the native flocks, so far as our observation extended, which was a considerably numerous, and, probably, accidental variety, known as the _Otter breed_, or _Creepers_. These were an excessively duck-legged animal, with well-formed bodies, full chest, broad backs, yielding a close heavy fleece of medium quality of wool. They were deserved favorites where indifferent stone or wood fences existed, as their power of locomotion was absolutely limited to their enclosures, if protected by a fence not less than two feet high. The quality of their mutton was equal, while their aptitude to fatten was decidedly superior to their longer-legged contemporaries. They are probably now nearly or quite extinct. An excellent variety was produced by General Washington, from a cross of a Persian ram, upon the Bakewell, which bore wool 14 inches in length, soft and silky, and admirably suited to combing. They were called the Arlington sheep, but they have long since become incorporated with the other flocks of the country. The Merino. This is undoubtedly one of the most ancient race of sheep extant. The loose descriptions and indefinite generalities of the ancient writers, leave much to conjecture on this point; yet we have a few passages from Pliny, Columella, and some other Roman authors, which leave little doubt that the Merino was bred in their age, and had even been introduced into Italy from Greece. It is a matter of history, that the Greeks had choice breeds of sheep at an early day, which they might have derived from Egypt, Tyre, and Asia Minor, as they were intimately connected in commerce with those countries, where the woollen manufacture early reached great perfection. It is supposed that the celebrated Argonautic expedition, in quest of the golden fleece, undertaken by the Greeks nearly 1300 years before Christ, resulted in procuring a valuable race of sheep from Colchis, in the Euxine. However this may be, it is certain that when Augustus extended his peaceful sceptre over half the known world, the Romans were in possession of some flocks, bearing fleeces of exceeding fineness and beauty. They had been reared in the province of Apulia, on the southeast coast of Italy, and were called Tarentine, from Tarentum, the capital of the province. Here, then, may have been one branch of the Merino family. Another is undoubtedly described by Pliny, who says, "the _red fleece of Bætica_ was of still superior quality, _and had no fellow_." All the Spanish coast on the Mediterranean, of which Bætica formed a considerable part, comprising the modern Spanish provinces of Jaen, Cordova, Seville, Andalusia, and Granada, was early colonized by the enterprising Greeks; and this _red fleece that had no fellow_, was probably introduced by them at an early day, and by their descendants had been carried to a still higher degree of perfection than that of Apulia. Columella, the uncle of the writer on agriculture, a wealthy emigrant to Spain from Italy, A. D. 30, carried with him some of the Tarentine sheep, and thus added to the fine-woolled sheep of Spain. These two ancient streams, united perhaps with a third from the more ancient stock of the Euxine, (for Strabo asserts that some of the finest-woolled sheep were brought from that region in his time, and sold for the enormous sum of $750,) flowed on in an uninterrupted current over that broad country, and brought down to modern times the unrivalled race of the Merino. The limited region of Italy, overrun as it repeatedly was by hordes of barbarians during and after the times of the late emperors, soon lost her pampered flocks; while the extended regions of Spain, intersected in every direction by almost impassable mountains, could maintain their more hardy race, in defiance of revolution or change. Whatever distrust may be attached to these scraps of history, which apparently establish the remote antiquity of the Merino, this much is absolutely certain, that they are a race whose qualities are inbred, to an extent surpassed by no others. They have been improved in the general weight and evenness of their fleece, as in the celebrated flock of Rambouillet; in the uniformity and excessive fineness of fibre, as in the Saxons; and in their form and feeding qualities, in various countries; but there has never yet been deterioration either in quantity or quality of fleece or carcass, wherever transported, if supplied with suitable food and attention. Most sheep annually shed their wool if unclipped; while the Merino retains its fleece, sometimes for five years, when allowed to remain unshorn. This we conceive affords conclusive evidence of long-continued breeding among themselves, by which the very constitution of the wool-producing organs beneath the skin have become permanently established; and this property is transmitted to a great extent even among the crosses, thus marking them as an ancient and peculiar race. The conquest by the Moors of a part of those fine provinces in the south of Spain, so far from checking, served rather to encourage the production of fine wool. They were not only enterprising, but highly skilled in the useful arts, and carried on extensive manufactories of fine woollen goods, which they exported to different countries. After their expulsion in the 15th century, by Ferdinand and Isabella, the Spaniards preserved these manufactures in part, and sedulously cherished their fine flocks; and knowing the incomparible advantage they had in them, their sovereigns, except in a few isolated instances, strictly prohibited their exportation. Exportation of Merinoes from Spain. History asserts that Henry VIII. of England, by permission of Charles V., imported 3,000 Spanish sheep; but of what kind is not mentioned, they having numerous varieties in Spain. If of the true Merino, it will explain the superior quality of the English middle-wools, the Ryeland, South Downs, and some others. The first well-authenticated exportation of the Spanish Merino, was made to Sweden in 1723, by Alstroemer, which solved the problem of their capacity for sustaining their character, on rough fare and in a high northern latitude. Lasteyrie, who wrote fifty years after the experiment had been tried, speaks of their improvement, both in carcass and the quality and quantity of fleece. The next exportation was made to Saxony, in 1765, and consisted of 105 rams and 114 ewes, but from what flocks they were taken, history nowhere mentions. A second exportation to that country was made in 1778, of 110 that were variously selected, from the best flocks in Spain. From these have descended the high-bred, silken-fleeced Saxons, whose wool stands confessedly without a rival. In 1775, the Empress Maria Theresa imported 300 Merinoes into Germany, and placed them on the imperial farm in Hungary. In 1786, an importation was made into Denmark and her provinces; and again, in 1797, another flock of 300 was brought into the kingdom, and placed at Esserum, about eight leagues from Copenhagen. In 1786, 100 rams and 200 ewes were imported into Prussia, most of which were allowed to perish from neglect and disease; but their places were fully made up by later importations. The same year, 400 ewes and rams were selected from the choicest Spanish flocks, and placed on the royal farm of Rambouillet, in France, which laid the foundation of the celebrated flock which bears that name. A small flock of inferior animals was clandestinely procured by George III., of England, in 1788, which attracted little attention. In 1791, a small but choice flock was presented to that monarch by the Cortes of Spain, which soon acquired high favor among many intelligent breeders. A part of these were kept pure, and their descendants furnished the superb flock of 700 Nigrettis, which procured for their owner, Mr. Trimmer, in 1829, the gold medal from the London Society of Arts. Others were mixed with different flocks in the kingdom, to the evident improvement of their fleeces. The first importation of Merinoes into the United States, Which resulted in the propagation of a pure breed,[2] was made by Chancellor Livingston, then minister at the court of Versailles, who sent two choice rams and ewes from the Rambouillet flock, in 1802, to Claremont, his country seat on the Hudson. In the latter part of the same year, Col. Humphreys, our minister in Spain, sent out nearly one hundred Merinoes, which were followed by more numerous flocks from the same and other sources. The largest importations of the Merino, however, were made through Mr. Jarvis of Vermont, in 1809, then U. S. Consul in Spain, and immediately thereafter. He first shipped, as he states, "200 Escurial, afterwards 1400 Paulars, 1700 Aqueirres, 100 Nigrettis, and about 200 Montarcos. 2700 Montarcos were sent out by a Spaniard and a Portuguese, and about 300 Guadaloupes by others; also 200 to 300 Paulars, by Gen. Downie, to Boston. Of the Montarco flock shipped by others, about 2500 came to Boston, Providence, New York, and other ports. All were imported in the latter part of 1809 and '10, and early in 1811, and were the only Leonese Transhumantes, if we include Humphreys' and Livingston's, (which I have no doubt were of the same stock,) that were ever shipped to the United States." [2] One or more pure Merinoes were imported into Massachusetts, in the latter part of the last century, by a citizen of that state, but they were soon mixed with other flocks, and resulted in the perpetuation of no distinct breed. Fig. 20 is a spirited cut of a variety of the Merino without dewlap, and with a long and somewhat open fleece. [Illustration: Fig. 20. Merino Buck.] Varieties of the Spanish Sheep. Besides several other breeds of sheep in Spain, consisting of long, coarse wool, and that of a medium staple, embraced under the different names of _Chorinoes_, _Choaroes_ or _Chunahs_, the Merino is distinguished by two general divisions; the _Transhumantes_ or travelling, and the _Estantes_ or stationary flocks. The former are subdivided, according to the Provinces they occupy, into Leonese, Segovian, and Sorian. Many of the Estantes were of the best quality in respect to carcass, constitution, and fleece; and such as were highly bred and in the hands of intelligent breeders, were not surpassed by any of the Spanish flocks. There were also many choice sheep among the Segovian and Sorian Transhumantes, but in general they were decidedly inferior to those of Leon. These last were universally regarded as the prime flocks of Spain. They comprised the Escurial, the Paular, the Nigretti, the Aqueirres or Muros, the Montarco, the Guadaloupe, Infantado, and some others. There is much contradictory testimony as to the comparative merits of the last-mentioned flocks, as they were found in Spain; which is owing in part, doubtless, to the difference in the specimens subjected to examination. We subjoin some of the most reliable authorities on this subject. M. Lasteyrie, who investigated this matter closely, says, "The Guadaloupe have the most perfect form, and are likewise celebrated for the quantity and quality of their wool. The Paular bear much wool of a fine quality, but they have a more evident enlargement behind the ears, and a greater degree of _throatiness_, and the lambs have a coarse hairy appearance, which is succeeded by excellent wool. The lambs of the Infantado have the same hairy coat when young. The Nigretti are the largest and strongest of all the travelling sheep in Spain." Mr. Livingston says, "The Escurial is the most perfect of all the travelling flocks in Spain; the Guadaloupe for form, fineness and abundance of the fleece; the Paular with similar fleeces are larger bodied. Those of Castile and Leon have the largest, with the finest coat. Those of Soria are small, with very fine wool; and those also of Valencia, which do not travel, and like the last have fine wool, but of a very short staple." Mr. Jarvis, who spent many years in Spain, under every advantage for studying them closely, and who also imported, and has since bred large numbers of them on his estate in Vermont, gives their characteristics with more particularity, and at much greater length: "The Paulars were undoubtedly one of the handsomest flocks in Spain. They were of middling height, round-bodied, well spread, straight on the back, the neck of the bucks rising in a moderate curve from the withers to the setting on of the head, their head handsome, with aquiline curve of the nose, with short, fine, glossy hair on the face, and generally hair on the legs, the skin pretty smooth, that is, not rolling up or doubling about the neck and body, as in some other flocks; the crimp in the wool was not so short as in many other flocks, the wool was somewhat longer, but it was close and compact, and was soft and silky to the touch, and the surface was not so much covered with gum. This flock was originally owned by the Carthusian friars of Paular, who were the best agriculturists in Spain, and was sold by that order to the Prince of Peace when he came into power. The Nigretti flock were the tallest Merinoes in Spain, but were not handsomely formed, being rather flat-sided, roach-back, and the neck inclining to sink down from the withers; the wool was somewhat shorter than the Paular, and more crimped; the skin was more loose and inclined to double, and many of them were woolled on their faces and legs down to their hoofs. All the loose-skinned sheep had large dewlaps. The Aqueirres were short-legged, round, broad-bodied, with loose skins, and were more woolled about their faces and legs than any other flock I ever saw; the wool was more crimped than the Paular, and less than the Nigretti, but was thick and soft. This flock formerly belonged to the Moors of Spain, and at their expulsion was bought by the family of Aqueirres. The wool in England was known as the Muros flock, and was highly esteemed. All the bucks of these three flocks had large horns. The Escurials were about as tall as the Paulars, but not quite so round and broad, being in general rather more slight in their make; their wool was crimped, but not quite so thick as the Paular or Nigretti, nor were their skins so loose as the Nigretti and Aqueirres, nor had they so much wool on the face and legs. The Montarco bore a considerable resemblance to the Escurials. The Escurial flock had formerly belonged to the crown, but when Philip II. built the Escurial palace, he gave them to the friars, whom he placed in a convent that was attached to the palace, as a source of revenue. These four flocks were moderately gummed. The Guadaloupe flock was rather larger in the bone than the two preceding, about the same height; but not quite so handsomely formed; their wool was thick and crimped, their skins loose and doubling, their faces and legs not materially different from the two latter flocks, but in general they were more gummed than either of the other flocks. In point of fineness, there was very little difference between these six flocks; and as I have been told by well-informed persons, there is very little difference in this respect among the Leonese Transhumantes in general. The Escurials, the Montarcos, and the Guadaloupes, were not, in general, so heavy-horned as the other three flocks, and about one in six of the bucks were without horns." The Saxon, We have before seen, is one of the varieties of the pure-bred Merino, the foundation of which was laid by an importation of some of the choicest animals into Saxony, in 1765. The great care and attention bestowed upon these sheep by the Elector, the nobility, and the most intelligent farmers, soon carried them to a point of uniformity and excellence of fleece, never exceeded by the best of the original flocks. The breeders were selected with almost exclusive reference to the quality of the fleece. Great care was taken to prevent exposure throughout the year, and they were housed on every slight emergency. The consequence of this course of breeding and treatment has been to reduce the size and weight of fleece, and partially to impair that hardiness and vigor of constitution, which universally characterized the original Transhumantes. In numerous instances, this management resulted in permanent injury to the character of their flocks, which America has severely felt in several importations of worthless animals, and which a too great eagerness for improvement induced her flockmasters to use with the Spanish Merinoes and their descendants, as a means for this object, but which has resulted in the introduction of fatal diseases and serious deterioration in their flocks. [Illustration: Fig. 21. Saxon Ram.] The first Importation of Saxons into this Country Was made in 1823, of four good rams, two of which went to Boston and the others to Philadelphia. The next was made the following year, and consisted of 75 rams and ewes, which were brought to Boston, and sold at public auction, and were afterwards scattered over the country. Another lot of 180 followed the next year, to the same place, and was sold in the same manner, but at an increased price, some selling as high as $450 each. These prices excited the spirit of speculation, and the following year witnessed the importation of near 3,000, many of which were decidedly inferior. These were all thrown upon the market for the most they would command; and in many instances, the sales not half covering the cost of importation, the enterprise was abandoned as a speculation, or commercial operation. The late Henry D. Grove, of Hoosic, New York, a native of Germany, and a highly intelligent and thoroughly bred shepherd, accompanied some of the best early importations to this country. He selected 105 choice animals for his own breeding, which he imported in 1827, and 70 more equally good, in 1828, and with these he formed the flock from which he bred to the time of his decease, in 1844. The average weight of fleece from the entire flock of Mr. Grove, nearly all of which were ewes and lambs, as stated by him to the writer, in 1842, was 2 lbs. 14 ounces, thoroughly washed on the sheep's back. This was realized after a short summer and winter's keep, when the quantity of hay or its equivalent fed to the sheep did not exceed by actual weight 1½ lbs. per day, except to the ewes, which received an additional quantity just before and after lambing. This treatment was attended with no disease or loss by death, and with an increase of lambs, equalling one for every ewe. In a flock of pure Saxony sheep owned by Mr. Smith of Connecticut, as stated in a letter from the owner, published in the American Shepherd, 104 ewes raised 101 lambs, and yielded 341 lbs. of wool, which sold at 70 cents per lb. For the 18 months preceding, he lost but three animals out of 300, from ordinary casualties. But some flocks of pure Saxony do not, in good condition, average 2 lbs. per head. A recent importation, (May, 1846,) made by Mr. Taintor of Connecticut, consisting of four bucks and four ewes, from the celebrated Saxon flock of Baron de Spreck, show a size and apparent vigor of constitution, equalling any of their Merino progenitors. [Illustration: Fig. 22. Rambouillet Buck.] The Rambouillet Flock. This flock was founded in 1786, by Louis XVI., from a selection of 400 of the best Spanish sheep, which were placed on the royal farm at Rambouillet. These, like the Saxon, received all the attention which intelligence and wealth could bestow, and the consequence was soon manifest in their larger size, and the increased weight and uniformity in the fineness of their fleece; the last improvement being particularly evident, from the absence of the coarse wool, which in many cases infested the quarters; and the jarr or hair, which frequently abounds on the flanks, legs, and thighs of the original Merino. Besides the crown flocks at Rambouillet, they are found in equal perfection on several other of the royal farms, especially those of Malmaison, Perpignan, Arles, Clermont, and some others. These flocks have been bred for hardy constitution, large carcass, and heavy fleece, and of as much fineness as is consistent with large weights, and as uniform in quality throughout, as possible. Mr. Gilbert, who was particularly familiar with them, says, "almost all the fleeces of the rams, from two years old and upwards, weigh (unwashed) from 12 to 13 lbs.; but the mean weight, taking the rams and the ewes together, has not quite attained to 8 lbs., after deducting the tags and the wool of the belly." The French pound is about one-twelfth heavier than the English; but from the general custom of folding the sheep in France, feeding them in fallows, and wintering them in houses, the fleece becomes very dirty. The loss in washing (fit for manufacturing) is about 60 per cent., so that the clean fleece of the ram will average about 6 lbs., and that of the whole flock something under 4 lbs. The first Importation of the Rambouillets to this Country. This was in 1801, by M. Dellesert, of Paris, for M. Dupont, then in New York, and consisted of four choice rams, only one of which, Don Pedro, reached this country. He was used among the native ewes near Kingston, N. Y., for three years, and then transferred to Delaware, where he effected great improvement among the native flocks. The second was that made by the late Chancellor Livingston, before alluded to. There was another in 1840, by Mr. Collins, of Connecticut, comprising 30 select ewes and 2 rams. All these sheep possessed the characteristics peculiar to the variety as described. A still more recent importation has been made by Mr. Taintor, at the same time with that of the Saxons previously mentioned, consisting of 23 ewes and 3 bucks, variously selected from the choicest flocks of the descendants of the Spanish Merino. The rams, though young, are the most promising animals of their breed, and when full grown, will weigh from 225 to 250 lbs. each. The sire of one was sold the past season for $500. He sheared 23 lbs. of unwashed wool. The ewes measured after they were shorn, from 25½ to 29 inches in height over the withers. The height of the under side of their bodies from the ground, was from 9½ to 12 inches, which is in the proportion of good American Merino sheep. Their weights varied, after shearing, from 124 to 153 lbs. Some of them were quite thin in flesh, the largest especially, which, if in fine condition with her fleece on, would weigh at least 200 lbs. The following is the weight of their fleeces unwashed. The scales used did not mark less than one-quarter of a pound, which will account for the absence of odd ounces. No. 17 13 lbs. " 27 15 " " 64 16¾ " " 71 14½ " " 84 16½ " " 87 16¼ " " 94 17 " " 100 12¼ " " 109 17 " " 110 17 " " 117 16¾ " " 118 15¾ " " 133 14¾ " " 195 13½ " It was the unbiased opinion of several wool-dealers present, that the shearing above would yield at least 35 lbs. of _cleansed_ wool, fitted for manufacturing without further loss, out of every 100 lbs. shorn. The fourteen ewes yielded 216 lbs. unwashed, which would be equivalent to 75 lbs. 10 oz. thoroughly cleansed, or an average of 5 lbs. 6 oz. per head. One-third may be safely added to bring this up to _clean washed_. This would make the average, as wool-growers usually dispose of their fleeces, 7 lbs. 3 oz. per head, a yield totally unprecedented in this country. The Progress of the Merino in the United States. Though reaching back but half a century, the Merino flocks of this country have been very fluctuating as to their value, increase, and improvement. When first introduced, they were viewed with distrust by the majority of our farmers; and it was not till after several years' experience of their paramount merits, that they were generally disseminated. But the confidence of our flock-masters having once been secured, it has never been withdrawn, and they have ever since been cherished favorites. The prices for choice Merinoes rapidly increased after their character was fully established, and Livingston states the average price for rams, in 1811, at $1,000, and some were sold at a much higher rate. This was the period of the embargo, when our infant manufactures were just starting into life; and being followed by war with the greatest commercial nation of the world, we were thrown entirely on our own resources for the supply of our woollen and other fabrics, and wool and sheep maintained their full value till after the return of peace, in 1816. The flooding of our country with foreign goods, under low duties, which succeeded this event, either broke down or effectually paralyzed our woollen manufactures; and wool, of course, felt the full weight of this crushing influence. The Merino rapidly declined in value, till its price nearly approximated to that of the native sheep. Their merits had, however, become so conspicuous, that the low prices produced a more general diffusion, and they and their crosses were thus sown broadcast over the country. The introduction of the Saxons, in great numbers, in 1826, many of which were excessively diminutive and diseased, and their indiscriminate use with our pure-bred Merinoes, was a serious interruption to the career of improvement in many of our flocks. Their mixture with the best Saxons was no further detrimental, than to reduce the quantity of fleece, and, to a certain extent, lessen the peculiar hardiness of the original Transhumantes, which had been fully preserved by their descendants in this country. The use of well-selected Saxon rams with Merino flocks, was extensively practised, and it is still persisted in by many intelligent flock-masters, after twenty years' experience, who are satisfied that they find it for their interest to continue this style of breeding. The animals being smaller, consume less; and they probably produce a quantity of wool in proportion to their food, which, from its improved and uniform quality, commands a higher price in the market. Wherever they are not sufficiently hardy, they can be bred back towards the Spanish Merino standard, by the use of some of the stouter rams. Their natures are intrinsically the same. They are only divergent streams from the same original fountain, and when again united, they readily coalesce and flow onwards, without violence or disorder. The Merino, as might reasonably have been anticipated, when properly managed, has improved from a variety of causes. Though kept scrupulously pure in Spain, they were seldom bred with that refinement of taste or nice judgment, which distinguishes the accomplished modern breeder. Their management was too entirely intrusted to ignorant shepherds or careless agents, to secure that close attention which is essential to improvement. The sheep had to perform a journey of several hundred miles twice in a year, to and from their distant Sierras; and it was absolutely essential that strong animals should be selected for breeding; and to secure this object, those were frequently used which were deficient in the most profitable qualities. They were also closely bred in-and-in, seldom or never departing from a particular flock to procure a fresh cross. Their wild, nomadic life, approaching nearly to that of their natural state, and their peculiarly healthful pasturage, alone prevented a serious deterioration from this cause. When brought into the United States, the flocks were soon mingled with each other, and for many years past, probably, not an unmixed descendant of any distinct original flock could be traced. Abundance of appropriate food has been given them, without the labor of long and fatiguing journeys; and lastly, there has been much care used in the selection of the most profitable animals for breed. The spirit of improvement has been recently awakened to this important branch of American husbandry, and as we already have all the elements within ourselves for its attainment, if not arrested by any untoward national policy, it will soon result in giving us numerous flocks of as choice sheep as the world affords. Peculiarities of the Merino. The prominent peculiarities of the Merino, are the abundance and fineness of its fleece; the tenacity with which it is held; its crimped or spiral form; its felting properties; and the excessive quantity of yolk, giving to it that softness which distinguishes it from all others. Their large horns are common to several other varieties. Their hoofs are sometimes singularly long, reaching 8 or 10 inches when allowed to grow. The horns, hoofs, and wool scarcely differ in their chemical constituents; and the peculiar development of the two former, is justly considered as an additional evidence of their wool-bearing properties. The yolk, in most of the sheep, forms, with the dust which adheres to it, a firm crust on the exterior, and together with the compactness of the fleece, it offers considerable resistance to the open hand on being pressed, giving the impression of rigidity. This outer covering repels the rain, the snow, and the wind like a coat of mail, thus fitting the Merino to endure exposure beyond any other sheep. On opening the crust, the wool is found of a brilliant, golden hue, sparkling with yolk, and firmly held together in masses, hardly distinguishable from the cocoon of the silk-worm. The wool closely covers every part of the body, and frequently the entire legs and head, excepting a part of the face. Still another peculiarity of the Merino is its longevity. They attain a great age when properly managed, and, in healthy localities, sometimes breed till 20 years of age. The Merino may be described, generally, as a small-boned, closely made, medium-sized sheep, varying from 80 lbs. of live weight, for a small ewe, to 160 lbs. for good-sized wethers and rams, in ordinary condition. They are light in the shoulders and chest, and altogether are more deficient in form than the best mutton sheep. This apparent difference is materially lessened when both are denuded of their fleece; as the longer pile of the latter covers defects, which would manifest themselves under the closer covering of the Merino. Yet, with this seeming deficiency, Young found, in feeding the Merino and Bakewell, that the latter ate the most, and gained the least, in the ratio of two to three. We give the statement as we find it, though it apparently contravenes a fundamental principle, which a knowledge of all the circumstances of the trial, the peculiarities of the particular animals, &c., might probably explain satisfactorily. The mutton is excellent, and it is probably not surpassed by that of any other sheep. Lord Somerville claims it as a rule, that the quality of the flesh in each class of sheep follows that of the wool, and that the flesh of the short and fine-woolled sheep is closer in the grain and more highly flavored than the long-woolled. Sir Joseph Banks says, the London butchers, after having some of the Merinoes, eagerly sought for more, from its popularity with their best customers; and it is certain that the flavor of our mountain-fed Merino does not suffer in comparison with the choicest breeds. Breeding Merinoes. The general principles of breeding cattle and sheep, as laid down by the most approved authorities, must be taken with some exceptions, when applied to the Merino. Good form and feeding qualities are desirable in this breed, but they are not as essential as with the others. _Wool_ is the great object, and if this be sufficiently fine, even, and abundant, something may be abated in the perfection of form. Early maturity, so much sought after in the mutton sheep, cannot be reconciled with the great longevity, and the prolonged productive powers of the Merino. We must content ourselves, therefore, with slowly engrafting such improvements on the breed, as can be effected without prejudice to his other good qualities, and look to his crosses with others for such qualities as are irreconcilable with his nature. It is considered indispensable to the improvement of the Merino, that it be not bred too young. A vigorous ewe may bring her first lamb at two years old, but it is better that it be deferred till three. The ram should never be used till his second year, and then but sparingly. From 2½ to 6 years old is deemed the most vigorous age, though many may be safely used till 8 or 10, and occasionally later. Both ewes and rams have been known to breed till 20 years old. The _ram_ should be large, stout, and well made, carrying his weight as compactly as possible. The nose should be convex; the face covered with a soft velvety hair; the eye lively and prominent; the veins near the lachrymal glands, of a clear red; the horns rough; short neck; pendent dewlap not objectionable; full chest; broad shoulders; broad, level back; large quarters; tail large and well set up; good legs, and sound hoofs; with a firm, easy, regular gait; the head carried high, with a look of boldness and decision, without in any degree approaching to wildness or ferocity. The _ewe_ should possess these characteristics generally, with such modifications as are suited to the sex. Great care should be taken to breed from such as are most perfect in all the essential points of constitution, form, and size; and weight, uniformity, and fineness of fleece. The closest observation is requisite, to select the best in all respects. In-and-in breeding should be avoided where practicable, which can be done where there is a careful registry of the sheep through successive generations. Excessive use of rams can never be permitted without decided injury to them and their progeny. In Spain, four rams are supplied to every hundred ewes. This limited number is proper enough, where they undergo so much fatigue in travelling, and kept too, as they are, entirely on grass. But if moderately grained before and during their use, and especially if kept up, and allowed to serve the ewes once only, as they come in heat, this number may be largely increased. A vigorous ram will suffice for 35 to 40 ewes, when running with the flock; yet his powers would not be more taxed by double or even treble this number, if admitted to each but once. Bread is a convenient food for the ram while running with the sheep. If he is gentle, which he should always be, he will come up readily and eat from the hand, without exciting the attention of the other sheep, which crowd, and not unfrequently injure each other when grain is placed before him; or he may be stabled at night and fed with grain. If young ewes have stolen lambs, they should be taken away immediately after yeaning, and the nourishment supplied to the lamb from the milk of a cow. The tax of nursing is nearly equal to that of gestation, and farther injury to the dam may be avoided by this practice. Merino ewes have had the reputation of being indifferent nurses in Spain. This is owing to their fatigue in travelling, and scanty pasturage, rather than to any constitutional deficiency. It is a frequent practice there, to kill a part of the lambs, and put one on to two ewes. This has never been found necessary in the countries where they have been transplanted, as generous feed for the dams has invariably been found entirely adequate to their support of the young. The localities in which Merino Sheep can be profitably kept in the United States, Are wherever the pastures are sweet and dry; the climate not excessively hot; and the land not too valuable for other purposes. Wool is generally the great object in the sheep husbandry of this country, and when sheep farms are remote from the large markets, the Merino will make much the most profitable returns. In the neighborhood of cities, where large and fat sheep and early lambs bear a high price, the mutton sheep may be substituted. The South Down. This valuable sheep has been known and bred for a long time on the chalky downs of England, where it has always maintained the character of a hardy animal, yielding a medium quality of wool, and furnishing mutton of a superior flavor. It was not, however, till within the last 70 years, that any considerable attention was devoted to its improvement. Since that period, its fine points have been remarkably developed, which is shown in its improved size and form, and its early maturity and productiveness. The late Mr. John Ellman, of England, was the first who took them thoroughly in hand; and so eminent was his success, that he founded a flock which has been the source whence all the best blood has been since derived. [Illustration: Fig. 23. South Down Buck.] The form and characteristics of the South Downs. His criteria of a good South Down, are as follows:--"The head small and hornless; the face speckled or gray, and neither too long nor too short. The lips thin, and the space between the nose and the eyes narrow. The under jaw, or chap, fine and thin; the ears tolerably wide, and well covered with wool, and the forehead also, and the whole space between the ears well protected by it, as a defence against the fly. The eye full and bright, but not prominent. The orbits of the eye--the eye-cap, or bone,--not too projecting, that it may not form a fatal obstacle in lambing. The neck of a medium length, thin towards the head, but enlarging towards the shoulders, where it should be broad and high, and straight in its whole course above and below. The breast should be wide, deep, and projecting forwards between the fore-legs, indicating a good constitution, and a disposition to thrive. Corresponding with this, the shoulders should be on a level with the back, and not too wide above; they should bow outward from the top to the breast, indicating a springing rib beneath, and leaving room for it. The ribs coming out horizontally from the spine, and extending far backward, and the last rib projecting more than the others; the back flat from the shoulders to the setting on of the tail; the loin broad and flat; the rump long and broad, and the tail set on high and nearly on a level with the spine. The hips wide; the space between them and the last rib on either side as narrow as possible, and the ribs, generally, presenting a circular form like a barrel. The belly as straight as the back. The legs neither too long nor too short. The fore-legs straight from the breast to the foot; not bending inward at the knee, and standing far apart both before and behind; the hocks having a direction rather outward, and the twist, or the meeting of the thighs behind, being particularly full; the bones fine, yet having no appearance of weakness, and of a speckled or dark color. The belly well defended with wool, and the wool coming down before and behind to the knee, and to the hock; the wool short, close, curled, and fine, and free from spiry projecting fibres." [Illustration: Fig. 24. South Down Ewe.] Other breeders have commenced where Ellman left off, and have apparently pushed their improvement to its utmost capacity; and especially has this been done by Messrs. Grantham and Webb, the latter of whom, while preserving all the essential merits of the sheep, has carried the live weight of breeding rams to 250 lbs., and well-fattened wethers to 200 lbs. dressed weight. Many of the choicest animals have been imported into this country, and they are now to be found, in limited numbers, in almost every state of the Union. The wool was formerly short, and used only for cloths, flannels, &c. It has been considerably lengthened in many of the late flocks, and with the improvements in the combing machinery, is now much used in England as a combing wool. The quantity produced is nearly equal to that of the Merino flocks when well kept, varying, according to the size and style of breeding, from 3 to 4 lbs. of clean washed wool, which in quality does not differ materially from half-blood Merino, and sometimes rather exceeds it. The larger animals, of course, produce fleeces of much greater weight, sometimes reaching to 8 or 9 lbs. The South Down will subsist on short pasture, but well repays full feeding. It attains early maturity, is hardy and prolific, frequently producing two at a birth. Like all highly-improved English breeds, it is not a long-lived sheep. It may be considered in its prime at three. The wethers may be fattened at 18 to 30 months, and the ewes at 3 to 5 years, when first required as breeders. The last are sometimes allowed to come in with a lamb at a year, but they cannot be sustained in vigor if put to breeding before two. The Cheviot Is thus described by Blacklock: "They have a bare head, with a long jaw and white face, but no horns. Sometimes they have a shade of gray upon the nose, approaching to dark at the tip; at others, a tinge of lemon color on the face, but these markings scarcely affect their value. The legs are clean, long, and small-boned, and covered with wool to the hough, but there is a sad want of depth at the breast, and of breadth both there and on the chine. A fat carcass weighs from 12 lbs. to 18 lbs. per quarter, and a medium fleece about 3 lbs. The purest specimens of this breed are to be found on the Scotch side of the Cheviot hills, and on the high and stony mountain farms which lie between that range and the sources of the Teviot. These sheep are a capital mountain stock, provided the pasture resembles the Cheviot hills, in containing a good proportion of rich herbage." They are eminently adapted to high lands and a severe climate, though less so than the Black-faced or Heath sheep of Scotland. They have become an American sheep, by their repeated introduction into this country. A late importation of several choice sheep was made by Mr. Carmichael of New York. The wool on these is from 5 to 7 inches long, coarse, but well suited to combing. Like the Downs, it has heretofore been classed among the middle-wools, but these specimens would seem to indicate that they are verging towards the long-wools. The Bakewell or Leicester, the Cotswold and Lincolnshire, Possess several qualities in common, and it is only a practiced eye that can readily detect the difference. This resemblance arises from a recent, common origin. They are all large and hornless; of a pure white; with long, coarse, and heavy fleeces; excellent mutton sheep; coming early to maturity, and capable of carrying enormous quantities of fat. There have been from time immemorial numerous flocks of these large, coarse-woolled sheep, existing in certain parts of England, under a variety of names, and partaking of some slight peculiarity of features, according to the district in which they are bred. Thus, besides those above-mentioned, there were the Teeswater, the Romney-Marsh, the Kentish, the Bampton, the Exmoor, &c., all of which were deficient in form, slow-feeders, and late in coming to maturity. Improvement of the Long-Wools. The late Robert Bakewell first commenced a decided improvement with the Leicesters, nearly a century since. He began by selecting the choicest sheep in England, which possessed the essential qualities; and by judicious feeding and management throughout, he soon brought them up to a character widely differing from the original with which he started. So eminent was his success, that in 1787 he let three rams, for a single season, for 1250 pounds, (about $6,200,) and was offered 1050 pounds (about $5,200) for 20 ewes. Soon after this, he received the enormous price of 800 guineas, or $4,000, for the use of two-thirds of a ram for one season, reserving the other third for himself. [Illustration: Fig. 25. Long-wool Buck.] He reduced the bone and offal or worthless parts of the carcass, and increased the weight of the valuable parts, and especially their tendency to fatten and early maturity. This was effected mainly by a nice discrimination, which has probably never been surpassed, if it has ever been equalled. He selected medium sizes for the breed, with as much evenness and perfection of form as possible, for he found that excellence and profitable feeding qualities were seldom connected with extra size, large bones, or imperfect form. He also observed the disposition to fatten in individuals, and used only such as were conspicuous in this respect. He relied more than all upon their quality of _handling_ well, depending even more upon the elastic, mellow touch, than upon the most symmetrical figure. He used only the choicest rams, a little under size, while the ewes were of full medium weight. The progeny were pushed with a full supply of nutritious food, and systematically brought to early maturity. Connected with this, was his practice of _in-and-in breeding_, or breeding the parent upon the progeny, for several successive generations, which had the tendency still further to refine the bone and offal, and impress most effectually the desirable characteristics of the race. It is even credibly asserted, that he produced rot in such of his fattening sheep as he wished to mature early for the shambles, as in the first stages of that loathsome disease the fat-secreting organs accomplish their office more rapidly than in a state of perfect health; and it at least secured them against breeding when they left his own hands. It is certain, that Bakewell carried his refining system to such an extent, as partially to destroy the procreative powers; and he was subsequently obliged to introduce new animals, to reinvigorate and continue his flock. The general system of Bakewell, however, was attended with complete success. He produced a race of animals, not only far beyond what England had ever before seen, but which, in all the qualities he endeavored to establish, have not been since exceeded; and his _improved Leicesters_ have come down to the present day as perfect as he left them, showing conclusively, that he not only formed, but stamped the peculiarities of the breed, with a permanence which yet bears witness to his genius. One of these attained the enormous live weight of 368 lbs., and dressed 248 lbs. The Cotswold and Lincolnshire. Other breeders were not slow in following in Bakewell's footsteps with different breeds, and the Cotswold and Lincolnshire especially, have become the subjects of an equally decided improvement, while the errors of Bakewell were entirely avoided. They possess a rather more desirable robustness, approaching, in some few specimens, almost to coarseness, as compared with the finest Leicesters; but they are more hardy and less liable to disease. They attain as large a size, and yield as great an amount of wool, of about the same value. These breeds scarcely differ more from each other, than do flocks of a similar variety, which have been separately bred for several generations. They are prolific, and when well fed, the ewes will frequently produce two lambs at a birth, for which they provide liberally from their udder till the time for weaning. The weight of the fleece varies from 4 to 8 lbs. per head. Peculiarity of long Wool and its Uses. The striking peculiarity of the long-wools, is in the production of a fleece, which is perfectly adapted, by its length and the absence of the felting property, to the manufacture of worsted stuffs, bombazines, mousseline de laines, &c. This is a branch of manufactures, for which we had little material that was suitable, till the introduction of the long-wools; and its rapid extension in the United States, within the past few years, clearly shows that a large and increasing demand for this kind of wool will continue at remunerating prices. Besides its uses for combing, it is extensively manufactured into blankets, carpeting, and many other fabrics. Importation of Long-Wools. Several of the Bakewells were imported during the last century; and many flocks, containing some of the best specimens, have been introduced and scattered over every section of the country. The largest of any single importation of the long-wools, was made by Messrs. Corning & Sotham, in 1842, and immediately preceding, and consisted of 70 or 80 choice Cotswolds. Breeding the Long-Wools. Some information on this subject will be found under the head of _breeding Merinoes_, and _improvement of the Long-Wools_. The ram and ewe should be selected from the best specimens of the breed which is to be perpetuated. There are peculiarities of form or appearance in each, which should be carefully observed. A _violent cross_ should never be permitted for the purpose of perpetuation, as suggested under the head of _principles of breeding_, in a previous chapter; such as between those possessing totally opposite properties, as the Merino and long-wools; and there is no conceivable advantage in mixing the middle-wools, South Downs, &c., with either. Lord Western has long experimented on the blending of the Merino and long-wools, through several generations, without any well-defined results, nor is it believed to be attainable. There is no evenness or integrity of character, either in the animal or fleece, from such mixtures; nor is it possible to foretel the character of progeny from these bastard crosses. The general rule, that like begets like, will not hold true here, for the animal comes large or small, with a long or short fleece, fine or coarse, or intermixed; and this, too, is repeated through numerous generations, when the immediate parents exhibit properties altogether unlike the offspring, and which they derive from some remote ancestry. This practice will do to produce lambs for the butcher, as the consequence of a fresh cross is greater stamina and thrift; and it is found that lambs thus bred attain an early and full development. Thousands of such are annually bred on the banks of the Hudson, Long Island, and around our large cities, and in the worst possible way, as the large, coarse ram is used on the delicate Saxon ewe; yet the lambs thrive and command a good price in the market, and the owner is satisfied to pocket the result. But nothing could be more absurd than to propagate from such progeny for any other purpose than to make early and profitable mutton. The mixture of breeds of similar character, is attended with the best consequences. Such was the intermingling of the improved Leicesters with the Cotswold and Lincolnshire, by which their former coarseness was removed; and such was the use of the latter with the Leicesters, when they became impotent and almost worthless, from over-refinement in breeding. Good results have followed the mixture of the South and Hampshire Downs. A marked improvement in the Merino in this country, has been claimed by Mr. Jarvis and several others, from the mixture of the various flocks, which for ages had been kept distinct in Spain; and the same result is known to have followed a similar course with the Rambouillet and Saxon flocks. The ewe goes with young About five months, varying from 145 to 162 days. Each flock-master will of course determine what is the proper lambing time. For early market, or when there are few sheep, and those well looked after, the lambs may come while the ewes are in the yards, and provision can be made for them, by placing such as are heavy in warm stalls. Both the dam and young thus receive a closer attention than they would in the field; and after a week's housing, in severe weather, the lamb may be turned out into the dry yard, where he will suffer no more, apparently, than the full-grown sheep. But with large flocks, early lambing is attended with much trouble, and it is generally avoided, by deferring it till the weather has become more settled, and a full bite of grass will afford the dam a plentiful supply of milk. Yet in this case, the young sheep must daily be under the eye of the shepherd, who should see that they are well supplied with food, and especially that they are brought under cover, in severe or stormy weather. _A ram will serve_ from 20 to 100 ewes in a season, according to his age, health, feed, and management. A South Down or long-woolled lamb, of 7 or 8 months, is sometimes used; and when this is done, he should be well fed, and allowed to run only with a very few ewes. If full-grown rams are turned into a lean pasture to remain with the ewes, not less than four should be put in for every hundred. But if a well-fed ram, in full health and vigor, is kept up, and led out to the ewe as she comes into heat, and allowed to serve her once only, he will suffice for one hundred, without injury to himself or progeny. For this purpose, the ram should be prepared, not by being fat, for this, neither he nor the ewe should ever be; but by being fed with grain for a short time before, and during the continuance of the season. The ewes are more likely to come quickly into heat, and prove prolific, if lightly fed with stimulating food at the time. It is reasonably enough conjectured, that if procreation, and the first period of gestation, takes place in cold weather, the f[oe]tus will subsequently be fitted for the climate, which rules during the early stages of its existence. If this be so, and it is certainly in accordance with the laws of nature, fine-woolled sheep are most likely to maintain their excellence, by deferring the connection of the male till the commencement of cold weather; and in the Northern states, this is done about the first of December, which brings the yeaning time in the last of April or first of May, when the early grass will afford a large supply and good quality of feed. Winter Management and Food. Sheep should be brought into winter-quarters soon after the severe frosts occur, as these diminish the feed, and materially impair its nutritious qualities. They ought also to be removed from the grass-lands, before they become permanently softened by the rains, as they will injuriously affect their comfort and health; and allowing them to remain is equally objectionable, from their poaching the sod. If the number be large when brought to the yards, they must be divided into flocks of 50 to 100, according to the size of the yards and sheds. The young and feeble ought to be separated from the others, and the ailing ones placed by themselves; and that no one may suffer from the others, all should be classed as uniformly as possible as to strength. The yards must be dry, well supplied with a trough of fresh water, and with comfortable sheds, to which they can retire when they choose. Shelters. These, in northern climates, are indispensable to profitable sheep-raising, and in every latitude north of the Gulf of Mexico they would be advantageous. There is policy as well as humanity in the practice. An animal eats much less when thus protected; he is more thrifty, less liable to disease, and his manure is richer and more abundant. The feeding may be done in the open yard in clear weather, and under cover in severe storms. The shelters for sheep are variously constructed, to suit the taste or circumstances of the flock-master. A sheep-barn, built upon a side hill, will afford two floors; one underneath, surrounded by three sides of wall, should open to the south, with sliding or swinging doors to guard against storms; and another may be provided above, if the floors are perfectly tight, with proper gutters to carry off the urine; and sufficient storage for the fodder can be furnished by scaffolds overhead. Or they may be constructed with twelve or fifteen feet posts on level ground, allowing the sheep to occupy the lower part, with the fodder stored above. In all cases, however, _thorough ventilation should be provided_, for of the two evils of exposure to cold or too great privation of air, the former is to be preferred. Sheep cannot long endure close confinement without injury. In all ordinary weather, a shed closely boarded on three sides, with a tight roof, is sufficient protection; especially, if the open side is shielded from bleak winds, or leads into a well-enclosed yard. If the floors above are used for storage, they should be made tight, that no hay, chaff, or dust can fall upon the fleece. Racks or Mangers. These are indispensable to economical feeding. If the hay is fed on the ground, the leaves and seeds, the most valuable part of the fodder, are almost wholly lost; and when wet, the sheep, in their restlessness while feeding, will tread much of it into the mud. To make an economical box or rack, take six light pieces of scantling, say three inches square, one for each corner, and one for the centre of each side. Boards of pine or hemlock, 12 or 15 feet long and 12 or 14 inches wide, may then be nailed on to the bottom of the posts for the sides, which are separated by similar boards at the ends, 2½ feet long. Boards 12 inches wide, raised above the lower ones by a space of 9 to 12 inches, are nailed on the sides and ends, which completes the rack. The edges of the opening should be made perfectly smooth, to prevent chafing or tearing out the wool. The largest dimensions above given, are suitable for the large breeds, and the smallest for the Saxon, and still smaller are proper for their lambs. These should be set on dry ground, or under the sheds, and they can easily be removed wherever necessary. Some prefer the racks made with slats, or smooth, upright sticks, in the form of the usual horse-rack. There is no objection to this, but it should always be accompanied by a board trough affixed to the bottom, to catch the fine hay which falls in feeding. These may be attached to the side of a building, or used double. A small lamb requires fifteen inches of space, and a large sheep two feet, for quiet, comfortable feeding; and at least this amount of room should be provided around the racks for every sheep. Troughs. They may be variously constructed. The most economical are made with two boards of any convenient length, ten to twelve inches wide. Nail the lower side of one upon the edge of the other, fastening both into a two or three inch plank, fifteen inches long and a foot wide, notched in its upper edge in the form required. Food. There is no better food for sheep, than well-ripened, sound, timothy hay; though the clovers, and nearly all the cultivated grasses, may be advantageously fed. Bean and pea straw are valuable, and especially the former, which, if properly cured, they prefer to the best hay; and it is well adapted to the production of wool. All the other straws furnish a good food, and sheep will thrive on them without hay, when fed with roots or grain. Roots ought to be given them occasionally for a change, and especially to the ewes after lambing, if this occurs before putting them on to fresh pasture. They keep the stomach properly distended, the appetite and general health good; and they render their winter forage nearly equal to their summer feed. Much grain is not suited to store-sheep. It is too rich, and should be given sparingly except to the lambs, the old ewes, or feeble sheep, or to restore the rams after hard service. For the above purposes, oats are the best; and if any other grain, beans or peas are given, it should be in small quantities. When there is a deficiency of hay and roots, grain may be used with straw. The flock ought to be so fed as to receive the same amount of nourishment throughout every part of the year. The evenness and value of the fleece depends much upon this. When the amount of nutrition is great, the wool-secreting organs are distended, and the fibre becomes enlarged; when limited, they necessarily contract, and the fibre is small. This produces a want of trueness, which the experienced stapler readily detects, and which he does not fail to estimate against the value of the fleece. Sheep ought to have a full supply of salt, and if accessible, sulphur, ashes, tar, and clay would frequently be nibbled by them when their stomach required either. Pine or hemlock boughs are a good substitute for tar, and afford a most healthful change in the winter-food of sheep. Entire cleanliness and dryness are also essential to the health of the flock. The smaller sizes of the Saxon may be well sustained on two pounds of hay, but larger sheep will consume from three and a half to four, or even five pounds per day. Sheep, like all other animals when exposed to cold, will consume much more than if well protected, or than during a warmer season. The Care of the Ewes with Young Is an important consideration, as the lamb is sometimes the only profit yielded by the flock; for when fodder is high, or wool low, the fleece will barely pay for the food and attention. Pregnant ewes require the same food as at all other times; but caution is necessary to prevent injury or abortion, which is often the result of excessive fat, feebleness, or disease. The first may be remedied by blood-letting and spare diet; and both the last by restored health and generous food. Sudden fright, as from dogs or strange objects; long or severe journeys; great exertions; unwholesome food; blows in the region of the f[oe]tus, and some other causes, produce abortion. Yeaning. Most flocks are turned into the pasture before yeaning time, and the ewe is then left to nature, which is a good practice, if she is healthy and the weather good. But a larger number of lambs will be reared by a careful oversight of the ewes, and the use of proper precautions. As their time approaches, which may be known by the springing of the udder and the enlargement of the natural parts, they should be put by themselves at night, in a warm stable or with others in the same condition, and well looked after, late and early in the day. They seldom need any assistance, nor should any be rendered, except in case of wrong presentation, or feebleness in expelling the f[oe]tus. In the former case, the shepherd may apply his thumb and finger, after oiling, to push back the young, and assist in gently turning it till the nose and fore-feet appear and for the latter, only the slightest aid should be rendered, and that to help the throes of the dam. Management of Lambs. When lambing in the field, only a few should be together, as the young sometimes get changed, and the dams refuse to own them. This difficulty is generally obviated, by holding the ewe till the lamb has sucked two or three times; or they may be shut up together, and the lamb rubbed with a little fine salt. The lamb does not require nourishment for some hours after its birth; but if the dam refuse to lick it as soon as it appears, it must be carefully wiped dry. If the weather be cold and the lamb is dropped in the field, the shepherd should be furnished with large pockets or a well-lined basket, in which it must be placed till the ewe is brought to the shed. After the first day or two, the udders ought to be completely drained of their milk by the hand, so as to prevent swollen or caked bag. In case of deficiency of milk, the lamb may be supplied from a new milch cow, by means of a sucking-bottle with an air vent, or it may draw a part of its nourishment from another ewe, which can be held while the lamb is sucking. It is sometimes necessary to substitute a foster-mother, in which case, the ewe may be made to own the lamb, by milking from her udder over the lamb and under his tail, rubbing it on well; or rub the adopted lamb with the entrails and contents of the stomach of the dead lamb, or cover it with the skin. If the ewe proves a bad nurse, or it is desirable to bring the lambs forward rapidly, they may be early taught to eat boiled oats or other grain, cabbage, roots, and tender hay. Lambs should be well fed, as this is important to produce size, constitution, and perfection of form. The ewes and their young ought to be divided into small flocks, and have a frequent change of pasture. Some careful shepherds adopt the plan of confining their lambs, and allow them to suck two or three times a day; by which they suffer no fatigue, and thrive much faster. But this is troublesome and injurious, as the exercise is essential to the health and constitution of the lamb intended for rearing. It is admissible only when they are wanted for an early market, and by those who rear them for this purpose, it is a common practice. Castrating and Docking Lambs. After selecting enough of the choicest rams for stock-getters, the castrating may be performed at any time between two and six weeks old, when the lamb is in good health. A cool day should be chosen; or if warm, it must be done early in the morning. The best method is for one person to hold the lamb firmly between his legs, on an inclined plank upon which he rests, while another with a sharp knife cuts off about two-thirds of the lower part of the scrotum. The testicles are then drawn out till the spermatic cord is reached, which is divided by the thumb nail; or it is pulled out and cut with a sharp knife. It is sometimes done by simply opening the scrotum, when the testicles and spermatic cord are jerked out. The wound should then be rinsed with cold water, after which apply lard. The operation of docking is by many deferred till a late period, from apprehension of too much loss of blood; but if the weather be favorable, and the lamb in good condition, it may be performed at this time with the least trouble and without injury. The tail should be laid upon the plank, the person holding him in the same position as before. With one hand he draws the skin towards the body, while the other person, with a two-inch chisel and mallet, strikes it off at a blow, between the bone joints, leaving it one and a half to two inches long. The skin immediately slips back over the wound and is soon healed. Ewe lambs should be docked closer than the rams. To prevent flies and maggots, and assist in healing, it is well to apply an ointment composed of lard and tar, in the proportions of four pounds of the former to one quart of the latter. This is also a good application for the scrotum. The lambs should be carefully protected from cold and wet till they are perfectly well. Tagging, or Clatting, Is the removal of such wool as is liable to get fouled, when the sheep are turned on to the fresh pastures, and of course it should be done just before leaving their winter quarters. It is most easily accomplished by placing the animal on a low table, and then holding it as in shearing, till the operation is performed. All the wool near the extremity of the sheath, and the scrotum of the males; from the udder of the ewes; and from below the dock, the inside of the thighs, and the legs of the sheep, should be removed. Summer Management. As soon as the warm weather approaches, and the grass appears, sheep become restive and impatient for the pasture. This instinct should be repressed till the ground has become thoroughly dry, and the grass has acquired substance. They ought, moreover, to be provided for the change of food, by the daily use of roots for a few days before turning out. It would also check the tendency to excessive purging, which is induced by the first spring feed, if they were housed at night, and fed for the first few days with a little sound, sweet hay. They must be provided with pure water, salt, &c., as in winter, for though they may sometimes do tolerably well without either, yet thrift and freedom from disease are cheaply secured by this slight attention. Dry, sweet pastures, and such as abound in aromatic and bitter plants, are best suited for sheep-walks. No animal, with the exception of the goat, crops so great a variety of plants. They eat many which are rejected by the horse and the ox, and which are even essential to their own wants. In this respect, they are valuable assistants to the husbandman, as they feed greedily on wild mustard, burdocks, thistles, marsh-mallows, milkweed, and various other offending plants; and the Merino exceeds the more recent breeds in the variety of his selections. Many prepare artificial pastures for their flocks. This may be done with a number of plants. Winter rye, or wheat sown early in the season, may be fed off in the fall, without injury to the crop; and in the following spring, the rye may be pastured till the stalks shoot up and begin to form a head. This affords an early and nutritious food. Corn may be sown broadcast, or thickly in drills, and either fed off in the fields, or cut and carried to the sheep in their folds. White mustard is a valuable crop for this purpose. To give sheep sufficient variety, it would be better to divide their range into smaller ones, and change them as often at least as once a week. They seek a favorite resting-place, on a dry, elevated part of the field, which soon becomes soiled. By removing them from this for a few days, rains will cleanse, or the sun dry it, so as again to make it suitable for them. More sheep may be kept, and in better condition, where this practice is adopted, than where they are confined to the same pasture. Washing Sheep. In most of that portion of the Union north of 40°, the washing is performed from the middle of May till the first of June, according to the season and climate. When the streams are _hard_, which is frequently the case in limestone regions, it is better to do this immediately after an abundant rain, by which the lime derived from the springs is proportionally lessened. The practice of a large majority of our farmers, is to drive their sheep to the washing-ground early in the morning on a warm day, leaving the lambs behind. The sheep are confined on the bank of the stream by a temporary enclosure; from which they are taken, and if not too heavy, are carried into water sufficiently deep to prevent their touching bottom. They are then washed, by gently squeezing the fleece with the hands, after which they are led ashore, and as much of the water pressed out as possible before letting them go, as the great weight retained in the wool frequently staggers and throws them down. A good practice is to lead the sheep into the water and saturate the fleece, after which they are taken ashore. When they commence _steaming_, they are again led into the water, and washed clean. This insures thorough cleansing, where the water is pure. Others make use of a boat, one end of which rests on a bold shore, and the other is in deep water. The operator stands in the boat and plunges the animal over the side, when the washing is performed. It is sometimes done by sinking a tight hogshead or large box in the water, with heavy weights, in which a man stands, and the sheep are brought or led to him by another person, who walks on a platform reaching from the bank to the hogshead. Either of the last methods obviates the necessity of standing for a long time in water, by which colds, rheumatism, &c. are frequently contracted. In parts of Germany, and sometimes in this country, sheep are forced to swim across a narrow stream several times, by which the fleece is tolerably cleaned, if all the water be pressed out when they get to the land. The yolk being a saponaceous compound, and not an oily matter as is generally supposed, it readily combines with the water and passes out of the wool. An excellent practice, when streams are not convenient, is to lead a small ripple of soft water into a tub. To this, a little soap is added, after which the sheep are immersed and thoroughly cleansed. Perfect whiteness and purity of the fleece is readily secured afterwards, by throwing over the sheep a jet of water. This practice has a good effect, in preventing or removing cutaneous disorders, and destroying ticks or other vermin. Many judicious farmers object to washing sheep, from its tendency to produce colds and catarrhal affections, to which sheep are particularly subject; but it cannot well be dispensed with, as the wool is always more saleable, and if carefully done, need not be attended with injury. Warm settled weather, however, is indispensable to washing with safety to the general health of the sheep. Fig. 26 shows a ewe, with lines indicating the usual method of sorting wool; number 1 indicating the refina or picklock; 2 and 3, the second and third qualities. [Illustration: Fig. 26. Wool Sorting] Shearing. The manner of shearing varies with almost every district; but as this is an art to be acquired under a skilful master, we shall omit particular details on the subject. First clip all the tags and filth, if any remains or has been accumulated after the tagging in the spring; then take off the fleece and spread it with the outside uppermost on a smooth bench or table, and push the wool carefully together, to render it more compact; double the sides over to the centre; throw the clean loose locks into the middle, and roll together from each end. This makes a smooth, dense package, which is secured by passing a stout twine one or more times around the sides and ends. All the wool from the extremities, should be closely sheared and saved by itself, before dismissing the sheep, but not put up with choice fleeces. _If wounds are made_, which is sometimes the case with unskilful operators, a mixture of tar and grease ought to be applied. After shearing, such horns and hoofs as are likely to be troublesome, should be sawed and pared. The _branding_, or _marking_, is essential to distinguish them from other flocks, and this is done on the shoulder, side, or buttock. A brush or marking-iron is used for this purpose, with paint made of lampblack, to which a little spirits of turpentine is first added, and then diluted with linseed or lard oil. If the weather be cool, and especially, if severe storms occur after washing or shearing, the flock should be housed. If sultry, they should have a cool, shady retreat, where they will be shielded from the flies and the heat. Blisters and permanent injury to the skin and fleece, are frequently the result of such exposure. Shade trees in their pastures, contribute much to the comfort of sheep, when exposed to a blazing sun. A close examination of the skin should be made at shearing, for the detection of disease or vermin. For remedies, see article _diseases_. Smearing or Salving Sheep Is a custom little practised in this country. For cold, elevated, and bleak exposures, it may be necessary, and it is, therefore, generally adopted in Scotland. The object is, to prevent cutaneous diseases and vermin, and furnish additional warmth and protection to the fleeces of such breeds as are deficient in yolk. It is usually performed in the latter part of October, but is sometimes done immediately after shearing. The mixture or salve consists of tar and butter or grease, in different proportions; 1 gallon of the former to 12, or sometimes 20 lbs. of the latter; the greater proportion of tar being required for the younger sheep, or for more exposed situations. The grease is melted over the fire, and the tar stirred in, and when sufficiently cool, it is applied to the whole body of the sheep, by carefully parting the wool and rubbing it on the skin with the fingers. The above quantity is sufficient for 30 or 50 sheep, according to their size and the character of the wool. This application is not required for fine-woolled sheep, whose fleeces are more appropriately protected by a natural secretion of yolk; and it is better to omit it in all cases, where the health and comfort of the animal do not render it absolutely essential. Mr. Stewart, an experienced Scotch shepherd, uses only tallow and train oil, mixed in equal proportions. He asserts, that the improvement in the growth and quality of the wool is at least one-third, and it materially benefits the condition of the sheep. Weaning. The lambs may be weaned from 3½ to 4 months old. They should be put upon rich, sweet feed, but not too luxuriant; while the dams are turned upon the poorest, and so remote from their young, as to be out of sight and hearing. The ewes ought to be carefully examined after a day or two, and if necessary, the milk removed with the hand. If it continues to accumulate, the ewe may be fed on hay for a few days. When thoroughly dried off, they should have the best fare, to enable them to recover condition for subsequent breeding and wintering. The fall is a critical period to lose flesh, either for sheep or lambs; and if any are found deficient, they should be at once provided with extra feed and attention. If cold weather overtakes them poor or in ill-health, they will scarcely outlive it; or if by chance they survive, their emaciated carcass, impaired constitution, and scant fleece, will ill repay the food and attention they will have cost. The time for taking Sheep from the Pastures. This must depend on the state of the weather and food. Severe frosts destroy much of the nutriment in the grasses, and they soon after cease to afford adequate nourishment. Long exposure to cold storms, with such food to sustain them, will rapidly reduce their condition. The only safe rule is to transfer them to their winter-quarters the first day they cease to thrive abroad. Drafting the Flock, For the purpose of ridding it of the supernumeraries, should be done at an earlier day. Such of the wethers as have attained their prime, and those ewes that have passed it, ought to be withdrawn soon after shearing, provided with the best feed, and rapidly fitted for the shambles. If they have been properly pushed on grass, they will be in good flesh by the time they are taken from it; and if not intended for stall-feeding, the sooner they are then disposed of the better. Stall-Feeding. This will be lost on an ill-shaped, unthrifty beast. The perfection of form and health, and the uniform good condition, which characterize the thrifty one, indicate too plainly to be misunderstood, those which will best repay the care of their owner. The selection of any indifferent animal for stall-fattening, whether cattle or sheep, will inevitably be attended with loss. Such ought to be got rid of when first brought from the pasture, for the most they will bring. Management of Sheep for the Prairies. When destined for the prairies, sheep ought to commence their journey as early after shearing as possible. They are then disencumbered of their fleece, and do not catch and retain as much dust, as when driven later. Feed is also generally better, and the roads are dry and hard. Young and healthy sheep should be selected, with early lambs; or if the latter are too young, and the distance great, they should be left and the ewes dried off. A large wagon ought to accompany the flock, to carry such as occasionally give out; or they may be disposed of whenever they become enfeebled. With good care, a hardy flock may be driven at the rate of 12 or 14 miles a day. Constant watchfulness is requisite, to keep them healthy and in good plight. One-half the expense of driving, may be saved by the use of well-trained shepherd-dogs. When arrived at their destination, they must be thoroughly washed, to free them from all dirt, and closely examined as to any diseases they may have contracted, which, if discovered, should be promptly removed. A variety of suitable food and good shelter must be provided, for the autumn, winter, and spring ensuing, and every necessary attention given them. This would be necessary if indigenous to the country; how much more so, when they have just undergone a campaign, to which neither they nor their race have been accustomed! Sheep cannot be kept on the prairies without much care, artificial food, and proper attention; and from a false system of economy, hitherto attempted by many, losses have occurred from disease and mortality in the flocks, sufficient to have made ample provision for the comfort and security of twice the number lost. More especially do they require proper food and attention, after the first severe frosts set in, which wither and kill the natural grasses. By nibbling at the _fog_, (the frostbitten, dead grass,) they are inevitably subject to constipation, which a bountiful supply of roots, sulphur, &c., is alone sufficient to remove. Roots, grain, and good hay; straw, or corn-stalks, pea or bean vines, are essential to the preservation of their health and thrift during the winter, everywhere north of 39°. In summer, the natural herbage is sufficient to sustain them in fine condition, till they shall have acquired a denser population of animals, when it will be found necessary to stock their meadows with the best varieties of artificial grasses. The prairies seem adapted to the usual varieties of sheep introduced into the United States; and of such are the flocks made up, according to the taste or judgment of the owners. Shepherd-dogs are invaluable to the owners of flocks, in those unfenced, illimitable ranges, both as a defence against the small prairie-wolf, which prowls around the sheep, but which are rapidly thinning off by the settlers; and also as assistants to the shepherds in driving and herding their flocks on the open ground. DISEASES OF SHEEP. The dry and healthful climate, the rolling surface, and the sweet and varied herbage, which generally prevail in the United States, insure perfect health to an originally sound and well-selected flock, unless peculiarly exposed to disease. No country is better suited to sheep, than most of the northern and some of the southern parts of our own. In Europe, and especially in England, where the system of management is necessarily in the highest degree artificial, consisting frequently in early and continued forcing the system, folding on wet, plowed grounds, and the excessive use of that watery food, the Swedes turnip, there are numerous and fatal diseases. Hence the long list which lumbers the pages of foreign writers on sheep. The most destructive of these are the rot, and epidemics which are scarcely known in America, except by report. The diseases incident to our flocks may generally be considered as casualties, rather than as inbred, or necessarily arising from the quality of food, or from local causes. It may be safely asserted, that with a dry pasture, well stocked with varied and nutritious grasses; a clear, running stream; sufficient shade and protection against severe storms; a constant supply of salt, tar, and sulphur in summer; good hay, and sometimes roots, with ample shelters in winter; young sheep, originally sound and healthy, will seldom or never get diseased on American soil. The few diseases which it may be necessary here to mention, will be treated in the simplest manner. Remedies of general application, to be administered often by the unskilful and ignorant, must neither be elaborate nor complicated; and, if expensive, the lives of most sheep would be dearly purchased by their application. A sheep which the owner has reared or purchased at the ordinary price, is the only domestic animal which can die without material loss to its owner. The wool and pelt will, in most instances, repay its cost, while the carcasses of other animals will be worthless except for manure. The loss of sheep from occasional disease, will leave the farmer's pocket in a very different condition from the loss of an equal value in horses or cattle. Yet humanity, equally with interest, dictates the use of such simple remedies for the removal of suffering and disease, as may be within reach. Diarrh[oe]a or Scours, When light and not long continued, calls for no remedy. It is a healthful provision of nature for the more rapid expulsion of some offending matter in the system, which, if retained, might lead to disease. It is generally owing to improper food, as bad hay or noxious weeds; to a sudden change, as from dry food to fresh grass; or to an excess, as from overloading the stomach; and sometimes, from cold and wet. The _remedies_ are obvious. Change to suitable food in the first two cases; enforce abstinence after repletion; and provide warm, dry shelter, with light diet, if owing to the latter causes. When severe or long continued, a dose of castor oil may be given, and after its operation, give four grains of opium and one ounce chalk, and put them on dry food. Wheat-bran or shorts, and oat-meal or flaxseed ground, are both good for ailing lambs and sheep; as are also ripe oats or wheat, fed in the sheaf, with well cured, sweet hay, and plenty of salt. Fresh boughs of the juniper, or pine and hemlock, help to check the disorder. _Looseness in the larger lambs_ is prevented by having chalk within their reach; or if they refuse it, administer it in their food. When it happens soon after birth, place it with the ewe in a warm place, and feed the latter with plenty of oats, or other sound grain. If the milk be deficient, give the lamb cow's milk scalded, or let it suck the cow. The tail is sometimes glued on to the buttocks, while the scours continue. Separate it immediately by the use of warm water, and rub the parts with dry loam or clay. Dysentery. This is a different and frequently a fatal disease, but resembles the former in its general symptoms. It is owing to prolonged diarrh[oe]a, unwholesome or meager food, and other causes. Bleeding and physic should be resorted to, after which give warm, nourishing gruel. Hoven. _For description and remedies, see hoven in cattle._ Braxy. This is manifested by uneasiness, loathing of food, frequent drinking, carrying the head down, drawing the back up, swollen belly, feverish symptoms, and avoidance of the flock. It appears mostly in late autumn and spring, and may be induced by exposure to severe storms, plunging in water when hot, and especially by constipation brought on by feeding on frostbitten, putrid, or indigestible herbage. _Remedies_ are not often successful, unless promptly applied. Bleed freely, and to effect this, in consequence of the stagnant state of the blood, immersion in a tub of hot water may be necessary. Then give two ounces Epsom salts, dissolved in warm water, with a handful of common salt. If this is unsuccessful, give a clyster made with a pipe-full of tobacco, boiled for a few minutes in a pint of water. Administer half, and if this is not effectual, follow with the remainder. Then bed the animal in dry straw and cover with blankets, and assist the purgatives with warm gruels, followed by laxative provender till well.--(_Blacklock._) Thousands of sheep have died on the prairies from braxy, induced by exposure and miserable forage. Entire prevention is secured by warm, dry shelters, and nutritious, digestible food. Costiveness. This is removed by giving two tablespoonfuls of castor oil every twelve hours, till the difficulty is removed; or give one ounce Epsom salts. This may be assisted by an injection of warm, weak suds and molasses. Stretches. Sheep sometimes stretch out their noses on the ground, and around their sides, as if in severe pain. This may be caused by an involution of one part of the intestine within another. When owing to this cause, the difficulty is frequently removed by jerking the animal by the hind-legs several times, when the pain disappears. But it is generally occasioned by _costiveness_, which see above. This may be prevented by using green food, roots, &c., once a week, or by allowing them to browse on the evergreens, pines, hemlock, and firs. Poison, From laurel and other plants, is cured by pouring a gill of melted lard down the throat, or boil for an hour the twigs of the white ash, and give half to one gill of the strong liquor immediately; to be repeated if not successful. Inflammation of the Lungs. This is produced by improper exposure to cold and wet. The remedy for slight affections, is warm, dry shelter, and light food. When severe, resort must be had to bleeding and purging freely, then to light bran or linseed mashes. Rot. This sometimes causes the death of a million of sheep in a single year in England, yet it is a disease almost unknown in this country. Foreign authorities ascribe it entirely to excessive humidity of climate, wet pastures, or too watery food. The preventives are therefore obvious. After the use of dry food and dry bedding, one of the best is the abundant use of pure salt. In violent attacks, early bleeding, followed by a dose of two ounces Epsom salts, to be repeated if necessary, with a change of diet and location, is all that can be done. Foot-Rot. This is frequently a prevalent disease among American sheep. It is sometimes spontaneous, but more often produced by contagion. In the former case, it is caused by soft, rich, or moist pastures. A dry gravelly or rocky range, will of course be an effectual preventive when owing to this cause. The disorder is communicated by the absorbents of the foot coming in contact with the suppuration which has been left on the ground from the diseased part. Absolute safety against this contagion is secured only by a total avoidance of the walks of the infected animals, till repeated rains, or what is better, frosts, have disarmed the virus of its malignity. _Remedies_ are variously compounded, of blue vitriol, verdigris, tar, spirits of turpentine, alum, saltpetre, salt, lime, copperas, white-lead, antimony, alcohol, urine, vinegar, &c., all of which have proved effectual. The hoof should first be pared and thoroughly scraped. Then apply a wash made of three parts of blue vitriol, one of verdigris pulverized finely, with scalding (not boiling) vinegar; stirring briskly till it is of the consistence of thin cream, and put it upon the affected part with a paint brush. It is a good preventive, to apply this to the sound feet of the affected animal. Another remedy is to use spirits of turpentine after scraping; and if the disease is of long standing, add to the turpentine a strong decoction of blue vitriol dissolved in water. The foot should be examined every week, and the remedy repeated till perfect soundness is restored. A feather dipped in muriatic or nitric acid, and applied to the parts after scraping and cleansing, is a good remedy. When put upon the soles of _foot-sore_ sheep, it hardens the hoofs, and enables them to travel better. Sheep are sometimes cured by keeping them on a dry surface, and driving over a barn-floor daily, which is well covered with quicklime. It may also be cured by dryness, and repeated washing with soap-suds. The above ailment should not be confounded with a temporary soreness, or inflammation of the hoof, occasioned by the irritation from the long, rough grasses which abound in low situations, which is removed with the cause; or if it continues, apply white paint or tar, after thorough washing. Corrosion of the Flesh by Flies or Maggots, May be cured by first removing the vermin; then wash with Castile soap and warm soft water, after which apply white-lead with linseed oil. Tar put on the festering wound corrodes it; but this, or spirits of turpentine placed on the sound parts near it, keep off the flies by their strong effluvia. If the wound be slight, and the weather moderate, apply a little spirits of turpentine with a strong decoction of elder bark. Flies on Sheep May be prevented by smearing with a composition made of two pounds lard or soft grease, one pound sulphur, half pint oil of amber, or oil of tar, or tar alone. A small spoonful is sufficient for a sheep.--_Genesee Farmer._ Protection from the Gad-Fly. In July, August, and September, in the Northern states, the _gad-fly_ (_[OE]stus ovis_) attacks the nostrils of the sheep, and there deposites its eggs, which, on being hatched, immediately crawl up and make a lodgment in the head. They are frequently repelled by laying a thick coat of tar on the bottom of the troughs, and sprinkling it with salt. The smell of the tar adhering to the nose will drive off the fly. A more effectual remedy is to apply it thoroughly with a brush to the external part of the nose. If a few furrows of loose earth are turned up in their pastures, the sheep will hold their noses to them, and thus keep off the fly. The symptoms of grubs in the head, are drooping of the head and ears, discharge of bloody and watery matter from the nostrils, and loss of strength in the limbs. If worms have made a lodgment, take half a pound of good Scotch snuff, and two quarts boiling water: stir, and let it stand till cold. Inject about a tablespoonful of this liquid and sediment up each nostril, with a syringe. Repeat this three or four times at intervals, from the middle of October till January: the grubs are then small, and will not have injured the sheep. The efficacy of the snuff will be increased, by adding half an ounce assaf[oe]tida, pounded in a little water. The effect on the sheep is immediate prostration and apparent death, but they will soon recover. A decoction of tobacco will afford a substitute for snuff.--_N. Eng. Far._ Blacklock's remedy is, to half fill the bowl of a pipe with tobacco, light it, and then hold the sheep, while a person inserts the stem some distance into the nostril, and blows a few whiffs into the nose. The operation is then repeated with the other nostril. Swollen Mouth Is sometimes fatal. It is said to be cured by daubing the lips and mouth plentifully with tar.--_Albany Cultivator._ Foul Noses. Dip a small swab into tar, then roll in salt. Put some on the nose, and compel the sheep to swallow a small quantity.--_American Far._ A disease indicated by drooping, running at the eyes, weakness in the back and loins, inability to use the hind legs, was removed by turning the sheep into a pasture containing lobelia, (_Indian tobacco._) Dried lobelia was also given, and produced the same effect.--_Cultivator._ Scab. This loathsome disease, to which fine-woolled sheep are particularly liable, is caused, like itch in the human subject, by a small insect, a species of the _acari_. It is first manifest by the rubbing of the sheep, and soon after by one or more tufts of wool, which is loosened at the roots. On feeling the skin, a hard, dry tumor is perceptible. To prevent contagion, remove the infected sheep to a separate pasture or yard as soon as discovered. _Remedies._--The Spanish shepherds dissolve a little salt in their mouth, and drop it upon the infected part. When the tumor has become enlarged, the wool should be removed closely to the skin, the scab scraped with a curry-comb, then wash with strong soap-suds or ley, and afterwards rub thoroughly with sulphur or brimstone, mixed with lard or grease. An effectual remedy is prepared by taking one pound of tobacco, which add to 12 quarts ley from wood ashes of sufficient strength for washing, and four quarts urine; to this add another mixture of a gill high-wines; ¼ oz. camphor; ¼ oz. Spanish brown, and ½ gill spirits of turpentine. A small quantity of this applied to the sore will never fail. Immediately after shearing, scab may readily be cured by immersing the sheep, (excepting the head,) in a strong decoction of tobacco liquor, adding a gill of spirits of turpentine for the first, and making a slight addition of fresh liquid for each sheep, enough to keep up the strength of the tobacco and turpentine, and taking care to rub the affected part thoroughly. For lambs, this liquor should be diluted, but yet left strong enough to kill ticks in one or two minutes, which may be ascertained by experiment. Scab is also removed by using a composition of one pound plug tobacco to three gallons of water, with lime-water and oil of vitriol added; or a decoction of hellebore with vinegar, sulphur, and spirits of turpentine.--(_H. D. Grove._) Scab is propagated more by using the same rubbing posts, than by contact with each other. Sheep in low condition are more subject to it than others. Ticks and Lice Sometimes infest sheep. Good feeding and shelter is a partial preventive, but when they have made their lodgment, they must be dipped in a decoction of tobacco water. The most effectual time for their destruction, is a few days after shearing, when they will have left the naked bodies of the old ewes, to hide in the fleeces of the lambs. The dipping in tobacco water, with the addition of a small quantity of turpentine, is an effectual remedy. After dipping the sheep or lambs, the liquor should be pressed out from the wool, upon an inclined plane, so arranged as again to run into the vessel. Pelt-rot Will be recognised as one of the staple diseases of our _native sheep_, described on page 89. The wool in this case falls off, leaving the sheep partially or almost wholly naked; but this is not accompanied with soreness or apparent disease. The animal must be provided with a warm stall and generous feed, and the naked skin should be anointed with tar and grease. The preventive is good keeping and shelter. Staggers or Sturdy, and Water in the Head, Sometimes affect sheep, but more especially lambs under a year old. The first is caused by the _hydatid_. It is considered as an almost incurable disorder, but is sometimes removed by trepanning. Chancellor Livingston carefully supplied two thus attacked, with food for three months, when nature effected a cure. Removal to dry lands and purging, is a good precaution when they are first taken. An English lad lately cured one which had been given up, by boring with a gimlet into the soft place on the head, when the water rushed out, and the sheep immediately followed the others to the pasture. A correspondent of the Albany Cultivator asserts, that ½ a pint of melted lard poured down the throat, will cure blind staggers in ten minutes. Abortion Occurs sometimes, and is usually caused by excessive fright or exertion, and sometimes by severe exposure and poor feed. It is seldom fatal, except to the lamb. The Uterus Is occasionally protruded after lambing. It should be immediately returned, first washing it in warm milk and water, if any dirt adheres to it. For this, the hand only should be used. After rubbing it with lard or oil, hold up the hind legs, and gently replace the protruded parts, then keep the ewe quiet till fully recovered. For Garget, or Caked Bag. Keep the bag thoroughly drained of milk, for which purpose the lamb is the most efficient. If it is lost, another may be temporarily substituted. Purge freely with Epsom salts, and wash the udder repeatedly with very warm water. If matter forms, it should be opened with the lancet. Bleeding. "Nothing tends so much to the recovery of an animal from a disease in which bleeding is required, as the rapid flow of the blood from a large orifice. Little _impression_ can be made on an acute disease by the slow removal of even a large quantity of blood, as the organs have time to accommodate themselves to the loss, which might, for any good it will do, as well be dispensed with. Either bleed rapidly, or not at all. The nearer the commencement of an ailment, in which you employ bleeding, the operation is resorted to, the greater the chance of its doing good. Bleeding by nicking the under surface of the tail, does very well, where no great deal of blood is required, but it is not to be thought of if the veins of the face or neck can possibly be opened. These are to be taken in preference to a vein on the leg, as they are much more readily got at. The facial vein commences by small branches on the side of the face, and runs downwards and backwards to the base of the jaw, where it may be felt within two inches of the angle, or opposite the middle grinding tooth. It is here that the orifice must be made: the thumb of the left hand being held against the vein, so as to prevent the flow of blood towards the heart, will make it _rise_. Some prefer opening the jugular vein, which commences behind the eye and runs down the side of the neck. This vessel is, however, more difficult to open than the former, being better covered with wool, and not so easily exposed or made to swell. _Stringing_ is the mode commonly resorted to for this end; that is to say, a cord is drawn tightly round the neck close to the shoulder, so as to stop the circulation through the vein, and render it perceptible to the finger. A lancet is the instrument generally used in bleeding, though a well-pointed penknife will do at a pinch. The opening must always be made obliquely; but before attempting this, the animal must be secured, by placing it between the operator's legs, with its croup against a wall. The selected vein is then fixed by the fingers of the operator's left hand, so as to prevent its rolling or slipping before the lancet. Having fairly entered the vein, the point of the instrument must be elevated at the same time that it is pushed a little forward, by which motion it will be lifted from or cut its way out of the vein. _A prescribed quantity of blood should never be drawn_, for the simple reason that this can never be precisely stated. If the symptoms are urgent, as in all likelihood they will be, your best plan is not to stop the flow of blood till the animal fall or is about to fall. When this occurs, run a pin through the edges of the orifice, and finish by twisting round it a lock of wool."--(_Blacklock._) Large cuts are healed By first sewing and then covering with salve. Smaller ones may be secured with an adhesive plaster or bandage. To protect lambs from wolves and foxes, Smear the neck plentifully with a mixture of tar and sulphur. Bells are also said to guard the flock, as both are excessively wary, and have a great dislike to any thing artificial. Large dogs will keep them at bay. A better remedy is to kill the marauders, which may be done by inserting strychnine in fresh meat and leaving it in their haunts. CHAPTER V. THE HORSE. In nearly all ages and countries, the horse has been the devoted servant, and the object of the pride and affection of man. Among the semi-civilized Tartars of Middle and Northern Asia; the aborigines of our remote Western prairies, reaching even beyond the Rocky Mountains, and many other rude nations, his flesh is used for food. Most of the tribes among the former use the milk for domestic purposes, and especially when fermented and changed to an unpleasantly sour and intoxicating beverage. But throughout the civilized world, with some slight exceptions, the horse is useful only for his labor. For this purpose he is pre-eminently fitted by his compact, closely-knit frame; his sinewy, muscular limbs; his easy, rapid stride; his general form, and entire structure and habits. He is found in his wild condition in Central Asia, Siberia, and the interior of Africa; and for 300 years he has been turned loose to follow his native instincts on the illimitable pampas of South America, and the wide-spread prairies of Mexico and California. In all these regions he closely resembles the medium varieties of the domesticated horse; but as the natural result of his freedom, he possesses more fire and spirit than any other, except the blood-horse. Arabia is generally claimed as the original native locality of the horse, and as the only source from which he is to be derived in the requisite perfection for the highest improvement of the race. But Strabo, who wrote more than 1,800 years ago, asserts that the horse did not then flourish in Arabia, and it was not till some centuries later that he attained any decided superiority there. Great attention, however, has been paid in that country, since the era of Mahomet, to breeding a light, agile, and enduring frame; intelligence and tractability of character; and the perpetuation of these qualities by the most scrupulous regard for the purity of blood. This is equally true of the Barb or pure-bred horse of Morocco, and those of the northern coast of Africa, in Egypt, among the Turks, and indeed wherever the followers of the Prophet are to be found. It is unquestionable, that the influence of the Eastern blood among the choicest animals of modern Europe, has been followed by great improvements in racing stock. Yet it is equally certain, that the race-horse, both of England and the United States, has accomplished what has never been demonstrated as within the ability of their progenitors; and on repeated trials with the Eastern horses, he has shown himself confessedly their superior in speed, strength, and endurance. In 1825, two English horses ran against the two fleetest Cossacks which could be found throughout the entire region of their best blood, and in a continued race of 47 miles, the European took the stakes; Sharper, the most successful, performing the distance in 2 hours and 48 minutes. About the same time, Recruit, an English horse of moderate reputation, easily beat Pyramus, the best Arabian on the Bengal side of India. The Leeds, the Darley, and the Godolphin Arabian; the Lister and D'Arcey's White Turk, and other noted Eastern horses, would not compare in performance with many of their descendants. But these, with some other choice Arabians, on the best mares, and with every advantage for obtaining celebrity, have succeeded in establishing a fame as just as it has been enduring. Yet it must at the same time be remembered, that of the innumerable other pure-bred horses which have been tried in Europe, a few only have rescued their names from oblivion. The experience of Eastern blood in this country, in comparison with the best English, is decidedly in favor of the latter. We have had one horse of unsurpassed excellence, which a fortunate accident threw upon our shores a short time previous to 1770. This was the white Barb _Ranger_, which was presented by the Emperor of Morocco, as the choice of his stud, to an English naval officer for some distinguished service. On his route homeward, the animal was set on shore for exercise at an intermediate port, where in his gambols he broke three of his legs, and thinking him worthless, his owner gave him to the commander of a New England merchantman, then present. He was readily accepted, and placed in slings on board of his vessel, and recovered. This animal stood for many years, in the eastern part of Connecticut; and on their good mares, produced a numerous progeny of unrivalled cavalry horses, which rendered invaluable services in the troop commanded by that consummate partisan, Captain (afterwards General) Lee, of the Revolution. It is said the favorite white field-horse of General Washington was of the same stock. He was afterwards sold to Captain Lindsey, as a special favor, and taken, to Virginia, where he produced some good racers. Bussorah, a small sorrel horse, brought into this country in 1819, from the head of the Persian Gulf, got many choice roadsters, though no racers of celebrity. The Narraganset pacers, a race belonging to our Northern states, but for many years almost extinct, possessed for a long time an unrivalled reputation for spirit, endurance, and easy rapid motion under the saddle. They are said to have originated from a Spanish horse, many of which are pure descendants of the Barb. As an offset to these isolated examples of success in this country, we have numerous instances of the importation of the best Orientals, which have been extensively used on some of our superior mares, without any marked effect. We shall refer to three prominent importations only. The first consisted of two choice Arabians, or Barbs, selected in Tunis by General Eaton, and sent to his estate in Massachusetts. The second was a present of four choice Barbs, from the Emperor of Morocco to our government, in 1830; and the third consisted of two Arabians, sent by the Imaum of Muscat, near the Persian Gulf, to our government in 1840. These were all claimed to be, and no doubt were, of the pure Kochlani, the unadulterated line royal; yet none have earned any distinguished reputation, either by their own performances or those of their descendants. It is to England we are mainly indebted for the great improvement in our blood, road, and farm horses. A numerous race of fine horses was reared on that island, long previous to its authentic history; for, in his first invasion Julius Caesar took many of them to Rome, where they immediately became great favorites, although she had already plundered every region of some of their best breeds. What might have been the particular merit of the English horse at the time of the Norman invasion, is not known, but it is certain that the Saxon cavalry under Harold were speedily overpowered by William, at the battle of Hastings, which at once secured the throne to the Conqueror. History first informs us of the improvement of British horses, by importations from abroad during this reign, which consisted of a number of Spanish stallions. These were supposed to be strongly imbued with the Arabian blood, which had been brought over to that country by the Moors, who had founded the Saracenic empire in the Peninsula, three centuries before. More than a century later, John made some importations from Flanders, to give weight and substance to their draught and cavalry horses. The improvement of their various breeds was afterwards pursued, with more or less judgment and zeal, by other British monarchs, till they reached their highest excellence during the middle of the last century. Flying Childers, Eclipse, Highflyer, and others on the course, have probably exceeded in speed anything ever before accomplished; while the draught-horse, the roadster, the hackney, the cavalry-horse, and the hunter, attained a merit at that time which some judicious authorities claim has not been since increased. It is even asserted, that some of the more serviceable breeds have been seriously injured by too great an infusion of the blood; while the almost universal absence of long heats on the turf has tended to the improvement of speed rather than bottom in the race-horse. The improvement of the horse in this country has not been a matter of record or history, till within a comparatively recent period. But it has silently, and with no little rapidity, been going forward for more than a century, till we have obtained a race of animals, throughout the Eastern and Middle states at least, which probably equal those of any other country for adaptedness to draught, the road, and the saddle. This improvement has been mainly brought about by the importation of some of the _best and stoutest of the English blood_. In breeding from these for purposes of utility, particular reference has been paid to strength, enduringness, and speed. No horses surpass our best four-mile bloods; none equal our trotters; and though much inequality exists in those bred for various other uses, yet for profitable service, it is believed, no equal number of animals elsewhere can exceed those in the region above indicated. It would be a superfluous task to attempt enumerating all the imported horses that have contributed to this improvement. Each good animal has done something. But among the earlier horses which may be named with distinction, as having effected much for our useful beasts, are Lath, Wildair, Slender, Sourkrout, Tallyho, Figure, Bay Richmond, Expedition, Baronet, and a host of others. Pre-eminent among these, was imported Messenger. He was foaled in 1780, imported in 1788, and died in 1808. He stood in different places in New Jersey, and in Dutchess, Westchester, and Queens counties in New York; and upon the mares derived from the foregoing and other good horses, he got a numerous progeny of illustrious descendants. Of these we may name those capital stallions, Potomac, Hamlintonian, Bay Figure, Engineer, Mambrino, Tippoo Saib, Columbus, Gunn's, and Bushe's Messenger, and many others, which were extensively disseminated over the Northern and Middle states; and he has the credit of imparting a large share of his merits to that nonpareil of horses, his grandson, American Eclipse. His posterity were so numerous and widely spread, that it may be safely asserted, that of the best horses bred in the above states, scarcely one can now be found which does not trace one or more crosses to this distinguished sire. His success in producing roadsters, besides his blood qualities of speed and endurance, consisted in his great strength, and the peculiar formation of his limbs, large forehand and deep quarters, in which he excelled any other of the imported bloods. As an illustration of what may be accomplished by judicious breeding with the present materials in our hands, we mention one family of the American roadster, which is strongly tinctured with blood, and which has attained an enviable notoriety among the choicest of the Northern horses. They are derived from the _Morgan horse_ of Vermont, that was foaled in Springfield, Mass., in 1793. He was got by True Britton, supposed to have been bred by Gen. Delancey of New York, and got by imported Wildair, (or one of his sons,) a horse of such distinguished excellence, as to have been re-exported to England, for the benefit of his stock. The Morgan horse stood in Vermont from 1795 till his death, at an advanced age. From him and the choice mares of Vermont, descended many excellent colts; and his merits were inherited in an eminent degree by three of his sons, which stood in the same state and continued the career of improvement commenced by the sire. The result has been the production of a family of roadsters, of much similarity of appearance[3] and uniformity of character, unsurpassed by any others for serviceable qualities. [3] Many of the Morgan horses have the steep rump and heavy breast and neck, which indicate a Norman cross on the side of their dams. These have been largely imparted through the French horse in the adjoining Canadian settlements, but none of these are said to have characterized the founder of the race. They are of medium size, from 13½ to 15 hands high; with a well-formed head and neck; high withers; deep chest; round body; short back; long quarters; broad flat legs; moderately small feet; long wavy mane and tail; presenting altogether the beau ideal of the road horse. They are spirited, docile, hardy, and easily kept. They have an easy, rapid trot, and glide along with a good load, without clatter or apparent effort, at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour. This family of horses has not of course been bred long enough within themselves, to have attained to the eminence of a distinct breed. They are mentioned, merely as a type of what the serviceable roadster ought to be, and what he may become by the use of the proper instruments for breeding. And if the materials already in our hands are intelligently and perseveringly used, we can produce all we require of horse-flesh. Besides our unsurpassed blood-horses, we have others derived from various sources, and especially from the different English breeds, all of which are variously compounded, with the first and with each other. On our northeastern frontier, the _Canadian_ prevails, a bastard but not degenerate race, made up of the French Norman and the English or American. At the extreme South and West, we have the _horse of Spanish origin_, obtained in his domestic state in Florida and Louisiana; and from another branch of the Spanish, are descended the wild horses of Mexico and the more northern prairies. These are diversified in character, and generally possess medium size and merit. The _Conestoga_, a heavy roadster, is principally reared in Pennsylvania, and is used for the team and truck. He is an amalgamation of several breeds, but probably owes a share of his character to the Flemish horse, for which there was a decided partiality among the numerous German emigrants of that state. Several varieties of _ponies_ are to be found in different sections, but principally among the French, the half-breed, and the Indians upon the frontiers, who have bred a stunted race from the Canadian or wild-horse, and such others as could survive the hard usage and scanty winter food afforded by nature and their rude husbandry. Many of these have considerable beauty and symmetry, and are fleet, hardy, and spirited. [Illustration: Fig. 27. Norman Horse.] The _modern Norman_, or mixture of the old French Norman draught-horse, (heavy-framed, big-limbed, but stout and hardy,) and the Andalusian, a descendant of the Moorish barbs, has been introduced within a few years, and will unquestionably become a very popular horse for many purposes. He exhibits the qualities of both ancestry in the proper proportions for farm service. He has a thick head; lively, prick ears; short, heavy neck; large breast and shoulders; strong limbs; well-knit back; large quarters, with much wavy mane, tail, and fetlock. Like his French progenitor, he frequently stands low in the withers, which enables him to throw great weight into the collar; and the diminished, flattened leg, the wind and game derived from his Moorish blood, give him much of the capacity and endurance of the thorough-bred. The _English cart-horse_ has for a long time made up some of the best, heavy dray-horses in the country, and late importations have refreshed the breed with additional choice specimens. The _Cleveland bay_ has been introduced of late, and promises good carriage-horses from our well-spread, sizeable mares. The _Norfolk trotter Belfounder_ was imported many years since, and with our high-bred mares, has produced many choice roadsters and trotters. The remainder of our horse-flesh deserving of any notice, is chiefly composed of such as are superior in point of blood. The improvement in the American horse, from this source, is conspicuous and decided. Judicious breeders still look for qualities in the descendants, which they sought for in their imported sires, and the infusion of some of the stoutest of the blood is rapidly gaining an ascendency in the general stock. Our intelligent agriculturists should look to this subject closely, and not permit this system to proceed to an extent that may be prejudicial to their value as draught-horses, as has been done in some portions of England and our Southern states. There is no danger from excess of blood, if it be of the right kind; but it is seldom found combining that fulness and stoutness, and that docility and tractableness of disposition, which are essential to the gig-horse or the horse of all work. Yorke says truly, that "the road-horse may possess different degrees of blood, according to the nature of the country and the work required of him. [He might have added with propriety, _and according to the character of the blood_.] His legs will be too slender; his feet too small; his stride too long, and he will rarely be able to trot. Three parts, or half, and for the horse of all work, even less than that, will make a good and useful animal." For the saddle only, the high-bred, if not disposed to be vicious, is never objectionable to an enterprising and accomplished rider. His long elastic pasterns, giving easy, flexible motions; his quick and almost electrical obedience when under thorough discipline; his habitual canter and high spirit, always commend him for this purpose. [Illustration: Fig. 28. Points of a Horse. 1. Muzzle.--2. Race.--3. Forehead.--4. Poll.--5. Crest.--6. Withers.--7. Back.--8. Loins.--9. Hip.--10. Croup.--11. Dock.--12. Quarter.--13. Thigh, or Gaskin.--14. Ham-string.--15. Point of the Hock.--16. Cannon.--17. Fetlock.--18. Large Pastern.--19. Small Pastern.--20. Hoof.--21. Coronet.--22. Ham, or Hock.--23. Sheath.--24. Flank.--25. Girth.--26. Elbow.--27. Heel.--28. Hoof.--29. Small Pastern.--30. Large Pastern.--31. Fetlock.--32. Cannon.--33. Knee.--34. Arm.--35. Breast, or Bosom.--36. Point of the Shoulder.--37. Windpipe.--38. Gullet.--39. Jowl.] Some of the prominent external points of a fine Saddle or Gig Horse, Are, a moderately small head, free from fleshiness; fine muzzle and expansive nostrils; broad at the throat and wide between the eyes, which denotes intelligence and courage; a dished face indicates high breeding, and sometimes viciousness; a convex or Roman nose frequently betokens the reverse; the ears rather long, yet so finely formed as to appear small, and playing quickly like those of a deer; the eyes clear, full, and confident, with a steady forward look. Glancing them backward or askance with a sinister expression, and with none or only a slight movement of the head, is indicative of a mischievous temper. The neck should be handsomely arched, and fine at the junction with the head, while the lower extremity must be full and muscular, and well expanded at the breast and shoulders. The latter ought to be high and run well back; the withers strong, firmly knit, and smooth; the breast neither too prominent nor retreating, too wide nor too narrow, and supported by a pair of straight fore-legs, standing well apart. The chest should be deep, and the girth large; the body full, and not drawn up too much in the flank; the back short, and the hips gathered well towards the withers; the loins wide and rising above the spine; the ribs springing nearly at right angles from the back, giving roundness to the body. The hips ought to be long to the root of the tail, and the latter may approach to near the line of the back, which is a mark of good breeding. Both the thigh and hock should be large and muscular; and between the hock or knee and pastern, the legs should be broad, flat, and short; the hind legs properly bent, and all well placed under the body; the pasterns of moderate length, and standing slightly oblique; the hoof hard, smooth, round before, and wide at the heel; the frog large and sound; and the sole firm and concave. A white hoof is generally tender, easy to fracture and to lame, and difficult to hold a shoe. The _draught-horse_ ought to differ from the foregoing, in possessing a heavier and shorter neck; a wider and stouter breast, and low withers, so as to throw the utmost weight into the collar; a heavier body and quarters; larger legs and feet; and more upright shoulders and pasterns. Considerations which affect the Value of the Horse. The color is not material, provided it be not pied or mealy. No better color for horses can be found than the dark bay or brown, with black mane, tail, and legs. But most of the other colors are frequently found with the best horses. Hard-mouthed horses, when accompanied with great spirit, are objectionable, as they require peculiar bitting and the utmost vigilance. The paces and action of a horse are important, for if good they give a much greater capacity for performance. Some of these depend on form and structure, and are unchangeable; others are the result of breaking. All horses should be taught to walk fast, as it is their easiest and most economical pace, and it will help them over a great deal of ground in a day, even with a heavy load, and with comparatively little effort. A horse that steps short and digs his toes into the ground, is worthless as a traveller, and suited only to a ferry-boat or bark-mill. It is important that a horse be good-tempered. If inclined to viciousness, he should be gently yet firmly managed when it is first apparent. A resort to great severity will be justified, if necessary to conquer him; for if once allowed to become a habit, it will be difficult to cure him. Grooms and mischievous stable-boys, frequently do much injury by their idle tricks with horses; and when detected, they should be discharged at once. Some horses are nervous, easily excited, and start at every unusual noise or object. Others are restive and fretful, and ever anxious to be on the move. Kindness, and firm, yet mild treatment, by which their motions and will are at all times controlled, and their confidence secured, are the only remedies. Others are inclined to sluggishness. These should have stimulating food, and never be overloaded or overworked, and then kept well to their paces. Whatever they are capable of performing, can be got from them in this way only. Habit has great influence with animals, as with man; and when within the compass of his ability, he may be habituated to any reasonable physical exertion. Breeding. Agreeably to the general principles before enumerated, such animals should be selected, as most eminently possess those points which it is desired to propagate, and these, they should not only exhibit in themselves, but should inherit as far as possible, from a long line of ancestry. For the perpetuation of particular points in progeny, it would be safer to rely on the latter quality than the former. The selection of a mare, relatively larger than the horse, is an important rule in breeding, and it is believed that much of the success of Arabian and other Eastern horses as stock-getters, has resulted from the application of this principle. They possess valuable traits, but condensed within too small a compass. When such an animal is put to a well-bred, larger mare, the f[oe]tus has abundance of room and nourishment to develop and perfect the circumscribed outlines of the male parent, and acquire for itself increased volume and character. The horse ought not to be less than four or five, and the mare one year older, before being put to breeding. It would be still better to defer it for two or three years, or till the frame is fully matured. The Gestation of the Mare Sometimes varies from 44 to 56 weeks, but she usually goes with young from 47 to 50; and it is advisable she should take the horse at a time which will ensure the foaling when the weather is settled, and there is a fresh growth of grass. She will be the better for light working till near the time of foaling, if well, but not too abundantly fed. In a few days after this, she may resume moderate labor; and if not in the way or troublesome, the foal may run with her; but if she is exposed to heating, it should be confined till she cools, as suckling then is decidedly injurious to it. The mare is in danger of slinking her foal from blows and over-exertion, the use of smutty grain, foul hay, or offensive objects or smell; and when this has once occurred, which happens usually in the fourth or fifth month, she should afterwards be generously fed at that period, and only moderately worked, to prevent a recurrence of the casualty. When liable to slinking, the mare should be removed from others in foal, lest a peculiar sympathy should excite an epidemic. The Mare comes in Heat From nine to eleven days after foaling, when she should be put to the horse, if it be desirable to have a colt the following season. She comes round at intervals of about nine days. Management of the Colt. The colt may be weaned when five to seven months old; and preparatory to this, while with the mare, may be taught to feed on fine hay, meal, or oats. When taken away, he should be confined beyond a hearing distance of the dam, and plentifully supplied with rowen or aftermath hay, crushed oats, or wheat shorts. It is economy to provide a warm shelter through the inclement season for all animals, and especially for colts, which, with all other young, should have an abundance of nutritious food. They will thus grow evenly and rapidly, and attain a size and stamina at two years old, they would not otherwise have acquired at three. Castrating. The colt should be altered at about one year, but if thin in the neck and light before, the operation may be deferred to such time as the requisite development is secured. Few of the French diligence and farm horses, and scarcely any of the Oriental, are ever castrated. They are thought to be more hardy and enduring; but the slight advantage they may possibly possess in this respect, would hardly compensate for the trouble and inconvenience too frequently arising from their management. The operation should be performed late in the spring or early in autumn, while the weather is mild. If in high condition, the animal must first be bled and physicked. If large and fractious, he must be cast. Some back him into the angle of a worm fence, where he is firmly held by the head with a bridle, and the operator accomplishes the object without any trouble or material restiveness from the animal while standing. The scrotum should be opened on both sides, and the testicles cut, or rather the cord scraped off, which prevents much bleeding. The wound may be dressed with a little lard; then turn him loose in a pasture which has a shelter from sun, wind, or rain. Another method of castrating is by _torsion_, or twisting. Docking Is practised by many, but merely to gratify an absurd and cruel caprice, without a single advantage, and the animal is better in every respect with the tail unmutilated. If done at all, it should be when young, and with a single stroke of the knife, or chisel and mallet; and if the weather be favorable, no further attention is necessary. Nicking. This inhuman custom is now getting unfashionable, and we omit any description of it. Breaking. While feeding in the stable, the colt should be gently treated, and accustomed to the halter and bit, which prepares him for breaking. If permitted to run with the others while at work, he becomes familiarized to it, and when harnessed by the side of some of his well-trained mates, he seems to consider his discipline rather a privilege than a task. The colt may be taken in hand for breaking at three years of age, and thoroughly broken to light work at four, but should not be put to hard service till six or eight. A due regard to humanity and sound judgment, in thus limiting the burden in his early years, would save much disease and suffering to the animal, and profit to the owner, by his unimpaired strength and prolonged life. The annual loss from neglecting this precaution is enormous, which might be entirely avoided by less eagerness to grasp the substance, while as yet the shadow only is within reach. Many animals are thus broken down at twelve, and are in their dotage at fifteen, while others of good constitution, if well treated, perform hard service till thirty. Longevity of the Horse. Mr. Percival mentions one that died at 62. Mr. Mauran, of New York, has a fine gig and saddle horse, now in his 45th year, sound, spirited, and playful as a kitten. He is of a dark brown, with a tanned nose. We never yet saw a horse with a buff or bear muzzle, that had not great endurance. American Eclipse was successfully covering mares in Kentucky at the age of 32, the result of late and light service till his sinews became fully matured. We have frequently seen a large, compact, flea-bitten horse at work, dragging a heavy load in a single cart, which was formerly used as one of Governor Maitland's coach-horses, and though upwards of 30, he was apparently as sound and vigorous as an overtasked colt of seven or eight. Feeding. The vigor and duration of the horse depend much on proper feeding. Like the cow and sheep, he may be made to subsist on animal food, fish, and almost every species of nutritious vegetable. But his natural and proper aliment is the grasses, grain, and roots. In the middle and northern sections of this country, his dry forage is almost invariably good meadow-hay, generally timothy, which is the richest of the cultivated grasses. At the South, this is often supplied by the blades of Indian corn. But in all the states, a great variety of the grasses and clover are used. When put to hard labor, grain ought always to accompany hay in some form. Of the different kinds of grain, oats are peculiarly the horse's food, and they are always safe, digestible, and nutritive. Barley is the best substitute for it. Wheat and Indian corn are sometimes given, but both are unsuitable; the first is too concentrated, and the last too heating. They ought to be sparingly used, and only when ground and mixed with chaff. The offal of wheat is never objectionable. Grain is always more advantageously fed when ground or crushed, and wet some time previous to eating; and it is still better when cooked. On both sides of the Mediterranean, in the Barbary States, in Spain, France, and Italy, much of the food is given in small baked cakes, and the saving in this way is much greater than the expense of preparing it. When confined to dry food, roots or apples fed once a day are always beneficial. They keep the bowels open, the appetite and general health good, and contribute largely to the nutriment of the animal. Carrots are the best of the roots, as besides giving muscle and working power, they, more than any other, improve the wind and prevent all tendency to heaves. They have even been found effectual in removing an obstinate cough. By many of the keepers of livery stables, they are always used, for which purpose they command the same price as oats. Potatoes, parsnips, beets, and Swedes turnips, in the order mentioned, are next to be preferred. Potatoes are improved by cooking. Mixtures of food are best, as of cut hay, meal, and roots. Old horses, or such as are put to hard labor, will do much better if their food be given in the form easiest of digestion. No inconsiderable part of the vital power is exhausted by the digestion of dry, raw food. Horses ought to be fed, and if possible, exercised or worked regularly, but never on a full stomach. This is a frequent cause of disease, and especially of broken wind. If their food is given at the proper time, and the horse be allowed to finish it at once, without expecting more, he will lie down quietly and digest it. This will be much more refreshing to him, than to stand at the rack or trough, nibbling continually at his hay or oats. What remains after he has done feeding, should be at once withdrawn. They should have water in summer three times, and in winter twice a day. Soft or running water is much the best. While working, and they are not too warm, they may have it as often as they desire. Neither should they be fed when heated, as the stomach is then fatigued and slightly inflamed, and is not prepared for digestion till the animal is again cool. Salt should always be within reach, and we have found an occasional handful of clean wood-ashes, a preventive of disease and an assistance to the bowels and appetite. [Illustration: Fig. 29. Skeleton of a Horse. A The Head.--_a_ The posterior maxillary or under jaw.--_b_ The superior maxillary or upper jaw. A little lower down than the letter is a foramen, through which pass the nerves and blood-vessels which chiefly supply the lower part of the face.--_c_ The orbit, or cavity containing the eye.--_d_ The nasal bones, or bones of the nose.--_e_ The suture dividing the parietal bones below from the occipital bones above.--_f_ The inferior maxillary bone, containing the upper incisor teeth.--B The Seven Cervical Vertebræ, or bones of the neck.--C The Eighteen Dorsal Vertebræ, or bones of the back.--D The Six Lumbar Vertebræ, or bones of the loins.--E The Five Sacral Vertebræ, or bones of the haunch.--F The Caudal Vertebræ, or bones of the tail, generally about fifteen.--G The Scapula, or shoulder-blade.--H The Sternum, or fore-part of the chest.--I The Costæ or ribs, seven or eight articulating with the sternum, and called the _true ribs_; and ten or eleven united together by cartilage, called the _false ribs_.--J The Humerus, or upper bone of the arm.--K The Radius, or upper bone of the arm.--L The Ulna, or elbow. The point of the elbow is called the Olecranon.--M The Carpus, or knee, consisting of seven bones.--N The metacarpal bones. The larger metacarpal or cannon or shank in front, and the smaller metacarpal or splint bone behind.--_g_ The fore pastern and foot, consisting of the Os Suffraginis, or the upper and larger pastern bone, with the sesamoid bones behind, articulating with the cannon and greater pastern; the Os Coronæ, or lesser pastern; the Os Pedis, or coffin-bone; and the Os Naviculare, or navicular, or shuttle-bone, not seen, and articulating with the smaller pastern and coffin-bones.--_h_ The corresponding bones of the hind-feet.--O The Haunch, consisting of three portions: the Ilium, the Ischium, and the Pubis.--P The Femur, or thigh.--Q The stifle joint with the Patella.--R The Tibia, or proper leg bone; behind is a small bone called the fibula--S The Tarsus, or hock, composed of six bones. The prominent part is the Os Calcis, or point of the Hock.--T The Metatarsals of the hind leg.] DISEASES. The list is long and fearful, and even the brief one subjoined, will be found sufficiently great to inculcate the utmost caution in their management. The horse in his natural condition is subject to few ailments. It is only in his intensely artificial state, and when made the slave of man, that he becomes a prey to disease in almost every shape. A careful and judicious attention to his diet, water, exercise, stable, and general management, will prevent many of those to which he is subject. Glanders. This is one of the most alarming. The first and most marked symptom is a discharge from the nostrils of a peculiar character. The disease produces inflammation there and in the windpipe, and in aggravated cases passes down to the lungs, which are soon destroyed. _It is propagated_ by contagion, by exposure in humid stables, and is induced by hereditary indisposition and great exhaustion. Youatt says, there is not a disease which may not lay the foundation for glanders. The poison resides in the nasal discharge, not in the breath. When exposed to it, the mangers should be thoroughly scraped, washed with soap and water, and afterwards with chloride of lime. All the clothing and harness, which may have received any of the contagious matter, must be thoroughly cleansed and baked. _The best preventives_ are dry, clean, and well-ventilated stables, proper exercise, green food in summer, and roots in winter. _The disease may be arrested_ in its early stages, by turning the animal on a dry pasture, but it is liable to return on subsequent confinement. Iodine has lately been announced as a remedy, but of the certainty of its effects, we are not aware. It is generally considered incurable, and when thoroughly seated, it may be deemed an act both of humanity and economy to terminate the existence of its victim at once. This course becomes a duty, from the fact that many grooms, by their attendance on glandered horses, have been affected, and though the disease is, in their case, more manageable, yet it is frequently fatal. Farcy. This is intimately connected with glanders, and the diseases frequently run into each other. Lampas. This consists in the swelling of the bars of the mouth to a level or even above the teeth. It may occur from inflammation of the gums; shedding of the teeth; a febrile tendency, and from over-feeding or want of exercise. It will generally subside by low dieting and proper exercise; or it may be at once relieved by lancing the bars with a sharp penknife. Poll-evil. This arises from some contusion or injury to the head, which produces a swelling that eventually suppurates. The inflammation may be abated, in its earliest stages, by a blister; and in its later, by bleeding, physic, and cold lotions applied to the part. If these are ineffectual, and the swelling continues, it should be hastened by poultices, and warm, stimulating lotions; and when fully formed, the tumor must be opened, so as to permit all the matter to run out. Repeated applications of salt will sometimes cure it. Heaves. All those affections, distinguished in the English veterinary works as _pneumonia or inflammation of the lungs_, _chronic cough_, _thick and broken wind_, _consumption_, _&c._, are popularly designated as _heaves_. To some or all of these the horse may have an hereditary or constitutional tendency. Their incipient stages are also induced by a sudden transition from heat to cold, and sometimes from cold to close and hot stables; and by a chilly wind or damp stables, especially after severe exercise. Feeding on musty, dry hay, or on straw, will produce an irritation which may lead to heaves. _Inflammation of the lungs_ is frequently dangerous, and requires the immediate and full use of the lancet. After the inflammation is decidedly allayed, by copious bleeding, small doses of aloes may be given, and frequent injections of warm soap and water, which should be omitted the moment the feces become soft and approaching to the fluid state. Blistering the sides and brisket, to be often repeated if otherwise ineffectual, must be resorted to. Convalescence should be followed with sedative medicines, and during all the severe stages of the disease, withhold all food, except light gruels after protracted abstinence. As health returns, put the animal out to grass. Inflammation of the lungs is sometimes succeeded by a _chronic cough_, and the other maladies enumerated. When firmly seated, it is incapable of removal. Its effects can be alleviated, and with suitable food and treatment, the horse may be made to do much moderate labor for many years, but he can never become sound or sustain great exertion. Equal and proper temperature, moist, stimulating food, and especially carrots or potatoes, and moderate exercise, (but never on a full stomach,) and dry, clean stables, are all the remedies that can be prescribed. Catarrh or Horse Distemper. This sometimes attacks the horse in the spring or fall, and is shown by soreness and swelling in the glands of the throat, a cough; difficulty of swallowing; discharging at the nose; and general prostration. It is seldom fatal, if properly managed. Give light bran-mashes, purge thoroughly, and keep warm. If he is violently attacked, he may be bled while fever exists; and blisters or setons may be applied, to reduce the swelling, if extreme. The disease is contagious, and the animal should be at once placed where he cannot communicate it. Spasmodic Colic. _Symptoms._--The attack of colic is usually very sudden. There is often not the slightest warning. The horse begins to shift his posture, look round at his flanks, paw violently, strike his belly with his feet, and crouch in a peculiar manner, advancing his hind limbs under him; he will then suddenly lie, or rather fall down, and balance himself upon his back, with his feet resting on his belly. The pain now seems to cease for a little while, and he gets up and shakes himself, and begins to feed; the respite, however, is but short--the spasm returns more violently--every indication of pain is increased--he heaves at the flanks, breaks out into a profuse perspiration, and throws himself more recklessly about. In the space of an hour or two, either the spasms begin to relax, and the remissions are of longer duration, or the torture is augmented at every paroxysm; the intervals of ease are fewer and less marked, and inflammation and death supervene. The pulse is but little affected at the commencement, but it soon becomes frequent and contracted, and at length is scarcely tangible. Among the _causes_ of colic are, the drinking of cold water when the horse is heated. There is not a surer origin of violent spasm than this. Hard water is very apt to produce this effect. Colic will sometimes follow the exposure of a horse to the cold air or a cold wind after strong exercise. Green food, although, generally speaking, most beneficial to the horse, yet, given in too large a quantity, or when he is hot, will frequently produce gripes. Doses of aloes, both large and small, are not unfrequent causes of colic. In some horses there seems to be a constitutional predisposition to colic. They cannot be hardly worked, or exposed to unusual cold, without a fit of it. In many cases, when these horses have died, calculi have been found in some part of the alimentary canal. Habitual costiveness and the presence of calculi, are frequent causes of spasmodic colic. The seat of colic is occasionally the duodenum, but oftener the ileum or the jejunum; sometimes, however, both the cæcum and colon are affected. Fortunately, we are acquainted with several medicines that allay these spasms; and the disease often ceases as suddenly as it appeared. _Remedies._--Turpentine is one of the most powerful remedies, especially in union with opium, and in good warm ale. A solution of aloes will be advantageously added to the turpentine and opium. If relief is not obtained in half an hour, it will be prudent to bleed, for the continuance of violent spasm may produce inflammation. Some practitioners bleed at first, and it is far from bad practice; for although the majority of cases will yield to turpentine, opium, and aloes, an early bleeding may occasionally prevent the recurrence of inflammation, or at least mitigate it. If it is clearly a case of colic, half of the first dose may be repeated, with aloes dissolved in warm water. The stimulus produced on the inner surface of the bowels by the purgative, may counteract the irritation that caused the spasm. The belly should be well rubbed with a brush or warm cloth, but not bruised and injured by the broom-handle rubbed over it, with all their strength, by two great fellows. The horse should be walked about or trotted moderately. The motion thus produced in the bowels, and the friction of one intestine over the other, may relax the spasm, but the hasty gallop might speedily cause inflammation to succeed to colic. Clysters of warm water, or containing a solution of aloes, should be injected. The patent syringe will here be exceedingly useful. A clyster of tobacco-smoke may be thrown up as a last resort. When relief has been obtained, the clothing of the horse, saturated with perspiration, should be removed, and fresh and dry clothes substituted. He should be well littered down in a warm stable or box, and have bran mashes and lukewarm water for the two or three next days. Some persons give gin, or gin and pepper, or even spirit of pimento, in cases of gripes. This course of proceeding is, however, exceedingly objectionable. It may be useful, or even sufficient, in ordinary cases of colic; but if there should be any inflammation, or tendency to inflammation, it cannot fail to be highly injurious. Flatulent Colic. This is altogether a different disease from the former. It is not spasm of the bowels, but inflation of them, from the presence of gas emitted by undigested food. Whether collected in the stomach, or small or large intestines, all kinds of vegetable matter are liable to ferment. In consequence of this fermentation gas is evolved to a greater or less extent--perhaps to twenty or thirty times the bulk of the food. This may take place in the stomach; and if so, the life of the horse is in immediate danger, for the animal has no power to expel this dangerous flatus by eructation. _The symptoms_, according to Professor Stewart, are, "The horse suddenly slackening his pace, preparing to lie down, or falling down, as if he were shot. In the stable he paws the ground with his fore-feet, lies down, rolls, starts up all at once, and throws himself down again with great violence, looking wistfully at his flanks, and making many fruitless attempts to void his urine." _The treatment_ is considerably different from that of spasmodic colic. The spirit of pimento would be here allowed, or the turpentine and opium drink; but if the pain, and especially the swelling, do not abate, the gas, which is the cause of it, must be got rid of, or the animal is inevitably lost. This is usually, or almost invariably, a combination of hydrogen with some other gas. It has a strong affinity for chlorine. Then if some compound of chlorine--the chloride of lime--dissolved in water, is administered in the form of a drink, the chlorine separates from the lime as soon as it comes in contact with the hydrogen, and muriatic gas is formed. This gas, having a strong affinity for water, is absorbed by any fluid that may be present, and, quitting its gaseous form, either disappears, or does not retain a thousandth part of its former bulk. All this may be very rapidly accomplished, for the fluid is quickly conveyed from the mouth to every part of the intestinal canal. Where these two medicines are not at hand, and the danger is imminent, the _trochar_ may be used, in order to open a way for the escape of the gas. The trochar should be small, but longer than that which is used for the cow, and the puncture should be made in the middle of the right flank, for there the large intestines are most easily reached. It is only when the practitioner despairs of otherwise saving the life of the animal, that this operation should be attempted. Much of the danger would be avoided by using a very small trochar, and by withdrawing it as soon as the gas has escaped. The wound in the intestines will then probably close, from the innate elasticity of the parts. Inflammation of the Bowels. There are two varieties of this malady. The first is inflammation of the external coats of the intestines, accompanied by considerable fever, and usually costiveness. The second is that of the internal or mucous coat, and almost invariably connected with purging. The muscular coat is that which is oftenest affected. Inflammation of the external coats of the stomach, whether the peritoneal or muscular, or both, is a very frequent and fatal disease. It speedily runs its course, and it is of great consequence that its early symptoms should be known. _Symptoms._--If the horse has been carefully observed, restlessness and fever will have been seen to precede the attack. In many cases a direct shivering fit will occur; the mouth will be hot, and the nose red. The animal will soon express the most dreadful pain by pawing, striking at his belly, looking wildly at his flanks, groaning, and rolling. The pulse will be quickened and small; the ears and legs cold; the belly tender, and sometimes hot; the breathing quickened; the bowels costive; and the animal becoming rapidly and fearfully weak. _The causes_ of this disease are, first of all and most frequently, sudden exposure to cold. If a horse that has been highly fed, carefully groomed, and kept in a warm stable, is heated with exercise, and has been during some hours without food, and in this state of exhaustion is suffered to drink freely of cold water, or is drenched with rain, or have his legs and belly washed with cold water, an attack of inflammation of the bowels will often follow. An overfed horse, subjected to severe and long-continued exertion, if his lungs were previously weak, will probably be attacked by inflammation of them; but if the lungs were sound, the bowels will on the following day be the seat of disease. Stones in the intestines are an occasional cause of inflammation, and colic neglected or wrongly treated will terminate in it. _Remedies._--The treatment of inflammation of the bowels, like that of the lungs, should be prompt and energetic. The first and most powerful means of cure will be bleeding. From six to eight or ten quarts of blood, in fact as much as the horse can bear, should be abstracted as soon as possible; and the bleeding repeated to the extent of four or five quarts more, if the pain is not relieved and the pulse has not become rounder and fuller. The speedy weakness that accompanies this disease, should not deter from bleeding largely. That weakness is the consequence of violent inflammation of these parts; and if that inflammation is subdued by the loss of blood, the weakness will disappear. The bleeding should be effected on the first appearance of the disease, for there is no malady that more quickly runs its course. A strong solution of aloes should immediately follow the bleeding, but, considering the irritable state of the intestines at this period, guarded by opium. This should be quickly followed by back-raking, and injections consisting of warm water, or very thin gruel, in which Epsom salts or aloes have been dissolved; and too much fluid can scarcely be thrown up. The horse should likewise be encouraged to drink plentifully of warm water or thin gruel; and draughts, each containing a couple of drachms of dissolved aloes, with a little opium, should be given every six hours, until the bowels are freely opened. It will now be prudent to endeavor to excite considerable external inflammation, as near as possible to the seat of internal disease, and therefore the whole of the belly should be blistered. In a well-marked case of this disease, no time should be lost in applying fomentations, but the blister at once resorted to. The tincture of Spanish flies, whether made with spirits of wine or turpentine, should be thoroughly rubbed in. The legs should be well bandaged, in order to restore the circulation in them, and thus lessen the flow of blood to the inflamed part; and, for the same reason, the horse should be warmly clothed, but the air of the stable or box should be cool. No grain or hay should be allowed during the disease, but bran mashes, and green food if it can be procured. The latter will be the best, and may be given without the slightest apprehension of danger. When the horse begins to recover, a handful of grain may be given two or three times in the day; and, if the weather is warm, he may be turned into a paddock for a few hours in the middle of the day. Clysters of gruel should be continued for three or four days after the inflammation is beginning to subside, and good hand-rubbing applied to the legs. The second variety of Inflammation of the Bowels Affects the internal or mucous coat, and is generally the consequence of physic in too great quantity, or of an improper kind. The purging is more violent and continues longer than was intended; the animal shows that he is suffering great pain; he frequently looks round at his flanks; his breathing is laborious, and the pulse is quick and small, and the mouth is hot and the legs and ears are warm. _Remedies._--Unless the purging is excessive, and the pain and distress great, the surgeon should hesitate at giving any astringent medicine at first; but he should plentifully administer gruel or thin starch, or arrow-root, by the mouth and by clyster, removing all hay and grain, and particularly green food. He should thus endeavor to soothe the irritated surface of the bowels, while he permits all remains of the purgative to be carried off. If, however, twelve hours have passed, and the purging and the pain remain undiminished, he should continue the gruel, adding to it chalk, catechu, and opium, repeated every six hours. As soon as the purging begins to subside, the astringent medicine should be lessened in quantity, and gradually discontinued. Bleeding will rarely be necessary, unless the inflammation is very great, and attended by symptoms of general fever. The horse should be warmly clothed, and placed in a comfortable stable, and his legs should be hand-rubbed and bandaged. _Violent purging_, and attended with much inflammation and fever, will occur from other causes. Green food will frequently purge; and a horse worked hard upon it will sometimes scour. The _remedy_ is change of diet, or less labor. Young horses will often be strongly purged, without any apparent cause. Astringents should be used with much caution here. It is probably an effort of nature to get rid of something that offends. A few doses of gruel will assist in effecting this purpose, and the purging will cease without astringent medicine. Many horses that are not _well ribbed home_ (having too great space between the last rib and the hip-bone) are subject to purging, if more than usual exertion is required from them. They are recognised by the term of _washy_ horses. They are often free and fleet, but destitute of continuance. They should have rather more than the usual allowance of grain, with beans, when at work. A cordial ball, with catechu and opium, will often be serviceable either before or after a journey. Physicking. When a horse comes from grass to dry food, or from the cool, open air to a heated stable, a dose, or even two doses, of physic may be useful to prevent the tendency to inflammation, which is the necessary consequence of so sudden and great a change. To a horse that is becoming too fat, or has surfeit, grease, or mange, or that is out of condition from inactivity of the digestive organs, a dose of physic is often most serviceable. A horse should be carefully prepared for the action of physic. Two or three bran mashes given on that or the preceding day, are far from sufficient when a horse is about to be physicked, whether to promote his condition, or in obedience to custom. Mashes should be given until the dung becomes softened. A less quantity of physic will then suffice, and it will more quickly pass through the intestines, and be more readily diffused over them. Five drachms of aloes, given when the dung has thus been softened, will act more effectually and much more safely than seven drachms, when the lower intestines are obstructed by hardened feces. On the day on which the physic is given, the horse should have walking exercise, or may be gently trotted for a quarter of an hour twice in the day; but after the physic begins to work, he should not be moved from his stall. Exercise would then produce gripes, irritation, and, possibly, dangerous inflammation. A little hay may be put into the rack. As much mash should be given as the horse will eat, and as much water, with the coldness of it taken off, as he will drink. If, however, he obstinately refuses to drink warm water, it is better that he should have it cold, than to continue without taking any fluid; but in such case he should not be suffered to take more than a quart at a time, with an interval of at least an hour between each draught. When the purging has ceased, or _the physic is set_, a mash should be given once or twice every day until the next dose is taken, between which and the _setting_ of the first, there should be an interval of a week. The horse should recover from the languor and debility occasioned by the first dose, before he is harassed by a second. Eight or ten tolerably copious motions, will be perfectly sufficient to answer every good purpose, although the groom may not be satisfied unless double the quantity are procured. The consequence of too strong purgation will be, that weakness will hang about the animal for several days or weeks, and inflammation will often ensue from the over-irritation of the intestinal canal. Long-continued custom has made ALOES the almost invariable purgative of the horse, and very properly so; for there is no other at once so sure and so safe. The Barbadoes aloes, although sometimes very dear, should alone be used. The dose, with a horse properly prepared, will vary from four to seven drachms. Custom has assigned the form of a ball to physic, but good sense will in due time introduce the solution of aloes, as acting more speedily, effectually, and safely. The only other purgative on which dependence can be placed is the CROTON. The farina or meal of the nut is generally used; but from its acrimony it should be given in the form of ball, with linseed meal. The dose varies from a scruple to half a drachm. It acts more speedily than the aloes, and without the nausea which they produce; but it causes more watery stools, and, consequently, more debility. LINSEED OIL is an uncertain but safe purgative, in doses from a pound to a pound and a half. OLIVE OIL is more uncertain, but safe; but CASTOR OIL, that mild aperient in the human being, is both uncertain and unsafe. EPSOM SALTS are inefficacious, except in the immense dose of a pound and a half, and then they are not always safe. Worms. The long white worm (_lumbricus teres_) much resembles the common earth-worm, and being from six to ten inches in length, inhabits the small intestines. It is a formidable looking animal; and if there are many of them, they may consume more than can be spared of the nutritive part of the food, or the mucus of the bowels. A tight skin, and rough coat, and tucked-up belly, are sometimes connected with their presence. They are then, however, voided in large quantities. _Remedies._--A dose of physic will sometimes bring away almost incredible quantities of them. Calomel is frequently given as a vermifuge. The seldomer this drug is administered to the horse, the better. When the horse can be spared, a strong dose of physic is an excellent vermifuge, so far as the long round worm is concerned. But a better medicine, and not interfering with either the feeding or work of the horse, is emetic tartar, with ginger, made into a ball with linseed meal and treacle, and given every morning, half an hour before the horse is fed. A smaller, darker colored worm, called the needle-worm, or _ascaris_, inhabits the larger intestines. Hundreds of them sometimes descend into the rectum, and immense quantities have been found in the c[oe]cum. These are a more serious nuisance than the former, for they cause a very troublesome irritation about the fundament, which sometimes sadly annoys the horse. Their existence can generally be discovered by a small portion of mucus, which, hardening, is found adhering to the anus. _Remedies._--Physic will sometimes bring away great numbers of these worms; but when there is much irritation about the tail, and much of this mucus, indicating that they have descended into the rectum, an injection of linseed oil, or of aloes dissolved in warm water, will be a more effectual remedy. The tape-worm is seldom found in the horse. Bots. While they inhabit the stomach of the horse, cannot give the animal any pain, for they have fastened on the cuticular and insensible coat. They cannot stimulate the stomach and increase its digestive power, for they are not on the digestive portion of the stomach. They cannot, by their roughness, assist the trituration or rubbing down of the food, for no such office is performed in that part of the stomach--the food is softened, not rubbed down. They cannot be injurious to the horse, for he enjoys the most perfect health when the cuticular part of his stomach is filled with them, and their presence is not even suspected until they appear at the anus. They cannot be removed by medicine, because they are not in that part of the stomach in which medicine is usually conveyed; and if they were, their mouths are too deeply buried in the mucus for any medicine, that can be safely administered, to affect them; and, last of all, in due course of time they detach themselves, and come away. Therefore, the wise man will leave them to themselves, or content himself with picking them off when they collect under the tail and annoy the animal. Wind-galls. In the neighborhood of the fetlock, there are occasionally found considerable enlargements, oftener on the hind-leg than the fore one, which are denominated _wind-galls_. Between the tendons and other parts, and wherever the tendons are exposed to pressure or friction, and particularly about their extremities, little bags or sacs are placed, containing and suffering to ooze slowly from them, a mucous fluid to lubricate the parts. From undue pressure, and that most frequently caused by violent action and straining of the tendons, or often from some predisposition about the horse, these little sacs are injured. They take on inflammation, and sometimes become large and indurated. There are few horses perfectly free from them. When they first appear, and until the inflammation subsides, they may be accompanied by some degree of lameness; but otherwise, except when they attain a great size, they do not interfere with the action of the animal, or cause any considerable unsoundness. The farriers used to suppose that they contained wind--hence their name, wind-galls; and hence the practice of opening them, by which dreadful inflammation was often produced, and many a valuable horse destroyed. _Remedies._--A slight wind-gall will scarcely be subjected to treatment; but if these tumors are numerous and large, and seem to impede the motion of the limb, they may be attacked first by bandage. The roller should be of flannel, and soft pads should be placed on each of the enlargements, and bound down tightly upon them. The bandage should also be wetted with warm water, two or three times a day, for half an hour each time. The wind-gall will often diminish or disappear by this treatment, but will too frequently return, when the horse is again hardly worked. A blister is a more effectual, but too often temporary remedy. _Firing_ is still more certain, if the tumors are sufficiently large and annoying to justify our having recourse to measures so severe; for it will not only effect the immediate absorption of the fluid, and the reduction of the swelling, but, by contracting the skin, will act as a permanent bandage, and therefore prevent the reappearance of the tumor. The iodine and mercurial ointments have occasionally been used with advantage, in the proportion of three parts of the former to two of the latter. Inflammation of the Fetlock. The fetlock-joint is a very complicated one, and from the stress which is laid on it, and its being the principal seat of motion below the knee, it is particularly subject to injury. There are not many cases of sprain of the back-sinew, that are not accompanied by inflammation of the ligaments of this joint; and numerous supposed cases of sprain higher up, are simple affections of the fetlock. It requires a great deal of care, and some experience, to distinguish the one from the other. The heat about the part, and the point at which the horse least endures the pressure of the finger, will be the principal guides. _Remedy._--Occasionally, by the application of cooling lotions, the inflammation may be subdued, but at other times, the horse suffers dreadfully, and is unable to stand. A serious affection of the fetlock-joint demands prompt treatment. Cutting. The inside of the fetlock is often bruised by the shoe or the hoof of the opposite foot. Many expedients used to be tried to remove this; the inside heel has been raised and lowered, and the outside raised and lowered; and sometimes one operation has succeeded, and sometimes the contrary; and there was no point so involved in obscurity or so destitute of principles to guide the practitioner. _Remedy._--The most successful remedy and that which in the great majority of cases supersedes all others, is Mr. Turner's shoe, of equal thickness from heel to toe, and having but one nail, and that near the toe, on the inside of the shoe; care being taken that the shoe shall not extend beyond the edge of the crust, and that the crust shall be rasped a little at the quarters. Sprain of the Coffin-Joint. The proof of this is when the lameness is sudden, and the heat and tenderness are principally felt round the coronet. _Remedy._--Bleeding at the toe, physic, fomentation, and blisters, are the usual means adopted. This lameness is not easily removed, even by a blister; and if removed, like sprains of the fetlock and of the back-sinews, it is apt to return, and finally produce a great deal of disorganization and mischief in the foot. Sprain of the coffin-joint sometimes becomes a very serious affair. Not being always attended by any external swelling, and being detected only by heat round the coronet, the seat of the lameness is often overlooked by the groom and the farrier; and the disease is suffered to become confirmed before its nature is discovered. Ringbone. This is a deposite of bony matter in one of the pasterns, and usually near the joint. It rapidly spreads, and involves not only the pastern-bones, but the cartilages of the foot, and spreading around the pasterns and cartilages, thus derives its name. When the first deposite is on the lower pastern, and on both sides of it, and produced by violent inflammation of the ligaments of the joints, it is recognised by a slight enlargement, or bony tumor on each side of the foot, and just above the coronet. Horses with short upright joints, and with small feet and high action, are oftenest, as may be supposed, the subjects of this disease, which is the consequence either of concussion or sprain of the pastern-joints. It is also more frequent in the hind foot than the fore, because, from the violent action of the hind legs in propelling the horse forward, the pasterns are more subject to ligamentary injury behind than before; yet the lameness is not so great there, because the disease is confined principally to the ligaments, and the bones have not been injured by concussion; while, from the position of the fore limbs, there will generally be in them injury of the bones to be added to that of the ligaments. _Remedy._--In its early stage, and when recognised only by a bony enlargement on both sides of the pastern-joint, or in a few cases on one side only, the lameness is not very considerable, and it is not impossible to remove the disease by active blistering, or by the application of the cautery; but there is so much wear and tear in this part of the animal, that the inflammation and the disposition to the formation of bone rapidly spread. The pasterns first become connected together by bone instead of ligament, and thence results what is called an anchylosed or fixed joint. From this joint the disease proceeds to the cartilages of the foot, and to the union between the lower pastern, and the coffin and navicular bones. The motion of these parts likewise is impeded or lost, and the whole of the foot becomes one mass of spongy bone. Enlargement of the Hock. First, there is inflammation, or _sprain of the hock-joint generally_, arising from sudden violent concussion, by some check at speed, or over-weight, and attended with enlargement of the whole joint, and great tenderness and lameness. _Remedy._--This, however, like all other diffused inflammations, is not so untractable as an intense one of a more circumscribed nature, and by rest and fomentation, or, perchance, firing, the limb recovers its action, and the horse becomes fit for ordinary work. The swelling, however, does not always subside. Enlargement, spread over the whole of the hock-joint, remains. A horse with an enlarged hock must always be regarded with suspicion. In truth, he is unsound. The parts, altered in structure, must be to a certain degree weakened. The animal may discharge his usual work during a long period, without return of lameness; but if one of those emergencies should occur when all his energies require to be exerted, the disorganized and weakened part will fail. He may be ridden or driven moderately for many a year without inconvenience, yet one extra hard day's work may lame him forever. Curb. There are often injuries of particular parts of the hock-joint. _Curb_ is an affection of this kind. It is an enlargement at the back of the hock, three or four inches below its point. It is either a strain of the ring-like ligament which binds the tendons in their place, or of the sheath of the tendons; oftener, however, of the ligament than of the sheath. Any sudden action of the limb of more than usual violence may produce it, and therefore horses are found to throw out curbs after a hardly-contested race, an extraordinary leap, a severe gallop over heavy ground, or a sudden check in the gallop. Young horses are particularly liable to it, and horses that are _cow-hocked_, whose hocks and legs resemble those of the cow, the hocks being turned inwards, and legs forming a considerable angle outwards. This is intelligible enough; for in hocks so formed, the annular ligament must be continually on the stretch, in order to confine the tendon. Curbs are generally accompanied by considerable lameness at their first appearance, but the swelling is not always great. They are best detected by observing the leg sidewise. _Remedies._--The first object in attempting the cure, is to abate inflammation, and this will be most readily accomplished by cold evaporating lotions, frequently applied to the part. Equal portions of spirit of wine, water, and vinegar, will afford an excellent application. It will be almost impossible to keep a bandage on. If the heat and lameness are considerable, it will be prudent to give a dose of physic, and to bleed from the subcutaneous vein, whose course is near it; and whether the injury is of the annular ligament, or the sheath of the tendon, more active means will be necessary to perfect a cure. Either a liquid blister should be rubbed on the part, consisting of a vinus or turpentine tincture of cantharides, and this daily applied until some considerable swelling takes place; or, what is the preferable plan, the hair should be cut off, and the part blistered as soon as the heat has been subdued. The blister should be repeated, until the swelling has disappeared, and the horse goes sound. In severe cases it may be necessary _to fire_; but a fair trial, however, should be given to milder measures. If the iron is used, it should be applied in straight lines. There are few lamenesses in which absolute and long-continued rest is more requisite. It leaves the parts materially weakened, and, if the horse is soon put to work again, the lameness will frequently return. No horse that has had curbs, should be put even to ordinary work in less than a month after the apparent cure; and, even then he should very gradually resume his former habits. A horse with a curb, is manifestly unsound, or generally condemned as unsound. Curb is also an hereditary complaint; and therefore a horse that has once suffered from it, should always be regarded with suspicion, especially if either of the parents have exhibited it. Bone Spavin. This is an affection of the bones of the hock-joint. Spavined horses are generally capable of slow work. They are equal to the greater part of the work of the farm, and therefore they should not always be rejected by the small farmer, as they may generally be procured at a small price. These horses are not only capable of agricultural work, but they generally improve under it. The lameness in some degree abates, and even the bony tumor to a certain degree lessens. There is sufficient moderate motion and friction of the limb to rouse the absorbents to action, and cause them to take up a portion of the bony matter thrown out, but not enough to renew or prolong inflammation. It cannot be said that the plow affords a _cure_ for spavin, but the spavined horse often materially improves while working at it. For fast work, and for work that must be regularly performed, spavined horses are not well calculated; for this lameness behind produces great difficulty in rising, and the consciousness that he will not be able to rise without painful effort, occasionally prevents the horse from lying down at all; and the animal that cannot rest well, cannot long travel far or fast. _Remedies._--The treatment of spavin is simple enough, but far from being always effectual. The owner of the horse will neither consult his own interest, nor the dictates of humanity, if he suffers the chisel and mallet, or the gimlet, or the pointed iron, or arsenic to be used; yet measures of considerable severity must be resorted to. Repeated blisters will usually cause either the absorption of the bony deposite, or the abatement or removal of the inflammation of the ligaments, or, as a last resource, the heated iron may be applied. Swelled Legs. The fore-legs, but oftener the hind ones, and especially in coarse horses, are sometimes subject to considerable enlargement. Occasionally, when the horse does not seem to labor under any other disease, and sometimes from an apparent shifting of disease from other parts, the hind legs suddenly swell to an enormous degree from the hock, and almost from the stifle to the fetlock, attended by a greater or less degree of heat, and tenderness of the skin, and sometimes excessive and very peculiar lameness. The pulse likewise becomes quick and hard, and the horse evidently labors under considerable fever. It is acute inflammation of the cellular substance of the legs, and that most sudden in its attack, and most violent n its degree, and therefore attended by the effusion of a considerable quantity of fluid into the cellular membrane. It occurs in young horses, and in those which are over-fed and little exercised. _Remedies._--Fomentation, diuretics, or purgatives, or, if there is much fever, a moderate bleeding, will often relieve the distention almost as suddenly as it appeared. Mild cases will generally yield to their influence; but, if the animal has been neglected, the treatment must be decisive. If the horse is in high condition, these should be preceded or accompanied by bleeding; but if there are any symptoms of debility, bleeding would only increase the want of tone in the vessels. Horses taken from grass and brought into close stables, very speedily have swelled legs, because the difference of food and increase of nutriment rapidly increase the quantity of the circulating fluid, while the want of exercise takes away the means by which it might be got rid of. The remedy here is sufficiently plain. Swelled legs, however, may proceed from general debility. They may be the consequence of starvation, or disease that has considerably weakened the animal; and these parts, being farthest from the centre of circulation, are the first to show the loss of power by the accumulation of fluid in them. Here the means of cure would be to increase the general strength, with which the extremities would sympathize. Mild diuretics and tonics would therefore be evidently indicated. Horses in the spring and fall are subject to swelled legs. The powers of the constitution are principally employed in providing a new coat for the animal, and the extremities have not their share of vital influence. Mingled cordials and diuretics are indicated here; the diuretic to lessen the quantity of the circulating fluid, and the cordial to invigorate the frame. Grease. Swelled legs, although distinct from grease, is a disease that is apt to degenerate into it. Grease is a specific inflammation of the skin of the heels, sometimes of the fore-feet, but oftener of the hinder ones. Bad stable management is the true cause of it. Grease is a local complaint. The heel should be well but gently washed with soap and water, and as much of the scurf detached as is easily removable. An ointment should be applied, to supple, cool, and heal the part. When _cracks_ appear, the mode of treatment will depend on their extent and depth. If the cracks are deep, with an ichorous discharge and considerable lameness, it will be necessary to poultice the heel. A poultice of linseed meal will be generally effective, unless the discharge is thin and offensive, when an ounce of finely-powdered charcoal should be mixed with the linseed meal; or a poultice of carrots, boiled soft and mashed. After the chaps or cracks have healed, the legs will sometimes continue gorged and swelled. A flannel bandage, evenly applied over the whole of the swelled part, will be very serviceable; or should the season admit of it, a run at grass, particularly spring grass, should be allowed. The feeding should likewise vary with the case, but with these rules, which admit of no exception; that green food should be given, and more especially carrots, when they are not too expensive; and mashes, if the horse will eat them; and never the full allowance of grain. Walking exercise should be resorted to as soon as the horse is able to bear it, and this by degrees may be increased to a gentle trot. From bad stable-management at first, and neglect during the disease, a yet worse kind of grease occasionally appears. The ulceration extends over the skin of the heel and the fetlock, and a fungus springs from the surface of both, highly sensible, bleeding at the slightest touch, and interspersed with scabs. By degrees portions of the fungus begin to be covered with a horny substance, protruding in the form of knobs, and collected together in bunches. These are known by the name of _grapes_. A f[oe]tid and very peculiar exudation, proceeds from nearly the whole of the unnatural substance. The horse evidently suffers much, and is gradually worn down by the discharge. The assistance of a veterinary surgeon is here indispensable. Some horses are more subject to grease than others, particularly draught-horses, both heavy and light, but particularly the former, and if they have no degree of _blood_ in them. It was the experience of this, which partly contributed to the gradual change of coach and other draught-horses to those of a lighter breed. In the great majority of cases, grease arises from mismanagement and neglect. Every thing that has a tendency to excite inflammation in the skin of the heel is a cause of grease. Therefore want of exercise is a frequent source of this disease. When high feeding is added to irregular or deficient exercise, the disease is evidently still more likely to be produced. Want of cleanliness in the stable is a fruitful source of grease. When the heels are imbedded in filth, they are weakened by the constant moisture surrounding them. The absurd practice of washing the feet and legs of horses when they come from their work, and either carelessly sponging them down afterwards, or leaving them to dry as they may, is, however, the most common origin of grease. When the horse is warmed by his work, and the heels share in the warmth, the momentary cold of washing may not be injurious, if the animal is immediately rubbed dry; yet even this would be better avoided; but to wash out the heels, and then leave them partially dry or perfectly wet, and suffering from the extreme cold that is produced by evaporation from a moist and wet surface, is the most absurd, dangerous, and injurious practice that can be imagined. It is worse, when the post-horse or the plow-horse is plunged up to his belly in the river or pond immediately after his work. Cutting the Hair from the Heels. Custom has very properly retained the hair on our farm-horses. Nature would not have given it had it not been useful. It guards the heel from being injured by the inequalities of the plowed field, and prevents the dirt, in which the heels are constantly enveloped, from reaching, and caking on, and irritating the skin. When the horse is carefully tended after his work is over, and his legs quickly and completely dried, the less hair he has about them the better, for then both the skin and the hair can be made perfectly dry before evaporation begins, or proceeds so far as to deprive the legs of their heat. Grease is the child of negligence and mismanagement. Setons Are pieces of tape or cord, passed, by means of an instrument resembling a large needle, either through abscesses, or the base of ulcers with deep sinuses, or between the skin and the muscular or other substances beneath. They are retained there by the ends being tied together, or by a knot at each end. The tape is moved in the wound twice or thrice in the day, and occasionally wetted with spirits of turpentine, or some acrid fluid, in order to increase the inflammation which it produces, or the discharge which is intended to be established. _In abscesses_, such as occur in the withers or the poll, and when passed from the summit to the very bottom of the swelling, setons are highly useful by discharging the purulent fluid, and suffering any fresh quantity of it that may be secreted to flow out; and, by the degree of inflammation which they excite on the interior of the tumor, stimulating it to throw out healthy granulations, which gradually occupy and fill the hollow. In deep fistulous wounds they are indispensable, for except some channel is made through which the matter may flow from the bottom of the wound, it will continue to penetrate deeper into the part, and the healing process will never be accomplished. On these accounts, a seton passing through the base of the ulcer in poll-evil and fistulous withers is so beneficial. "Setons are sometimes useful by promoting a discharge in the neighborhood of an inflamed part, and thus diverting and carrying away a portion of the fluids which distend or overload the vessels of that part; thus, a seton is placed with considerable advantage in the cheek, when the eyes are much inflamed."--(_Youatt._) Founder, Or inflammation of the foot, arises from various causes; excessive exertion, great heat, and particularly when followed by drinking cold water, or overloading the stomach in any way, sudden transition from great cold to excessive heat, and change of inflammation from some other part. _Remedies._--When the attack is severe and confined to the fore-feet, Youatt recommends removing the shoe and paring the hoof as much as possible, taking four quarts of blood from each toe, placing the feet in warm water, and afterwards applying soft poultices of linseed meal to the whole foot and pastern. If this is ineffectual, take three quarts of blood from each foot the succeeding day. It may then be necessary to blister the foot and coronet. The animal should be kept on green food or light mashes, and allowed to run on grass without labor. An effectual cure has followed from taking off the shoe, and applying lard, raised to the boiling point, to every part of the foot. Poison From weeds, sometimes gives to horses ulcerated tongues and lips, and swollen legs and sheath. If there be much inflammation, bleeding should be resorted to, then give daily bran mashes, with Glauber salts in doses of ½ to 1½ pounds, according to the size of the horse, with half a teaspoonful of saltpetre. Washing the ulcerated parts with warm soap-suds, copperas, and sugar-of-lead may follow. Epidemics among Horses, Sometimes occur, producing great mortality. One of these was prevalent in the neighborhood of New York, in 1846, termed a _malarious congestive fever_, staggers, or apoplexy, which destroyed many valuable animals. It occurred during the heat of summer, and was principally confined to such as were at pasture. By many it was attributed to excessive heat and exposure at night. The animals that were opened, appeared sound in all respects excepting the brain, which exhibited one mass of clotted blood. The _remedy_ found to be the most effectual, consisted in taking about one quart of blood from the head, swathing it with cloths saturated with cold water, and giving two drachms daily of calomel. The horse should be kept in a cool stable. A similar disease in Spain is cured by copious bleeding, and swathing the head in blankets constantly wet with hot water. Inflammation of the Eyes. Shut up in a dark stable, and feed on fresh-cut grass and bran mashes. Bleed freely from the mouth, and give 1½ lbs. Glauber salts, 2 drachms nitre, and 15 grains tartarized antimony, dissolved in a bucket of water, which the animal will drink when thirsty. This to be repeated daily till purging is effected. If it fails, bleed from the large veins just below the eye, taking 15 to 20 ounces of blood.--(_Dr. Campbell._) The Sting of Hornets, Bees, or snakes, may be relieved by immediate external application of strong spirits of hartshorn: salt and vinegar are also good. For Sprains, Take a mixture of one ounce sweet oil, four ounces spirits of hartshorn, half an ounce oil of thyme, and rub with it frequently. The remedies mentioned below are also effectual for sprains. For a Bruise or Blow. Apply hot water a long time with wet cloths. Beef brine is an excellent lotion for both sprains and bruises. A veteran among horses, claims, that it will almost set a joint or heal a fracture. Wormwood or tansy lotions are also good. Fistula. This is frequently cured by repeated applications of salt. Wounds Should be washed twice a day with clean, soft water, or with a little Castile soap added, and then rub with whale-oil. This answers for all seasons, keeps off flies, restores the hair, and of the original color. Galls, Or wounds on the back from the saddle, are most effectually healed by white-lead, moistened with sweet-oil or milk. The saddle ought always to fit easily and be well padded, and it should be taken off and the animal's back washed at every baiting. Shoeing. This is an important operation, and should never be attempted but under the supervision of an experienced person; nor ought the shoes to remain so long as to produce contraction of the hoof, which is followed by lameness and corns. They should be reset as often as every five or six weeks. Contraction of the Foot. This is also caused by standing on the dry stable for some days. In this case, the hoof should be stopped with fresh cow-manure and clay, or with a thick felt, soaked in water, and cut to suit the foot. This is also a good application over night, for horses that have accomplished a hard day's work on a dry road. Litter. This is not objectionable to the feet, if clean and not too damp. Some suppose this the cause of contraction, but it is the reverse. It is besides of great benefit when shook out for a bed, by inducing the horse to rest himself. He is thus enabled to do more work, and with a less expenditure of food. Corns. In the angle between the bars and the quarters, the horn of the sole has sometimes a red appearance, and is more spongy and softer than at any other part. The horse flinches when this portion of the horn is pressed upon, and occasional or permanent lameness is produced. This disease of the foot is termed _corns_; bearing this resemblance to the corn of the human being, that it is produced by pressure, and is a cause of lameness. When corns care neglected, so much inflammation is produced in that part of the sensible sole, that suppuration follows, and to that, _quittor_ succeeds, and the matter either undermines the horny sole, or is discharged at the coronet. _Remedies._--The cure of old corns is difficult; for as all shoeing has some tendency to produce pressure here, the habit of throwing out this diseased horn is difficult to get rid of when once contracted; recent corns, however, will yield to good shoeing. The first thing to be done is well to pare out the angle between the crust and the bars. Two objects are answered by this; the extent of the disease will be ascertained, and one cause of it removed. A very small drawing-knife must be used for this purpose. The corn must be pared out to the very bottom, taking care not to wound the sole. It may then be discovered whether there is any effusion of blood or matter underneath. If this is suspected, an opening must be made through the horn, the matter evacuated, the separated horn taken away, the course and extent of the sinuses explored, and introduce into them a _saturated solution of sulphate of zinc_, by means of a small syringe. Place over this dressing the common cataplasm, or the turpentine ointment, and renew the application every twenty-four hours. Three or four such applications complete a cure. Should there be no collection of fluid, the butyr of antimony should be applied over the whole extent of the corn, after the horn has been thinned as closely as possible. The object of this is to stimulate the sole to throw out more healthy horn. In bad cases, a bar-shoe may be put on, so chambered that there shall be no pressure on the diseased part. This may be worn for one or two shoeings, but not constantly, for there are few frogs that would bear the constant pressure of the bar-shoe; and the want of pressure on the heel, generally occasioned by their use, would produce a softened and bulbous state of the heels, that would of itself be an inevitable source of lameness. Turning out to grass, after the horn is a little grown, first with a bar-shoe, and afterwards with the shoe fettered on one side, or with tips, will often be serviceable. A horse that has once had corns to any considerable extent should, at every shoeing, have the seat of corn well pared out, and the butyr of antimony applied. An Over-reach Is a tread upon the heel of the coronet of the fore foot, by the shoe of the corresponding hind foot, and either inflicted by the toe, or by the inner edge of the inside of the shoe. _The preventive treatment_ is the bevelling, or rounding off of the inside edge or rim of the hind shoes. _The cure_ is the cutting away of the loose parts, the application of Friar's balsam, and protection from the dirt. Forging, or Clicking, "Is a singular species of over-reaching. The horse, in the act of trotting, strikes the toes of the hind shoes against the fore one. This noise of the clicking is unpleasant, and the trick or habit is not altogether free from danger. It is most frequent in young horses, and is attributable to too great activity, or length of stride in the hind legs. _Remedies._--The rider may do something by keeping the head of the horse well up; but the smith may effect more by making the hind shoes of clicking horses short in the toe, and having the web broad. When they are too long, they are apt to be torn off; when too narrow, the hind foot may bruise the sole of the fore one, or may be locked fast between the branches of the fore shoe."--_Youatt._ The Bearing Rein Is a matter of much controversy; some claiming that it should be entirely abolished, while others as strenuously contend for its almost universal use. Nimrod, who is deemed perfectly competent authority, insists on its use with fast roadsters and coach-horses. With team-horses, it may generally be dispensed with, and always should be in ascending hills, as it materially diminishes their capacity for exertion. The fault in its use is its excessive tightness, and when standing, the horse ought never to be tormented with it. [Illustration: Fig. 30. Safety Rein illustrated.] _Directions for use of Safety Rein._--In putting on the rein for a gig, keep the buckle to the left hand, or near side; that will place the loop, which is on the middle of the rein, below the hook or head of the bridle, which prevents it from being thrown out by the motion of the horse's head. For a pair of horses, keep the two short chapes outmost, and the loops on the middle downward. For saddle, keep the buckle to the left hand. When the rein is used either for running, rearing, kicking, or going backward, it should be applied suddenly with a strong arm, keeping up the pressure until the horse is still; it should then be relieved suddenly, at the same time motioning the horse to go on. If he is only a runaway he will obey it at once, such horses being generally of a willing, good temper. After the horse has been a few times firmly gripped with it, use it occasionally, instead of the bit-rein, to stop him on ordinary occasions; this will remind the horse of his subjection, and will accustom the rider or driver to the ready and accurate use of it in case of an emergency. The Bit Is a frequent cause of injury to the mouth of the horse, fretting and teasing him, and in many cases inducing permanent injury and viciousness. It should never be made annoying to the horse beyond the absolute necessity for his proper restraint. An Unruly Stud may be controlled By passing the rein from the ring on the off-side over the head and through the left ring. This gives a purchase to the groom which the horse cannot resist. Blinds Have for a long time been fashionable, but in few cases are necessary, while in nearly all they are decidedly injurious. [Illustration: Fig. 31. The Crib Biter.] The Crib Biter. This small instrument is made entirely of iron, and riveted firmly to the head-stall. It answers the threefold purpose, to prevent biting, crib-biting, and wind-sucking. All of the foregoing are bad habits for horses, for which there is no effectual cure, but in adopting the use of the above implement. The Stable Is an important matter connected with the proper management of horses. This should be as much as possible of a uniform temperature, cool in summer, warm in winter, and always clean, dry, and well-ventilated. But no air must be allowed to blow directly upon the animal. The horse is a native of a warm climate, and ought to be well protected against cold. The stable should be neither too light nor too dark, nor must the light ever be admitted before the eye of the horse. For judicious and extended arrangement of stables, and management of horses, the inquiring reader is referred to _Stewart's Stable Economy_. CHAPTER VI. THE ASS, THE MULE, AND THE COMPARATIVE LABOR OF WORKING ANIMALS. THE ASS Is a native of Arabia, Persia, and the central parts of Asia and Africa. Like the horse, he goes in troops and displays great natural sagacity, activity, and courage. Job says, "He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth the crying of the driver." Like the horse, too, he has from time immemorial been tamed, and become the faithful servant of man; but unlike him, he is subject to few maladies, is hardy and enduring, and subsists and even thrives on coarse and scanty forage. Thus Job says of his natural haunts, "Whose house I have made the _wilderness_, and the _barren land_ his dwellings; the range of the _mountains_ is his pasture, and he searcheth after _every green thing_." Xenophon, in his Anabasis, a thousand years later, says of one of the Asiatic deserts through which he passed with the army of Cyrus, "that it was full of wormwood; if any other kinds of shrubs or reeds grew there, they had all an aromatic smell; but no trees appeared. Of wild creatures, the most numerous are _wild asses_, which our horses sometimes chased; but the wild asses exceeded them much in speed." Varieties. The different breeds of asses are supposed to be quite as numerous as those of the horse. Four distinct races are mentioned in the earliest scriptures. In modern times we find a similar diversity. There are two kinds in Persia, the largest a slow, heavy brute, used only for burdens; the other smaller and more spirited, and used for the saddle. In Egypt, a considerable though less marked difference exists, those near the Delta being inferior to those which are bred in Upper Egypt and Nubia. In Spain, a difference in size and spirit prevails, greater even than in Persia. The _Zebra_ is nearly allied in size, shape, and character to the wild ass, but his untameable ferocity has hitherto effectually bid defiance, alike to the scourges and caresses, the frowns and the favors of man. Arabia produces some of the most spirited and hardy asses, but their size, like that of their horses, is too small for purposes of the greatest utility. The Maltese Jack is by American breeders deemed the choicest animal from which to propagate. He is evidently of Arabian descent, and possesses all the good qualities of his ancestry, with considerable additional size. We have several varieties, all of which are imported, as there are no natives of the Western Continent. The early importations were principally made from the Azores, and Cape de Verd Islands, and were mostly of an inferior character. A superior Maltese Jack was presented to Gen. Washington, in 1787, by La Fayette, and is believed to be the first ever sent to this country. Mr. Custis describes him as of moderate size, clean-limbed, possessing great activity, the fire and ferocity of a tiger, of a dark brown and nearly black, with white belly and muzzle, and manageable only by one groom, nor then safely. He lived to a great age. His mules were all active, spirited, and serviceable, and when from stout mares, attained considerable size. A Spanish Jack and Jennet were also presented to Washington about the same time, by the King of Spain. The first is characterized by the same authority, as a huge, ill-shapen animal, nearly 16 hands high, very large head, clumsy limbs, and to all appearance little calculated for active service; he was of a gray color, and not much valued for his mules, which were unwieldy and dull. From the Maltese Jack and Spanish Jennet, which approach the size of the large Spanish Jack, was bred a valuable animal, _Compound_, which partook of all the good qualities of the sire, with the weight of the dam. From him descended many of the best mules of Mount Vernon. Many other valuable importations followed these animals, and it is believed we have for many years had as fine specimens of the ass as the world affords. Jennets, or she-asses, are used among us principally for breeding Jacks, and of course are not numerous. They are sometimes, though seldom, bred to the horse. It is difficult to induce the horse to notice them, and the produce, which is called a _hinny_, is less hardy and useful than the mule. The milk of the she-ass is lighter and more digestible than that of any other animal, and in former times was in great request for invalids. The ass is occasionally used in the cart, or as a beast of burden. Such as are employed for these purposes are generally of an inferior kind, and are only used for the lightest work. They may sometimes be seen among the fishmongers and small vegetable dealers about our city markets, but little larger than a Newfoundland dog or Shetland pony, trundling along a light cart with a wheelbarrow load. In ancient times they have been, and in foreign countries--even at the present time, they are extensively used. But the most enlightened of the moderns have adopted the mule as the proper and almost exclusive substitute for the ass; and it would show a still greater intelligence and economy, if it much more extensively took the place of the horse. THE MULE Is the hybrid produced by the ass with the mare. How early this animal was bred, is uncertain, but we know he was in high repute in the reign of David, near 3,000 years ago, for he was rode by Absalom, the favorite prince of Israel, on the field of battle. They have from time immemorial been bred in various parts of the East, on the borders of the Mediterranean, and throughout Spain, Portugal, and other countries, many of them being of splendid appearance and of fine qualities. In these countries, they are frequently used by the grandees and nobles, and indeed by royalty itself; and however much they may be undervalued elsewhere, when they are finely bred and trained, and richly caparisoned, they exhibit a stateliness and bearing, that few of the highest bred horses can match. Breeding Mules in the United States, Was commenced with much spirit in some of the New England states, soon after the American revolution. The object was not to breed them for their own use, but only as an article of commerce. They were at first shipped exclusively to the West Indies; and afterwards to the South and West, for employment in the various work of the plantation. Indifferent animals, both as sires and dams, were used at first, as any thing which bore the name of mule, then commanded a ready sale. The progeny were necessarily inferior brutes, and viewed with almost universal derision; and being considered the type of their race, a prejudice was excited against them, which more than half a century has not been sufficient to dispel. Among a few thinking men at the North, they have been adopted and made highly useful in the various duties of the farm. They have been largely introduced at the South and West, but principally in the slave states, where the management of the team devolves upon the ignorant and heedless. It is there, and in other and hotter climates, that the superior merits of the mule over the horse as a laboring animal, are peculiarly manifest. In many instances they are indifferently fed, hardly worked, and greatly neglected by their drivers; yet they sustain themselves for years, in defiance of usage that would annihilate two generations of horses. Their powers have been largely increased and their merits improved, by the introduction of some of the best Maltese and Spanish Jacks, and the use of large, blood mares. The propriety of this course is seen in the value of the product; for while some of the inferior are unsaleable at $50, others of the same age, and reared under the same circumstances of keep and condition, could not be purchased for $150. The Breeding, Rearing, and Management of Mules Is similar to that of colts. They will be found, equally with horses, to repay generous keep and attention, by their increased and rapid growth. But they should not be pampered by high feed, as it not only has a tendency to produce disease, but to form habits of fastidiousness, which materially lessens their economical feeding in after life. The diseases to which mules are subjected, (which are always few, and if properly managed will seldom or ever occur,) require a treatment like that of horses. _The breeding from mules_ has sometimes been questioned, but it has been demonstrated in several instances. Neither the sexual development nor propensities are wanting, but they are seldom indulged with effect. Mr. Kilby, of Virginia, states in the Farmer's Register, that a mare mule brought two colts from a young horse, which they closely resembled. The first was a male, and died, apparently with staggers, which no treatment could arrest, at six months old. The second was a female, 16 months younger than the first, marked like the sire, being jet-black, excepting a white foot and star in the forehead, and died at a year old, after two days' illness, notwithstanding the utmost care was bestowed upon it. Successful propagation of this hybrid, however, beyond the first cross, seems to be incompatible with the fixed laws of nature. With a view of encouraging the substitution of mules for a part of the horses now employed in American husbandry, we give the following testimony from experienced individuals, of great intelligence and careful observation. ADVANTAGES OF MULE OVER HORSE LABOR. The official report of an agricultural committee in South Carolina, in 1824, says:--"The annual expense of keeping a horse is equal to his value. A horse at four years old would not often bring more than his cost. Two mules can be raised at less expense than one horse. The mule is fit for service earlier, and if of sufficient size, will perform as much labor as the horse; and if attended to when first put to work, his gait and habits may be formed to suit the owner." Mr. Pomeroy, who used them near Boston for 30 years, and to such an extent as to have had more labor performed by them probably than any person in New England, says:--"I am convinced the small breed of mules will consume less in proportion to the labor they are capable of performing than the larger race, but I shall confine myself to the latter in my comparison, such as stand 14½ to 16 hands, and are capable of performing any work a horse is usually put to. From repeated experiments, I have found that three mules of this description, which were constantly at work, consumed about the same quantity of hay, and only one-fourth the provender, which was given to two middling-size coach-horses, only moderately worked. I am satisfied a large-sized mule will not consume more than three-fifths to two-thirds the food to keep him in good order, that will be necessary for a horse performing the same labor. The expense of shoeing a mule the year round, does not exceed one-third that of the horse, his hoofs being harder, more horny, and so slow in their growth, that shoes require no removal, and hold on till worn out; and the wear from the lightness of the animal is much less. Mules have been lost by feeding on cut straw and corn meal; in no other instance have I known disease in them, except by inflammation of the intestines, caused by the grossest exposure to cold and wet, and excessive drinking cold water, after severe labor, and while in a high state of perspiration. It is not improbable a farmer may work the same team of mules for twenty years, without having a farrier's bill presented to him. In my experience of thirty years, I have never found but one mule inclined to be vicious, and he might have been easily subdued while young. I have always found them truer pullers and quicker travellers, with a load, than horses. Their vision and hearing are much more accurate. I have used them in my family carriage, in a gig, and under the saddle; and have never known one to start or run from any object or noise, a fault in the horse, that continually causes the maiming and death of numerous human beings. The mule is more steady in his draught, and less likely to waste his strength than the horse, hence more suitable to work with oxen; and as he walks faster, he will habituate them to a faster gait. In plowing among crops, his feet being small and following each other so much more in a line, he seldom treads down the ridges or crops. The facility of instructing him to obey implicitly the voice of the driver is astonishing. The best plowed tillage land I ever saw, I have had performed by two mules tandem, without lines or driver. The mule is capable of enduring labor in a temperature of heat that would be destructive to a horse. Although a large mule will consume something over one-half the food of a horse, yet the saving in shoeing, farrying, and insurance against diseases and accidents, will amount to at least one-half. In addition, the owner may rely with tolerable certainty on the continuance of his mule capital for thirty years; whereas the horse owner must, at the end of fifteen years, look to his crops, his acres, or a bank for the renewal of his. The longevity of a mule is so proverbial, that a purchaser seldom inquires his age. Pliny mentions one 80 years old; and Dr. Rees, two in England, that reached the age of 70. I saw one performing his labor in a cane-mill in the West Indies, which the owner assured me was 40 years old. I have now a mare-mule 25 years old, that I have had in constant work for 21 years. She has often within a year taken a ton weight in a wagon to Boston, five miles, and manifests no diminution of her powers. A neighbor has one 28 years old, which he would not exchange for any horse in the country. One in Maryland, 35 years old, is now as capable of labor as at any former period." Mr. Hood of Maryland, in the American Farmer, estimates the annual expense of a horse for 12 months, at $44, and that of a mule at $22, just half price, and his working age at more than twice that of the horse, and that too after 30 years' experience in keeping both. A correspondent of the Baltimore Patriot, asserts that "Col. John E. Howard had a pair of mules that worked 30 years, after which they were sold to a carter in the city, and performed hard service for several years longer. Many mules 25 years old, and now in this country, perform well. Many have been at hard work for 12 or 15 years, and would now sell for $100 each. They are not subject to the colt's ailments, the glanders, heaves, yellow-water, and colic, like horses; and seldom are afflicted with spavin, ringbones, or bots; and they will not founder." General Shelby says, "he has known mules to travel 12 miles within the hour in light harness, and has himself driven a pair 45 miles in six hours, stopping an hour by the way." Four match mules have been sold in this country for $1,000. They were of course superior animals, and made elegant coach-horses. These animals were driven 80 miles in a day without injury; and they proved a first-rate team for many years. Mr. Ellicott, of the Patuxent Furnaces, asserts that, "out of about 100 mules at the works, we have not lost on an average one in two years. Bleeding at the mouth will cure them of nearly every disease, and by being turned out on pasture, they will recover from almost every accident. I do not recollect we have ever had a wind-broken one. They are scarcely ever defective in the hoof, and though kept shod, it is not as important as with the horse. Their skin is tougher than that of the horse, consequently they are not as much worried by flies, nor do they suffer so much with the heat of summer." To the foregoing testimony may be added that of the late Judge Hinckley of Massachusetts; a shrewd and close observer through a long life of 84 years. He bred mules at an early day, and always kept a team of them for his farm work, much preferring them to horses for this purpose, after an experience of 50 years. He had a pair nearly 30 years old, which, with light pasturage in summer, and with a moderate supply of hay with little grain in winter, and no grooming, performed all the drudgery, though he kept his stable full of horses besides. They outlived successive generations of horses, and though the latter were often sick and out of condition, the mules never were. One from his stock, 45 years old, was sold for the same price paid for a lot of young mules, being at that mature age perfectly able to perform his full share of labor. For the caravans that pass over the almost inaccessible ranges which form the continuation of the Rocky Mountains, and the extensive arid plains that lie between and west of them, on the route from Santa Fé to California, mules are the only beasts of burden used in these exhausting and perilous adventures. Their value may be estimated from the comparative prices of mules and horses; for while a good horse may be bought for $10 to $20, a good mule is worth $50 to $75. Dr. Lyman, who recently passed through those regions, informs us that their caravan left Santa Fé with about 150 mules, 15 or 20 horses, all beasts of burden, and two choice blood-horses, which were led and treated with peculiar care. On the route, all the working-horses died from exhaustion and suffering; the two bloods that had been so carefully attended, but just survived; yet of the whole number of mules but 8 or 10 gave out. A mule 36 years of age was as strong, enduring, and performed as hard labor, as any one in the caravan. When thirst compelled them to resort for successive days to the saline waters, which are the only ones furnished by those sterile plains, the horses were at once severely, and not unfrequently fatally affected; while the mules, though suffering greatly from the change, yet seldom were so much injured as to require any remission of their labor. The mules sent to the Mexican possessions from our western states, Missouri, Tennessee, and Kentucky, are considered of much more value than such as are bred from the native (usually wild) mares. The difference probably arises, in part, from the Mexicans using jacks so inferior to most of the stock animals used by the citizens of those states. Mare mules are estimated in those regions at one-third more than horse mules. The reason assigned for this is, that after a day's journey of excessive fatigue, there is a larger quantity of blood secreted in the bladder, which the female, owing to her larger passage, voids at once, and without much apparent suffering, while the male does not get rid of it, frequently, till after an hour of considerable pain. The effect of this difference is seen in the loss of flesh and strength in the male to an extent far beyond that of the female. _The method of reducing refractory mules_ in the northern Mexican possessions, is for the person to grasp them firmly by the ears, while another whips them severely on the fore-legs and belly. _Estimated annual saving to the United States from the employment of mules in the place of horses._--To sum up the advantages of working mules over horses, we shall have as advantages: 1. They are more easily, surely, and cheaply raised. 2. They are maintained, after commencing work, for much less than the cost of keeping horses. 3. They are not subject to many of the diseases of the horse, and to others only in a mitigated degree, and even these are easily cured in the mule. 4. They attain a greater age, and their average working years are probably twice that of the horse. In 1840, there were reported to be 4,335,669 horses and mules in the Union, no discrimination having been made between them. Suppose the total number at the present time is 4,650,000, and that of these 650,000 are mules. If we deduct one-fourth, supposed to be required for the purposes of breed, fancy-horses, &c., we shall have 3,000,000 horses, whose places may be equally well supplied by the same number of mules. We have seen that Mr. Hood, of Maryland, estimates the expense of a working horse at $44 per annum, (not an over estimate for the Atlantic states,) while that of the mule is $22. The difference is $22, which it is proper to reduce to meet the much lower rate of keeping at the West. If we put the difference at $10, we shall find the saving in the keep, shoeing, farriery, &c., by substituting mules for the 3,000,000 horses that can be dispensed with, will be $30,000,000 per annum. But this is not all. The working age of the horse will not exceed an average of eight years, while that of the mule is probably over sixteen. To the difference of keep, then, must be added the annual waste of the capital invested in the animal. A mule is more cheaply raised to working age than a horse, but allowing them to cost equally, we shall have the horse exhausting one-eighth of his capital annually for his decay, when the mule is using up but one-sixteenth; and if we allow $48 as the first cost of both animals, we shall find the horse wasting $6 annually for this item, while the mule deteriorates but $3, making an additional item of $9,000,000. This will give an aggregate of $39,000,000, as the annual saving to the United States by substituting good mules for three-fourths of the horses now used in this country. When will our farmers have the good sense to make this change? It may be fairly answered, when they shall prefer utility, interest, and a just taste, to a diseased fancy; for though we admit the superiority in appearance of the race of horses over mules, we deny that a bad horse looks better or even as well as a good mule; and with the same keep and attention, a good mule will outwork and outlook most horses of any breed. The comparative Economy of Horse and Ox Labor. This is a question which has been often discussed, and when with candor, the conclusion has generally been in favor of ox-labor. The different employments, the variety of situation, the season, and the kind of stock reared on the farm, are all questions which should be fully considered in arriving at their true comparative advantages. Most farmers would find it for their interest to keep teams of each, where there is employment for more than one; or if this be not the case, the preference should be given to that which is best suited in all respects to their particular position. If work upon the road is required, a horse team will generally be best. Their superiority will consist principally in their greater speed; for even with a heavy load, they will be able to trot occasionally, and when driven without it, they may increase their pace to nearly double the natural gait of the ox. This will amount to a large annual saving in the time of the driver when steadily employed. The same is true when removing manures or crops on the farm to remote distances, over a smooth surface, which admits of trotting with the empty wagon. Harrowing ought always to be done with a quick team, as a violent stroke of the teeth breaks the clods and pulverizes the earth much better than when slowly dragged. But we should assume in this comparison, that oxen shall not only be well adapted to their work by their natural formation, like the Hereford, the Devon, and others equally good, but also that they be well trained, well managed, accustomed to quick movements, and as well fed and looked after as horses. We shall then find their walk equal to a quick horse team, and that in this case the horse will have no advantage over the ox in harrowing. For plowing, the teams are on a par, as a good ox team will do as much in a day in cool weather as horses. _The situation of the farm_ may materially affect this estimate. In a warm climate, horses, and more especially mules, would be more serviceable than oxen, as they are capable of enduring much greater heat with impunity. If the farm be small and convenient to market, the labor may, in general, be best accomplished by oxen, as little travelling will be required. So, too, if the land be stony or rough, the plowing and harrowing will be more kindly and patiently done by oxen than by spirited horses. Other considerations will suggest themselves as affecting the comparative economy of this labor. _The time of work_ is to be fully considered. If much and heavy work be required in summer, as is often the case in plowing extensive wheat farms, horses are to be preferred; yet if the ox-team be started at early dawn, and worked briskly four or five hours, and then turned out to rest with a supply of suitable food, they may again commence when the extreme heat has abated, and accomplish a day's work that few horses will exceed. During the season of muddy roads, the horse, with his broad, compact foot, and longer leg, has a decided advantage over the ox. If the ox draws by the yoke, (which on the whole is the best mode,) he is liable to a sore neck when working in wet or snowy weather, and at such times he is overmatched by his competitor. _The kind of stock raised on the farm_ has an important bearing on this question. Some farms are devoted to rearing horses, and some exclusively to rearing cattle. These occasionally remain on hand after they are fit for market, from the want of a profitable demand. They can then be employed not only without injury, but in consequence of the thorough training thus secured, with positive benefit to their future value. Even if intended for the shambles, the well-developed ox may advantageously be put to light work at three, after which it may be gradually increased till he is six or eight, and during all this time he will be improving. After doing an early spring's work, he may then be turned on to good pasture, and if followed with proper stall-feeding, he will in the latter part of the winter or spring yield a tender, better-flavored, and more profitable carcass, than can be procured by any other mode of fattening. The first cost of oxen is less than that of horses, and they are at all times cheaply reared on the coarser herbage of the farm. The expense of working-gear, tackle, and shoeing, is much less than with horses. They are subject to fewer diseases, and these are more within the reach of ordinary medicines. The cost of food is also less, and while the horse is depreciating, the ox is increasing in value till eight or nine years old. Accidents are less frequent with oxen, from their slower movements; and when they occur, the ox may be turned out to fatten, and still be worth as much for this purpose as for the yoke. A permanent injury to the horse is perhaps a total loss of the beast, with a large farrier's bill in addition, for which there is nothing to liquidate it but the hide. The small farmer can make out a most serviceable team, by putting a single horse before a yoke of cattle. If well trained, they will soon accommodate themselves to each other's pace, and work as advantageously together as an entire team of either class would do alone. Bulls are frequently put to the draught, and when they have not other services that fully test their powers, they cannot be better employed. Heifers and cows are sometimes worked, but hitherto they have not been used to any extent in this country. In the absence of other animals, they might perform light work to advantage, but severe labor would stint their growth or impair their milk beyond the benefit derived from it. The _spayed heifer_ is an exception to the foregoing remark, and by many is esteemed even more useful than an ox of equal weight. We have no definite statements of the comparative money value of the labor of oxen and horses. But in England repeated trials have been made, and while some have discovered no advantage in the employment of oxen over horses, others have proved them decidedly superior. One Anglesey farmer found in an experience of three years, with 12 horses and 20 oxen, which accomplished an equal amount of work, that he had saved by the latter, $1150. The foregoing facts prove the subject to be one of sufficient importance, to justify the closest investigation of every farmer to determine for himself the comparative value of ox, horse, or mule labor. CHAPTER VII. SWINE. The hog is a cosmopolite of almost every zone, though his natural haunts, like those of the hippopotamus, the elephant, the rhinoceros, and most of the thick-skinned animals, are in warm climates. They are most abundant in China, the East Indies, and the immense range of islands which extends over the whole Southern and Pacific Oceans; but they are also numerous throughout Europe, from its southern coast to the Russian dominions within the Arctic. [Illustration: Fig. 32. The Wild Boar.] In the United States, swine have been an object of attention since its earliest settlement, and whenever a profitable market could be found for pork abroad, it has been exported to the full extent of the demand. For near twenty years following the commencement of the general European wars, soon after the organization of our national government, it was a comparatively large article of commerce; but from that time, exports have not been justified to any extent, till within the last two years, since which, a material reduction in the British import duty on pork, lard, and hams, has again brought it up as a prominent article of trade with that country. The recent use which has been made of the carcass in converting it into lard oil, has still further increased its consumption. Swine are reared in very part of the Union, and when properly managed, always at a fair profit. At the extreme North; in the neighborhood of large markets; and on such of the Southern plantations as are particularly suited to sugar or rice, they should not be raised beyond the number required for the consumption of the coarse or refuse food produced. Swine are advantageously kept in connection with a dairy or orchard, as with little additional food besides what is thus afforded, they can be put into good condition for the butcher. But it is on the rich bottoms and other lands of the West, where Indian corn is raised in profusion, and at small expense, that they can be reared in the greatest numbers and yield the largest profit. The Sciota, Miami, Wabash, Illinois, and other valleys, and extensive tracts in Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, and some adjoining states, have for many years taken the lead in the production of swine; and it is probable the climate and soil, which are peculiarly suited to their rapid growth, as well as that of their appropriate food, will enable them forever to remain the leading pork-producers of the North American continent. Breeds of Swine. The breeds cultivated in this country are numerous, and like our native cattle, they embrace many of the best, and a few of the worst to be found among the species. Great attention has for many years been paid to their improvement in the Eastern states, and nowhere are there better specimens than in many of their yards. This spirit has rapidly extended West and South; and among most of the intelligent farmers who make them a leading object of attention, on their rich corn grounds, swine have attained a high degree of excellence. This does not consist in the introduction and perpetuity of any distinct races, so much as in the breeding up to a desirable size and aptitude for fattening, from such meritorious individuals of any breed, or their crosses, as come within their reach. Fig. 33, represents an English breed of hogs, a century or more ago: though coarse and slouch-eared, it is yet the portrait of a tolerable hog, and far before many of the swine that still maintain their ascendency in various parts of the European continent. This breed is nearly extinct, having been crossed successively by the Chinese and other good breeds, thus diminishing the size and materially improving its thrift and tendency to fattening. We have few such animals in the United States, though we have many that are worse. [Illustration: Fig. 33. Old English Hog.] The _Byefield_, some 30 years ago, was a valuable hog in the Eastern states, and did much good among the species generally. They are white, with fine curly hair, well made and compact, moderate in size and length, with broad backs, and at 15 months attaining some 300 to 350 lbs. net. The _Bedford_ or _Woburn_ is a breed originating with the Duke of Bedford, on his estate at Woburn, and brought to their perfection, probably, by judicious crosses of the China hog, on some of the best English swine. A pair was sent by the duke to this country, as a present to Gen. Washington, but they were dishonestly sold by the messenger in Maryland, in which state and Pennsylvania they were productive of much good at an early day, by their extensive distribution through different states. Several other importations of this breed have been made at various times, and especially by the spirited masters of the Liverpool packet ships, in the neighborhood of New York. They are a large, spotted animal, well made, and inclining to early maturity and fattening. They are an exceedingly valuable hog, but are nearly extinct both in England and this country, as a breed. The _Leicesters_ are a large, white hog, generally coarse in the bone and hair, great eaters, and slow in maturing. Some varieties of this breed differ essentially in these particulars, and mature early on a moderate amount of food. The crosses with smaller compact breeds, are generally thrifty, desirable animals. _Other large breeds_ deserving commendation in this country, are the large _Miami white_, the _Yorkshire white_, and the _Kenilworth_, each frequently attaining, when dressed, a weight of 600 to 800 lbs. [Illustration: Fig. 34. China Hog.] The _Chinese_ is among the smaller varieties, and without doubt is the parent stock of the best European and American swine. They necessarily vary in appearance, size, shape, and color, from the diversity in the style of breeding, and the various regions from which they are derived. The Fig. represents the pure China pig, and is a striking likeness of many of the imported and their immediate descendants that we have seen in this country. They are too small an animal for general use, and require to be mixed with larger breeds to produce the most profitable carcass for the market. For the purpose of refining the coarse breeds, no animal has ever been so successful as this. They are fine-boned, short, and very compact, with bellies almost touching the ground, light head and ears, fine muzzle, of great docility and quietness, small feeders, and producing much meat for the quantity of food consumed. From the rapidity with which generations of this animal are multiplied, the variety of other breeds on which they are crossed, and the treatment to which they are subjected, it is not surprising that their descendants should rapidly assume distinct features. They furnish not only a strong dash of blood in the best class of large breeds, but in such of the smaller as have any pretensions to merit, they constitute the greater part of the improvement. Such are the _Neapolitan_, the _Essex half-black_, the _Grass breed_, and some others. [Illustration: Fig. 35. Berkshire Hog.] The _Berkshires_ are an ancient English breed, formerly of large size, slow feeders, and late in maturing. Their color was a buff or sandy ground, with large black spots, and the feet, lower part of the legs, and tuft on the tail, buff. The latter color has given place, in most of the modern age, to white in the same parts. This variation, with the more important ones of early maturity and good feeding properties, are by Professor Low ascribed to a Chinese cross, which has added the only characteristic in which they were before deficient. They were first introduced and reared as a distinct breed in this country by Mr. Brentnall, of Orange Co., and Mr. Hawes, of Albany, N. York. In their hands, and those of other skilful breeders, their merits were widely promulgated. No other breeds have been so extensively diffused in the United States, within comparatively so brief a period, as the Berkshires, since 1832, and they have produced a marked improvement in many of our former races. They weigh variously, from 250 to 400 lbs. net, at 16 months, according to their food and style of breeding; and some full-grown have dressed to more than 800 lbs. They particularly excel in their hams, which are round, full, and heavy, and contain a large proportion of lean, tender, and juicy meat, of the best flavor. None of our improved breeds afford long, coarse hair or bristles; and it is a gratifying evidence of our decided improvement in this department of domestic animals, that our brush-makers are under the necessity of importing most of what they use from Russia and northern Europe. This improvement is manifest not only in the hair, but in the skin, which is soft and mellow to the touch; in the finer bones, shorter head, upright ears, dishing face, delicate muzzle, and mild eye; and in the short legs, low flanks, deep and wide chest, broad back, and early maturity. Breeding. Swine should not be allowed to breed before 12 or 15 months old, unless the animals are large and coarse, when they may be put to it somewhat younger. Not only choice individuals, but such as are well descended, should be selected for the purpose of breeding. The sow should be in good condition, but not fat, nor approaching to it; and a proper degree of exercise is essential to the development of the f[oe]tus and the health of the parent; for which reason, she should have an extended range connected with her pen. The sow goes with young about 114 days. A week before the time comes round, a comfortable, quiet place should be prepared for her under cover, and well-protected from cold, if the weather be severe; or if warm, a range in a pasture with an open shed to retire to, is sufficient. Too much litter for bedding must be avoided, and no change or disturbance of the sow permitted, till two or three weeks after pigging, as the restlessness thereby produced may result in the loss of the pigs. The sow should be fed only with a small quantity of the lightest food or thin gruel, for two or three days, nor put on full feed for a week. If inclined to eat her pigs, she should be fed two or three times with raw pork or fresh meat. The pigs may be taught to crack oats or soaked corn after three weeks, and if provided with a trough inaccessible to the dam, they will soon learn to feed on milk and other food, preparatory to weaning. This may take place when they are 8 or 10 weeks old; and to prevent injury to the sow, let one or two remain with her a few days longer, and when finally removed, if her bag appears to be full, they may be allowed to drain the milk after 20 or 30 hours. The sow should be restricted to a light, dry diet for a few days at this period. Management and Fattening. There are but two objects in keeping swine, for breeding and for slaughter, and their management is consequently simple. Those designed for breeding, should be kept in growing condition, on light food, and have every advantage for exercise. Such as are destined exclusively for fattening, ought to be steadily kept to the object. It is the usual, though a bad practice in this country, to let spring pigs run at large for the first 15 months, with such food as is convenient; and if fed at all, it is only to keep them in moderate growth till the second autumn. They are then put up to fatten, and in the course of 60 or 90 days are fed off and slaughtered. During this brief period, they gain from 50 to 100 per cent. more of dressed weight than in the 15 or 18 months preceding: nor even then do they yield a greater average weight than is often attained by choice, thrifty pigs, which have been well-fed from weaning to the age of 8 or 9 months. Three pigs of the Bedford breed, when precisely 7½ months old, dressed 230, 235, and 238½ lbs. Two of the Berkshire and Leicester breeds, at 9 months, dressed 304 and 310 lbs. Three others of the Berkshire and Grass breeds, 7 months and 27 days old weighed 240, 250, and 257 lbs. net. Innumerable instances could be adduced of similar weights, gained within the same time, with a good breed of animals under judicious treatment. We have no one accurate account of the food consumed, so as to determine the relative profit of short or long feeding. But that an animal must consume much more in 18 or 20 months to produce the same quantity of dressed meat, which is made by others of 8 or 9 months, does not admit of a doubt. We have seen that an ox requires but little more than double the quantity of food to fatten, that is necessary for supporting existence. If we apply this principle to swine, and state the quantity of food which will fatten the pig rapidly, to be three times as great as for the support of life, we shall find that the pig will fatten in 7 months, on the same food he would consume to keep him alive for 21. This is based on the supposition that both animals are of equal size. But the pig that matures and is slaughtered at 7 months, has only a moderate capacity for eating. During the early stages of his growth, his size and the consequent incapacity of the digestive organs, prevent the consumption of the same quantity which the larger animal requires; and his accumulating fat, his limited respiration, consequent upon the compression of his lungs, and his indisposition to exercise, all conspire to keep the consumption of food within the smallest possible limit. This result, in the absence of any experiment, must be conjectural entirely; but we believe that experiments will show, that of two thrifty pigs from the same litter, one of which is properly fed to his utmost capacity for 7 months, and the other fed with precisely double the quantity of similar food for 21 months, the first will yield more carcass and of a better and more profitable quality than the latter, which has consumed 100 per cent. the most. The food is only one item in this calculation. The oldest requires the most attention, is liable to more accidents and disease, besides the loss of interest. We are necessarily forced to the conclusion, that by far the cheapest mode of wintering pigs is in the pork-barrel. We can readily anticipate one objection to this practice, which is the want of food at the requisite season of the year to fatten them. This can be obviated, by reserving enough of the previous year's grain, to keep the animal in a rapidly thriving state, till the next crop matures sufficiently to feed. In the rich corn regions, on its beginning to ripen, as it does in August, the fields are fenced off into suitable lots, and large herds are successively turned into them, to consume the grain at their leisure. They waste nothing except the stalks, which in that region of plenty are considered of little value, and they are still useful as manure for succeeding crops; and whatever grain is left by them, leaner droves which follow, will readily glean. Peas, early buckwheat, and apples, may be fed on the ground in the same way. There is an improvement in the character of the grain from a few months' keeping, which is fully equivalent to the interest of the money and cost of storage. If fattened early in the season, they will consume less food to make an equal amount of flesh than in colder weather; they will require less attention; and generally, early pork will command the highest price in market. It is most economical, to provide the swine with a fine clover pasture to run in during the spring and summer; and they ought also to have access to the orchard, to pick up all the unripe and superfluous fruit that falls. They should also have the wash of the house and the dairy, to which add meal, and sour in large tubs or barrels. Not less than one-third, and perhaps more, of the whole grain fed to swine, is saved by grinding and cooking or souring. Yet care must be observed that the souring be not carried so far as to injure the food by putrefaction. A mixture of meal and water, with the addition of yeast or such remains of a former fermentation as adhere to the side or bottom of the vessel, and exposure to a temperature between 68° and 77° will produce immediate fermentation. In this process there are five stages. The _saccharine_, by which the starch and gum of the vegetables, in their natural condition, are converted into sugar; the _vinous_, which changes the sugar into alcohol; the _mucilaginous_, sometimes taking the place of the vinous, and occurring when the sugar solution, or fermenting principle is weak, producing a slimy, glutinous product; the _acetic_, forming vinegar, from the vinous or alcoholic stage; and the _putrefactive_, which destroys all the nutritive principles and converts them into a poison. The precise point in fermentation when the food becomes most profitable for feeding, has not yet been satisfactorily determined; but that it should stop short of the putrefactive, and probably the full maturity of the acetic, is certain. The roots for fattening animals ought to be washed, and steamed or boiled; and when not intended to be fermented, the meal may be scalded with the roots. A small quantity of salt should be added. Potatoes are the best roots for swine; then parsnips; orange or red carrots, white or Belgian; sugar beets; mangel-wurzel; ruta-bagas; and the white turnips, in the order mentioned. The nutritive properties of turnips are diffused through so large a bulk, that we doubt if they can ever be fed to fattening swine with advantage; and they will barely sustain lift when fed to them uncooked. There is a great loss in feeding roots to fattening swine, without cooking. When unprepared grain is fed, it should be on a full stomach, to prevent imperfect mastication, and consequent loss of the food. It is better indeed to have it always before them. The animal machine is an expensive one to keep in motion, and it should be the object of the farmer to put his food in the most available condition for its immediate conversion into fat and muscle. Swine ought to be kept perfectly dry and clean, and provided with a warm shelter, to which they can retire at pleasure. This will greatly hasten the fattening and economize the food. They thrive better and are generally less subject to disease, when long confined in yards, by having a clear running stream always accessible, to wallow in. This is one of the best preventives of vermin and cutaneous diseases. A hog ought to have three apartments, one each for sleeping, eating, and evacuations, of which the last may occupy the lowest, and the first the highest level, so that nothing shall be drained, and as little carried into the first two as possible. They must be regularly fed three times a day, and if there is a surplus, it should be removed at once. If they are closely confined in pens, give them as much charcoal twice a week as they will eat. This corrects any tendency to disorders of the stomach. Rotten wood is an imperfect substitute for charcoal. Graves, scraps, or cracklings, as they are variously called, the residuum of rough lard or tallow, after expressing the fat, are a good change and an economical food. Some animal food, although not essential, is always acceptable to swine. When about to finish them off, many feed for a few weeks on hard corn. This is proper when slops or indifferent food has been given, and meal cannot be conveniently procured; but when fattened on sound roots and meal, it is a wasteful practice, as the animal thus falls behind his accustomed growth. It is better to give him an occasional feed of the raw grain, for a change, and to sharpen his appetite. _The products furnished by the carcass of swine_ are numerous. Every part of the animal is used for food, and it admits of a far greater variety of preparation for the table, than any other flesh. From the remotest antiquity to the present time, and in every grade of barbarous and civilized life, it has been esteemed as one of the choicest delicacies of the epicure. _Lard-oil_ (_oleine_) has, within a few years, given to pork a new and profitable use, by which the value of the carcass is greatly increased. At some of the large pork-packing depots of the West, one-third of the whole quantity has been thus disposed of. This has withdrawn a large amount of pork from the market, and prevented the depression which must otherwise have occurred. Where the oil is required, the whole carcass, after taking out the hams and shoulders, is placed in a tub having two bottoms, the upper one perforated with holes, on which the pork is laid, and then tightly covered. Steam, at a high temperature, is then admitted into the tub, and in a short time all the fat is extracted and falls upon the lower bottom. The remaining mass is bones and scraps. The last is fed to pigs, poultry, or dogs, or affords the best kind of manure. The bones are either used for manure, or are converted into animal charcoal, worth about three cents per pound, which is valuable for various purposes in the arts. When the object is to obtain lard of a fine quality, the animal is first skinned, and the adhering fat carefully scraped off. The oily, viscid matter of the skin is thus avoided. When tanned, the skin makes a valuable leather. An aggregate weight of 1790 lbs. from four well-fattened animals, after taking out the hams and shoulders, say about 400 lbs., gave within a fraction of 1200 lbs. of the best lard. _Stearine and Oleine._--Lard and all fatty matters consist of three principles, of which stearine contains the stearic and margaric acids, both of which, when separated, are solid, and used as inferior substitutes for wax or spermaceti candles. The other, oleine, is fluid at a low temperature, and in American commerce, is known as _lard-oil_. It is very pure, and extensively used for machinery, lamps, and most of the purposes for which olive or spermaceti oils are used. Curing Hams and Pork. After dressing, the carcass should be allowed to hang till perfectly drained and cool, when it may be cut up and salted. The usual way is to pack the pork in clean salt, adding brine to the barrel when filled. But it may be dry salted, by rubbing it in thoroughly on every side of each piece, with a strong leather rubber firmly secured to the palm of the right hand. The pieces are then thrown into heaps and sprinkled with salt, and occasionally turned till cured; or it may at once be packed in dry casks, which are occasionally rolled to bring the salt into contact with every part. Hams and Shoulders May be cured in the same manner, either dry or in pickle, but with differently arranged materials. The following is a good pickle for 200 lbs. Take 14 lbs. of Turk Island salt; ½ lb. of saltpetre; 2 qts. of molasses, or 4 lbs. of brown sugar, with water enough to dissolve them. Bring the liquor to the scalding point, and skim off all the impurities which rise to the top. When cold, pour it upon the ham, which should be perfectly cool but not frozen, and closely packed; and if not sufficient to cover it, add enough pure water for this purpose. Some extensive packers in Cincinnati and elsewhere, who send choice hams to market, add pepper, allspice, cinnamon, nutmegs, or mace and cloves. The hams may remain six or eight weeks in this pickle, then hung up in the smoke-house, with the small end down, and smoked from 10 to 20 days, according to the quantity of smoke. The fire should not be near enough to heat the hams. In Holland and Westphalia, the fire is made in the cellar, and the smoke carried by a flue into a cool, dry chamber. This is undoubtedly the best method of smoking. The hams should at all times be dry and cool, or their flavor will suffer. Green sugar-maple chips are best for smoke; next to them are hickory, sweet-birch, corn-cobs, white-ash, or beech. The smoke-house is the best place to keep hams till wanted. If removed, they should be kept cool, dry, and free from flies. A canvass-cover for each, saturated with lime, which may be put on with a whitewash brush, is a perfect protection against flies. When not to be kept long, they may be packed in dry salt, or even in sweet brine, without injury. A common method is to pack in dry oats, baked sawdust, &c. DISEASES OF SWINE. Mortifying as the fact may be to human pride, it is nevertheless certain, that the internal arrangements, the viscera, digestive organs, omnivorous propensities, and the general physiological structure of the hog and the bear, more nearly resemble man, than any other animal. Many of their diseases may therefore be expected to be a modification of those of the human species, and require a similar treatment. [Illustration: Fig. 36. Skeleton of a Pig. A Maxilla inferior, vel posterior; lower jaw.--B Dentes; the teeth.--C Ossa nasi; the nasal bones.--D Maxilla superior, vel anterior; upper jaw.--E Os frontis; the frontal bone.--F Orbiculus; the orbit or socket of the eye.--G Os occipitis; the occipital bone.--H Atlas; the first vertebra of the neck.--I Vertebræ colli, vel cervicales; the vertebræ of the neck.--J Vertebræ dorsi, vel dorsales; the vertebræ of the back.--K Vertebræ lumborum, vel lumbales; the vertebræ of the loins.--L Ossa coccygis; the bones of the tail.--_a_ Scapula; the shoulder-blade.--_b_ Humerus; the round shoulder-bone.--_c_ Sternum; the breastbone.--_d_ Ulna; the elbow.--_e_ Radius; the bone of the fore-arm.--_f_ Os naviculare: the navicular bone.--_g_ Phalanges vel ossa pedis; the first and second bones of the foot.--_h_ Phalanges, vel ossa pedis; the bones of the hoof.--_i_ Pelvis, (ossa innorninata;) the haunch bones.--_j_ Os femoris; the thigh-bone.--_k_ Patella; the stifle-bone.--_l_ Tibia; the upper bone of the leg--_m_ Tarsus, (one of which is the (N) os calcis;) the hock-bones.--_n_ Os naviculare; the navicular bone.--_o_ Digiti, vel phalanges, (ossa pedis;) the first digits of the foot.--_p_ Digiti, vel phalanges, (ossa pedis;) the second digits of the foot.] Pulmonary Affections, Colds, Coughs, and Measles. To each of these, swine are peculiarly liable, and, as with most other evils, prevention of disease in swine is more easy and economical than cure. A dry warm bed, free from winds or storms, and suitable food, will most effectually prevent any injuries, or fatal attacks. The hog has little external covering to protect him against cold. Nature has provided this immediately within the skin, in the deep layer of fat which surrounds the full, plump hog. Fat is one of the best non-conductors of heat, and the pig which is well-fed bids defiance to the intense cold, which would produce great suffering, and consequent disease, in the ill-conditioned animal. By the observance of a proper medium between too much fat or lean, for the store or breeding swine, and providing them with comfortable beds and proper feed, nearly all diseases will be avoided. For _Coughs and Inflammation of the Lungs_, bleeding should immediately be resorted to, after which give gentle purges of castor oil, or Epsom salts; and this should be followed with a dose of antimonial powders--2 grains, mixed with half a drachm of nitre. For _Costiveness_ or loss of appetite, sulphur is an excellent remedy, given in a light mess. _Itch_ may be cured by anointing with equal parts of lard and brimstone. Rubbing-posts, and a running stream to wallow in are preventives. The _Kidney Worm_ is frequently fatal; and always produces weakness of the loins and hind legs, usually followed by entire prostration. A pig thus far gone, is hardly worth the trouble of recovering, even where practicable. _Preventives_, are general thrift, a range in a good pasture, and a dose of half a pint of wood-ashes every week or fortnight in their food. A small quantity of saltpetre, spirits of turpentine, or tar, will effect the same object. When attacked, apply spirits of turpentine to the loins, and administer calomel carefully; or give half a tablespoonful of copperas daily for one or two weeks. Blind Staggers. This is generally confined to pigs, and manifests itself in foaming at the mouth, rearing on their hind legs, champing and grinding their teeth, and apparent blindness. The proper remedies are bleeding and purging freely, and these frequently fail. Many nostrums have been suggested, but few are of any utility. It is important to keep the issues on the inside of the fore-legs, just below the knee, thoroughly cleansed. The _tails_ of young pigs frequently _drop_ or _rot off_, which is attended with no further disadvantage to the animal than the loss of the member. The _remedies_ are, to give a little brimstone or sulphur in the food of the dam; or rub oil or grease daily on the affected parts. It may be detected by a roughness or scabbiness at the point where separation is likely to occur. _Bleeding._--The most convenient mode, is from an artery just above the knee, on the inside of the fore-arm. It may be drawn more copiously from the roof of the mouth. The flow of blood may usually be stopped, by applying a sponge or cloth with cold water. The diseases of swine, though not numerous, are formidable, and many of them soon become fatal. They have not been the subject of particular scientific study, and most of the remedies applied, are rather the result of casual or hap-hazard suggestion, than of well-digested inference, from long-continued and accurate observation. CHAPTER VIII. FARM-DOGS. No grazing farm is complete without one or more intelligent, well-trained dogs, adapted to the various wants of their owners; and the general taste has made their presence almost universal in every rural household. The dog is peculiarly the friend of man. Many other animals have a temporary though feeble attachment to him, which seems the result rather of constant companionship, or the selfishness of dependence, than any well-settled affection towards a master. The dog alone, of all the brute creation, seems capable of a disinterested, self-sacrificing affection; and this, united with his usefulness and adaptedness to all climes and countries, has made him a favorite in every quarter of the globe. Since this animal is the habitual tenant of the farm, and, when suited to his peculiar duties, can be made of great utility by the assistance he is capable of affording in its management, we deem it entirely appropriate to our subject to indicate such of the species as are deserving the farmer's attention. Discarding all ideas of fancy or sportsmanship, and looking to utility alone, we may safely affirm that the farmer needs only such as may be found in the four breeds of the Newfoundland, the Shepherd's and Drover's dog, and the Terrier. [Illustration: Fig. 37. Newfoundland Dog.] The Newfoundland Dog. This dog, of which we give a portrait, is always above medium height, and frequently is of the largest size. He is long-haired and shaggy, and has a thick coat of fine, soft fur, beneath the outer covering, which is almost impenetrable by water. His color is most frequently black; often spotted and partially flecked or grayish; and occasionally buff. The Newfoundland is of the Spaniel family, but derives its name from the island where it has been bred for centuries, to the great advantage of its inhabitants. There are two varieties: the large, used in the north, called the Labrador; and the smaller, more docile and intelligent, of the south, called the St. John's. They are employed by the islanders, and the people of the neighboring coast, in drawing their sleds and carts loaded with fish, wood, &c. They aid them in various ways in their fishing operations; they are strong, courageous, and watchful; and with slight training, they are scarcely inferior to the best hunting-dogs in pursuing the wild game that abounds in those high northern latitudes. These estimable qualities, coupled with their uniform good-nature, have always made them favorites with the farmer. The Newfoundland is an excellent watch-dog; sagacious in discriminating between a friend and a foe, and with courage and strength to follow out his prompt and judicious conclusions. He is easily trained for the drover, to whom he is frequently a great assistant; and with a scent sufficiently acute to pursue game, he is readily broken in as a useful companion to the sportsman. He can also be made serviceable in the various duties of the farm: destroying noxious vermin, taking the cattle and horses to the field or water, drawing a light load, churning the butter, &c. It is true, he has not all the sagacity of the Poodle, whose intelligence approaches nearer to human reason than any other of the brute creation. But if he has not that quick apprehension, which too often leads, as in the case of forward children, to the attainment of every worthless accomplishment and the indulgence of every loaferish habit, he seems to have a sedate, well-formed judgment, which makes all his wit available for some useful purpose. He is unsurpassed as a water-dog; and his courageous efforts, wherever an opportunity has been afforded, in rescuing numberless human beings from a watery grave, together with his unswerving fidelity and devotion, commend him as the prince of the canine family. The Shepherd's Dog. This animal, of which we give a beautiful portrait on the next page, of the long-haired Scottish breed, belongs to the same family as the Newfoundland and Poodle, which embraces the most intelligent and useful of the canine species. There are two classes of these dogs, which differ widely in their size and characteristics. The larger is of great size and courage, and when protected by a stout leather collar studded with spikes, is a full match for the wolf. These are used by the Spanish and Mexican shepherds, on their wild sierras, as effective guards against the attacks of all marauders, and are essentially the same race as the far-famed dogs of Mount St. Bernard. They are not sufficiently gentle for guides, and the shepherds who employ them rely on some well-trained wethers or goats to lead the flock at their call. Some have been imported into this country, but on account of their headstrong and ferocious character, and occasional depredations upon the flocks, they have been found unsuited to our wants, except on the borders of the wilderness. The Colley or Scottish sheep-dog, the English, and those extensively used upon the continent, differ much in their form and appearance, but agree in their intelligence, docility, and usefulness. They are of medium size, with a sharp nose, broad forehead, and small upright ear; they are both shaggy and smooth-haired, with a bushy tail, and much hair about the neck; variously colored, though more frequently inclined to black or darkly spotted and gray; and one branch of the family is entirely destitute of a tail. They possess an instinctive sagacity for the management of sheep; and in company with a well-trained dog, under the direction of the shepherd, they soon become entirely competent to the control of the flock. They perceive his wishes by a word or sign, and with almost the speed of the greyhound, dart off to execute them. Accounts of their performances have been frequently related, which seem almost incredible to those unacquainted with their peculiar character. The following anecdote, often told by the gifted poet, Mr. James Hogg, more generally known by the soubriquet of the Ettrick Shepherd, will show their capacity more fully than any description. [Illustration: Fig. 38. Shepherd's Dog] "On one night, a large flock of lambs that were under the Ettrick Shepherd's care, frightened by something, scampered away in three different directions across the hills, in spite of all that he could do to keep them together. 'Sirrah,' said the shepherd, 'they're a' awa!' It was too dark for the dog and his master to see each other at any considerable distance, but Sirrah understood him, and set off after the fugitives. The night passed on, and Hogg and his assistant traversed every neighboring hill in anxious but fruitless search for the lambs; but he could hear nothing of them nor of the dog, and he was returning to his master with the doleful intelligence that he had lost all his lambs. 'On our way home, however,' says he, 'we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking round for some relief, but still true to his charge. We concluded that it was one of the divisions which Sirrah had been unable to manage, until he came to that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment when we discovered that not one lamb of the flock was missing! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark, is beyond my comprehension. The charge was left entirely to himself from midnight until the rising sun; and, if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater promptitude. All that I can say is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature under the sun as I did to my honest Sirrah that morning.'" They are quiet and good-natured, never inclined to roam or neglect their duties, and as little disposed to injure the animals intrusted to their keeping. They have almost the intelligence of the shepherd in discerning the vagaries of the flock, and ten times his efficiency in driving it. No extensive sheep-walks, unless closely hemmed in by impassable fences, should be without one or more of these useful animals. The Drover's Dog. This animal is shown in the annexed figure. He is closely allied to the sheep-dog, from which he derives all his intelligence and capacity, differing only in being somewhat larger and heavier, which is essential to his controlling the sturdier bullocks under his charge. His additional size is acquired by crossing with some of the stouter races, such as the Newfoundland or the pointer, and even the bull-dog and large shaggy terrier have sometimes been resorted to for a strain of that indomitable courage and game, which is frequently requisite to the proper discharge of his duties. He requires more training than the sheep-dog, as his peculiar instincts are rather to the management of the flock than the herd; but when fairly broken in, he is equally expert in its management. The drover's dog may also be useful for watching, if crossed with a reference to this object, which the sheep-dog seldom is. [Illustration: Fig. 39. Drover's Dog.] The Terrier. This, in addition to the foregoing, is the only dog necessary to the farm. He is needed principally for his great sagacity and indefatigable perseverance in exterminating rats and other vermin, that frequently congregate in swarms around the farmer's premises, producing such an aggregate of annoyance and devastation. Other dogs may occasionally be good ratters, but the terrier takes to them from instinct, as the Newfoundland does to the water, or the sheep-dog to his flock. He has great ingenuity and activity in ferreting out and capturing his prey, and whenever a fair opportunity is afforded, he seldom fails of success. The famous English terrier, Billy, on two occasions, killed 100 rats in a ring at each time, in an average of less than six and a half minutes. The terrier is usually below the medium size, but sometimes fully comes up to or even exceeds it. He is smooth-haired or rough according to the breed, of which there are several, each claiming to be equally pure. Besides his capacity for the destruction of small game, his innate love for the sport renders him a valuable assistant in keeping off vagrant cattle from the premises; and his quick ear, habitual watchfulness, and prompt courage, fully qualify him, to the extent of his size, for an excellent watch-dog. The fancy of country residents may incline them to keep a variety of other dogs than are herein enumerated, some of which, with good training, can be made partial assistants to their masters. But it is unnecessary to specify the various breeds that may possibly be of some use on the farm, as the slight crossing they will be likely to have, equally with their opportunities and the attention bestowed upon them, will serve materially to develop or obscure their peculiar instincts. The Spaniel family and its crosses will be found to combine the greatest intelligence, fidelity, and aptitude to learn; the hound has the keenest scent and greatest endurance in the pursuit of game; while the bull-dog has the most courage, sullen ferocity, and strength. Each may occasionally be wanted for a strain of blood for some particular objects; and this is especially necessary from the bull-dog in the management of refractory cattle, or to give the terrier greater stoutness and courage. The absurd custom of keeping from one to a dozen dogs, untrained for any valuable purpose, or supernumeraries even if capable of rendering occasional service, ought to be abandoned by every rational man. Besides the great annual cost, the danger of communicating rabies or madness is sufficient to justify a legal restraint on their numbers. The sad havoc they commit on the flocks, demands the extermination by law of every dog that is guilty, whether Mongrel, puppy, whelp, or hound, Or cur of low degree. And even if it includes the _fides Achates_, or parlor companions, Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart, the work of extirpation should proceed, to the extent of curtailing this branch of farm-stock to its wholesome and legitimate proportions. CHAPTER IX. POULTRY. Choice varieties of fowls add a pleasant feature to the farm premises. They engage the attention and sympathy of the juvenile farmers, and the time bestowed in the poultry yard keeps them from mischief: it is an agreeable and salutary relief from toil and study, and elicits the taste, the judgment, and the kindlier feelings of humanity, which are to be matured in the future accomplished breeder. When properly managed, poultry are a source of considerable profit, yielding more for the food they consume, than any other stock, although their value is not often considered. The agricultural statistics of the United States, for 1839, give us over $12,000,000 in poultry, and it probably exceeds $15,000,000 at the present time. It is estimated by McQueen, that the poultry of England exceeds $40,000,000, and yet McCulloch says she imports 60,000,000 eggs annually from France, (McQueen states it at near 70,000,000;) and from other parts of the continent, 25,000,000; besides 80,000,000 imported from Ireland. Poultry, then, ceases to be an unimportant object of agricultural attention, and assumes its appropriate place among the other staples of the farmer. Hens Are the most numerous and profitable, and the most generally useful of the feathered tribe. The hen is peculiarly an egg-producing bird. She has the same predisposition for laying, that the cow has for secreting milk. Some breeds are better adapted for this object than others: but in all that have ever come within our notice, the proper food and circumstances are alone wanting, to produce a reasonable quantity of eggs. The _egg_ consists of three distinct parts; the shell, the white, and the yolk. A good-sized egg will weigh 1,000 grains, of which about 107 are shell, 604 are white, and 289 are yolk. Of the shell, 97 per cent. is carbonate of lime, 1 per cent. phosphate of lime and magnesia, and 2 per cent. albumen. The white consists of 12 per cent. of albumen, 2.7 of mucus, 0.3 of salts, and 85 of water. The yolk has about 17.4 per cent. of albumen, 28.6 of yellow oil, 54 of water, with a trace of sulphur and phosphorus. The foregoing are the constituents of eggs, which have been formed when the bird has free access to the various articles which constitute her natural food. But they vary with circumstances. When full-fed and denied all access to lime, she will form an egg without the shell, and deliver it enclosed in the membrane or sack which always surrounds the white, when covered by the shell. When scantily fed, they will frequently lay; but from a deficiency of nutriment, the egg will be meager and watery, and possess but a small portion of the nutritious qualities peculiar to them. To produce the largest number of good eggs, several conditions are important; and they must especially have an abundance of the right kind of food. This is the most readily obtained in part from animal food. In warm weather, when they have a free range, they can generally supply their wants in the abundance of insects, earth-worms, and other animal matters within their reach. The large proportion of albumen contained in their eggs, requires that much of their food should be highly nitrogenized, and when they cannot procure this in animal matter, it must be given in grains containing it. If to the usual qualities of hens, a breed of peculiar elegance, of graceful form, and beautiful plumage, be added, together with entire adaptation to the economical purposes required, good layers and good carcass, we have a combination of utility, luxury, and taste in this bird, which should commend them as general favorites. They can everywhere be kept with advantage, except in dense cities. A hen that costs a shilling or two, if provided with a suitable range, will consume 30 or 40 cents worth of food, and produce from 80 to 150 eggs per annum, worth three or four times the cost of feed and attention. The Food Of hens may consist of different kinds of grain, either broken, ground, or cooked; roots, and especially boiled potatoes, are nutritious and economical; green herbage as clover and most of the grasses, chickweed, lettuce, cabbage, &c., will supply them with much of their food, if fresh and tender. Fig. 40, is a Food fountain. The grain is placed in the hopper, which is closely covered, and the grain falls into the bottom below. It is accessible on four sides by spring doors, which are thrown open by the weight of the fowl on the connecting spring. One is shown as opened by the fowl in stepping up to feed. This is a protection against dirt and vermin. [Illustration: Fig. 40. Food Fountain.] Though not absolutely essential to them, yet nothing contributes so much to their laying, as unsalted, animal food. This is a natural aliment, as is shown by the avidity with which they pounce on every fly, insect, or earth-worm which comes within their reach. It would not of course pay to supply them with valuable flesh, but the blood and offal of the slaughter-houses, refuse meat of all kinds, and especially the scraps or cracklings to be had at the inciters' shops, after soaking for a few hours in warm water, is one of the best and most economical kinds of food. Such with boiled meal is a very fattening food. Grain is at all times best for them when cooked, as they will lay more, fatten quicker, and eat much less when fed to them in this state; and it may be thus used unground, with the same advantage to the fowls as if first crushed, as their digestive organs are certain to extract the whole nutriment. All grain is good for them, including millet, rice, the oleaginous seeds, as the sun-flower, flax, hemp, &c. It is always better to afford them a variety of grains where they can procure them at their option, and select as their appetite craves. They are also fond of milk, and especially when it has become curdled; and indeed scarcely any edible escapes their notice. They carefully pick up most of the waste garbage around the premises, and glean much of their subsistence from what would otherwise become offensive; and by their destruction of innumerable insects and worms, they render great assistance to the gardener. Of course their ever-busy propensity for scratching, is indiscriminately indulged just after the seeds have been sown and while the plants are young, which renders it necessary that they be confined in some close yard for a time; yet this should be as capacious as possible. [Illustration: Fig. 41. Water Fountain.] Water is placed in the cask as represented in the Fig., and it is then closely stopped, except an opening through a tube leading into a vessel below. As the water is exhausted from this, it descends from the cask above, and a supply is thus at all times within reach of the poultry. Their food is better when given to them warm, not hot, and there should always be a supply before them to prevent gorging. It is better to be placed on shelves or suspended boxes or hoppers, which are variously and cheaply constructed, to keep it clean and out of the reach of rats. Besides their food, hens ought to be at all times abundantly supplied with clean water, egg or pounded oyster shells, old mortar or slacked lime. If not allowed to run at large, where they can help themselves, they must also be furnished with gravel to assist their digestion; and a box or bed of ashes, sand, and dust, is equally essential to roll in for the purpose of ridding themselves of vermin. [Illustration: Fig. 42. Poultry House] The Hen-house May be constructed in various ways to suit the wishes of the owner, and when tastefully built it is an ornament to the premises, It should be perfectly dry throughout, properly lighted, and capable of being made tight and warm in winter, yet afford all the ventilation desirable at any season. In this, arrange the nests in boxes on the sides, in such a manner as to humor the instinct of the hen for concealment when she resorts to them. When desirable to set the hen, these nests may be so placed as to shut out the others, yet open into another yard or beyond the enclosure, so that they can take an occasional stroll and help themselves to food, &c. This prevents other hens laying in their nests, while setting; and it may be easily managed, by having their boxes placed on the wall of the building, with a moveable door made to open on either side at pleasure. Hens will lay equally well without a nest-egg, but when broken up, they ramble off and form new nests, if they are not confined. They will lay if kept from the cock, but it is doubtful if they will thus yield as many eggs. Hens disposed to set at improper times, should be dismissed from the common yard, so as to be out of reach of the nests, and plentifully fed till weaned from this inclination. [Illustration: Fig. 43. Egg-Hatcher, or Eccalobeon.] Fig. 43 represents an egg-hatcher or Eccalobeon, made of different sizes, with shelves so arranged as to hold from 200 to 800 eggs without touching each other. The outer box is a non-conductor, so as to retain the heat conveyed to every part by water tubes, connected by a reservoir below, the bottom of which is heated by the flame from a spirit-lamp. The temperature is indicated by a thermometer on the door inside, which should be made equal to that of the hen, say about 106° Fahrenheit. Her natural temperature is somewhat elevated by the feverish condition of the bird at the period of incubation. _Chickens_ require to be kept warm and dry, for a few days after hatching, and they may be fed with hard-boiled eggs, crumbs of bread or pudding, and milk or water, and allowed to scratch in the gravel in front of the hen, which should be confined in a coop for the first three or four weeks. After this, they may be turned loose, when they will thrive on any thing the older ones eat. Many use them for the table when they are but a few weeks old; but they are unfit for this purpose, till they have attained full maturity. The white-legs are preferred by some, from the whiteness and apparent delicacy of the meat; but the yellow-legged are the richest and most highly-flavored. The color of the feathers does not seem to affect the quality of the flesh or their character for laying. If we consider the chemical principles of the absorption and retention of heat, we should assume the white coat to be best, as it is coolest in summer when exposed to the sun, and warmest in winter. Yet some of the white breeds are delicate, and do not bear rough usage or exposure. [Illustration: Fig. 44. The Dorking] Varieties. These differ materially in their sizes, shapes, and colors. The _Dorking_ is esteemed one of the best, being large, well formed and hardy, good layers and nurses, and yielding an excellent carcass. They are both white and speckled, and generally have five toes. The _Poland_ is both white and black, with a large tuft, generally of white feathers, on the head. They are of good size, and excellent layers, but are seldom inclined to set, which makes them peculiarly desirable for such as wish eggs only. The _Dominique_ is a speckled fowl, of barely medium size, compact, hardy, good layers, and valuable for the table. The _Bucks county fowls_, heretofore principally reared near Philadelphia, possess but moderate pretensions to notice, except in their immense size, a brace of capons having been fattened to 19¼ lbs. when dressed. [Illustration: Fig. 45. The Bantam.] The _Bantam_ is but little larger than a pigeon, and is usually of a pure white, but is sometimes speckled. It is generally feathered to the toes, but may be bred with clean legs. It is very domestic, and a pleasant little bird around the premises, and is not unprofitable. The _Game cock_ is of medium weight, and yields good flesh, but is a poor layer, and an undesirable tenant for the farm-yard. Besides these, there are many fanciful varieties, as the _Creeper_, with excessively short legs; the _Rumpless_, without a tail; the _Frizzled_, with irregular feathers turned towards the head; the _Silky_ or _Merino_ fowl, with brown or buff down, instead of feathers; the _Negro_, with its black crest, wattles, skin, legs, and feathers; the _Java_ and _Cochin China_, of great size; several varieties of the _Top-knot_, and others. The Diseases of Hens. These are not numerous or complicated, and may be mostly avoided by proper treatment and food, which are indicated with sufficient minuteness in the foregoing observations. _Gapes_ or _Pip_ is generally owing to drinking unwholesome or dirty water. Remove the white blister on the tip of the tongue, and wash with sharp vinegar, diluted with warm water; or compel the bird to swallow a large lump of fresh butter, mixed with Scotch snuff. It has been cured by opening the mouth and forcing a pigeon feather, with a tuft of the feathers left on the end, (the others having been stripped off,) down the windpipe, and gently turning it as withdrawn, to be repeated the following day if necessary. This detaches large numbers of a slender red worm, collected in the larynx of the throat, which impedes respiration and swallowing. A little spirits of turpentine mixed with the food is a preventive; as are also clean, whitewashed premises, and good food. After these attacks, feed for a few days with light food, soaked bran and cabbage, or lettuce chopped fine. _Roup_, _Catarrh_, or _swelled head_, is shown by feverish symptoms, swollen eyelids, frequently terminating in blindness, rattling in the throat, and temporary strangulation. These are accompanied with a highly offensive watery discharge, from the mouth and nostrils, loss of appetite, and much thirst. They should be placed near the fire; their head bathed in warm Castile soap-suds, or milk and water. Stimulating food, as flour or barley-meal, mustard and grated ginger, mixed and forced down the throat, Boswell says, has been effectual in their speedy restoration. This, like many other diseases, is contagious, and when it appears, the bird should be at once separated from the flock. _Flux_ is cured by the yolk of an egg boiled hard; and boiled barley soaked in wine. _Costiveness_ is removed by giving bran and water with a little honey; or give a small dose of castor oil. _Vermin_ are destroyed by giving them clean sand and ashes to roll in, adding a little quicklime if necessary. _Entire cleanliness_ is necessary for the avoidance of this and other diseases. A perfectly dry range is also essential, nor should there be too many together, as this is a fruitful source of disease. THE TURKEY. This bird was unknown to the civilized world till the discovery of this Continent. It was found here both in its wild and domesticated state; and still occupies the whole range of the western hemisphere, though the wild turkey disappears as the country becomes settled. The wild is larger than the domesticated bird, sometimes weighing over 30 lbs. dressed. The color of the male is generally a greenish brown, approaching to black, and of a rich, changeable, metallic lustre. The hen is marked somewhat like the cock, but with duller hues. Domestication through successive generations dims the brilliancy of their plumage, and lessens their size and hardiness. It also produces a variety of colors, though they are mostly of a black, buff, pure white, or speckled. They give evidence of the comparative recency of their domestication, in the instinct which frequently impels the cock to brood and take care of the young. Nothing is more common than for the male bird to supply the place of the hen, when any accident befalls her, and to bring up a family of young chicks with an equally instinctive regard for their helplessness and safety. The flesh of this bird, both wild and tame, is exceedingly delicate and palatable; and though not possessing the high game flavor of some of the smaller wild-fowl, and especially of the aquatic, as the canvass-back duck, &c., it exceeds them in its digestibility and healthfulness. The turkey is useful principally for its flesh, as it seldom lays over a nest-full of eggs in one season, when they brood on these and bring up their young. If full-fed, and their first eggs are withdrawn from them, they frequently lay a second time. Breeding. Those intended for breeders should be compact, vigorous, and large, without being long-legged. They should be daily, yet lightly fed through the winter, on grain and roots, and some animal food is always acceptable and beneficial to them. They are small eaters, and without caution will soon get too fat. One vigorous male will suffice for a flock of 10 or 12 hens, and a single connection is sufficient for each. They begin to lay on the approach of warm weather, laying once a day, or every other day, till they have completed their litter; which in the young or indifferently fed, may be 10 or 12, and in the older ones, sometimes reaches 20. The hen is sly in secreting her nest, but usually selects a dry, well-protected place. She is an inveterate setter, and carefully hatches most of her eggs. The young may be allowed to remain for 24 hours without eating, then fed with hard-boiled eggs made fine, or crumbs of wheat bread. Boiled milk, curds, and buttermilk afford an excellent food. As they get stronger, oat or barley-meal is suitable, but Indian-meal, uncooked, is hurtful to them when quite young. They are very tender, and will bear neither cold nor wet, and it is of course necessary to confine the old one for the first few weeks. When able to shift for themselves, they may wander over the fields at pleasure; and from their great fondness for insects, they will rid the meadows of innumerable grasshoppers, bugs, and beetles, which often do incalculable damage to the farmer. Early chickens are sufficiently grown to fatten the latter part of autumn or the beginning of winter, which is easily done on any of the grains or boiled roots. Both are better for being cooked. They require a higher roosting-place than hens, and are impatient of too close confinement, preferring the ridge of a barn, or a lofty tree, to the circumscribed limits of the ordinary poultry-house. When rightly managed and fed, turkeys are subject to few maladies; and even these, careful attention will soon remove. THE PEACOCK AND GUINEA-HEN. The _Peacock_ is undoubtedly the most showy of the feathered race. It is a native of the southern part of Asia, and is still found wild in the islands of Java and Ceylon, and some parts of the interior of Africa. They are an ornament to the farm premises, and are useful in destroying reptiles, insects, and garbage; but they are quarrelsome in the poultry-yard, and destructive in the garden. Their flesh is coarse and dark, and they are worthless as layers. The brilliant silvery green and their ever-varying colors give place to an entire white, in one of the varieties. The _Guinea-hen_ is a native of Africa and the southern part of Asia, where it abounds in its wild state. Most of them are beautifully and uniformly speckled; but occasionally they are white on the breast, like the Pintados of the West India Islands, and some are entirely white. They are unceasingly garrulous; and their excessively pugnacious character renders them uncomfortable inmates with the other poultry. Their flesh, though high-colored, is delicate and palatable, but, like the peacock, they are indifferent layers. Both are natives of a warm climate, and the young are tender and rather difficult to rear. Neither of these birds is a general favorite, and we omit further notice of them. THE GOOSE. There are many varieties of the goose. Main enumerates twenty-two, most of which are wild; and the tame are again variously subdivided. The _common white_ and _gray_ are the most numerous and profitable. The _white Bremen_ is much larger, often weighing over 20 lbs. net. It is of a beautiful snowy plumage, is domestic and reared without difficulty, though not as prolific and hardy as the former. The _China Goose_ is smaller than the gray, and one of the most beautiful of the family, possessing much of the gracefulness and general appearance of the swan. It is prolific and tolerably hardy, but has not thus far been a successful rival with the first. The _Guinea_ or _African goose_ is the largest of the species, and equals the size of the swan, often dressing over 25 lbs. It is a majestic and graceful bird, and very ornamental to water scenery. Several other varieties are domesticated in the United States. Breeding. Geese pair frequently at one year old, and rear their young; but with some kinds, especially of the wild, this is deferred till two and sometimes three. They require a warm, dry place for their nests, and when undisturbed, they will sit steadily; and if the eggs have not been previously chilled or addled, they will generally hatch them all, if kept on the nest. To insure this, it is sometimes necessary to withdraw the first hatched, to prevent the old ones wandering before all are out. The young should be kept in a warm sheltered place till two or three weeks old, if the weather be cold or unsettled. The best food for the goslings, is barley or oat, or boiled Indian meal and bread. Milk is also good for them. They require green food, and are fond of lettuce, young clover, and fresh tender grass; and after a few weeks, if they have a free range on this, they will forage for themselves. Geese are not a profitable bird to raise, unless in places where they can procure their own subsistence, or at least during the greater part of the year. This they are enabled to do, wherever there are extensive commons of unpastured lands, or where there are streams or ponds, lakes or marshes with shoal sedgy banks. In these, they will live and fatten throughout the year, if unobstructed by ice. They may be fed on all kinds of grain and edible roots, but it is more economical to give them their food cooked. The well-fattened gosling affords one of the most savory dishes for the table. Geese live to a great age. They have been known to exceed 100 years. If allowed a free range on good food and clean water, they will seldom get diseased. When well fed, they yield nearly a pound of good feathers in a season, at three or four pluckings; and the largest varieties even exceed this quantity. DUCKS Are more hardy and independent of attention than the goose, and they are generally the most profitable. They are omnivorous, and greedily eat every thing which will afford them nourishment, though they seldom forage on the grasses like the goose, when they can procure other food. They are peculiarly carnivorous, and devour all kinds of meat, putrid or fresh; and are especially fond of fish, and such insects, worms, and other creeping things, as they can find imbedded in the mud or elsewhere. They will often distend their crop with young frogs, almost to the ordinary size of their bodies. Their indiscriminate appetite often renders them unfit for the table, unless fattened out of the reach of garbage and offensive matters. An English admiral used to resort to well-fattened rats for his fresh meat when at sea, and justified his taste by saying, they were more cleanly feeders than ducks, which were general favorites. The most profitable for domestic use, is undoubtedly the _common black duck_. They lay profusely in the spring, when well fed, often producing 40 or 50 eggs, and sometimes a greater number, if kept from setting. They are much larger than those of the hen, and equally rich and nourishing, but far less delicate. They are careless in their habits, and generally drop their eggs wherever they happen to be through the night, whether in the water, the road, or farm-yard; and as might be expected from such prodigality of character, they are indifferent setters and nurses. The _ducklings_ are better reared by setting the eggs under a sedate, experienced hen, as the longer time necessary for hatching, requires patience in the foster-mother to develop the young chick. They should be confined for a few days, and away from the water. At first they may be fed with bread, or pudding made from boiled oat, barley, or Indian meal; and they soon acquire strength and enterprise enough to shift for themselves, if afterwards supplied with pond or river water. They are fit for the table when fully grown, and well fattened on clean grain. This is more economically accomplished by feeding it cooked. _The varieties_ of ducks are almost innumerable. Main describes 31, and some naturalists number over 100. Besides the black duck above described, several others, as the _light gray_, the _white duck_, and some of the _tufted_, are prolific, hardy, and profitable. We omit further notice of other varieties; and of the swan, brant, pigeons, &c., as not profitable for general rearing, and only suited to ornamental grounds. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Page 49; Figure 14 caption: "Sessamoid" changed to "Sesamoid" (18. Sesamoid bones.) Page 59: "he" changed to "be" (effectual remedies for the removal of disease cannot be applied) Page 174: added missing open quotes ("Setons are sometimes useful ...) Page 215: "When-full fed" changed to "When full-fed" (When full-fed and denied all access to lime, ...) 
62537	----	Home Life in All Lands SIXTH IMPRESSION _HOME LIFE IN ALL LANDS_ _By CHARLES MORRIS_ BOOK I HOW THE WORLD LIVES "It is the most intimate, and gives us the best idea of the ordinary life of these strange people to whom our author introduces us. The volume is both interesting and valuable in an unusual degree. A capital book for school or home." --_The School Journal, New York._ _One hundred and twelve illustrations. 316 pages._ BOOK II MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF UNCIVILIZED PEOPLES "Excellent for school or home use. This volume deals with the manners and customs of uncivilized peoples. The illustrations are well chosen and the style is admirable."--_Providence Journal._ _One hundred illustrations. 322 pages._ BOOK III ANIMAL FRIENDS AND HELPERS _Fully illustrated. 340 pages._ J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA [Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums. Transport Elephants, Perak, Federated Malay States] HOME LIFE IN ALL LANDS BY CHARLES MORRIS Author of "Historical Tales," "History of the World," "History of the United States," etc. BOOK III. ANIMAL FRIENDS AND HELPERS _ILLUSTRATED_ [Illustration] PHILADELPHIA & LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA PREFACE In the earlier volumes of this series, man, as the maker of and dweller in the home, was dealt with in the varied aspects of his existence. But man is not the only occupant of the home. He has brought around him an interesting family of animals of great variety in form and habit, many of them kept as pets and companions, many aiding him in his sports and his labors, others supplying him with meat, milk, butter, eggs and other forms of food. It is a varied and active sub-family of the household, the barnyard and field with which we here propose to deal, its inmates varying in size from the lordly elephant to the busy bee, and in intelligence from the wide-awake dog to the stupid sheep, a multitude of running, flying, and swimming forms brought together from every domain of nature and serving man in a hundred ways. The full story of this wider family of the home would be a long one. These humbler animals have a life of their own as interesting in its way as that of man, their master and friend. We cannot tell it all in the small space at our command, but the little we have here brought together concerning the varieties and habits of our household animals must have some considerable degree of interest to readers. This is especially the case with the many stories that can be told of their powers of thought and special habits and modes of action, and the reader will find here many striking anecdotes of animal intelligence selected out of the multitude that are on record. The story of the whole animal kingdom is pleasing and instructive, and that of the domestic animals, those which have come under man's special care, is specially so, as it is hoped the readers of this work will discover. Illustrations have been secured from a large variety of sources, a number, picturing the rarer animals, being reproduced from "Chambers' Encyclopedia." CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I HOUSEHOLD PETS AND COMRADES 13 The Dog, Man's Faithful Friend 15 The Many Kinds of Dogs 19 Anecdotes of Dog Wit and Wisdom 29 The Cat, our Fireside Inmate 42 Other Four-Footed Pets 52 II OUR SINGLE-HOOFED HELPERS 61 The Horse in all Lands 63 Racer and Hunter 69 War-Horse and Working-Horse 74 The Horse Tamer 77 The Arab and His Horse 79 Anecdotes of the Horse 82 The Ass, Zebra, and Mule 86 III CLOVEN-HOOFED DRAUGHT ANIMALS 92 The Ox and Buffalo 94 The Lapland Reindeer 100 The Ship of the Desert 102 The Dromedary 107 The Llama and Alpaca 111 The Arctic Beast of Burden 113 The Elephant in Man's Service 117 Anecdotes of the Elephant 124 IV ANIMALS WHICH YIELD FOOD TO MAN 133 The Cattle of the Field 134 Milk-Giving Cows 136 Beef-Making Cattle 141 In the Bull Ring 145 The Wool-Clad Sheep 149 Wool Shearing and Weaving 156 The Bearded Goat 158 In the Pig-sty 165 V THE BIRDS OF THE POULTRY YARD 175 The Hen and its Brood 176 The Game-Cock and its Battles 182 The Web-Footed Duck and Goose 186 The Turkey and Guinea-Fowl 193 The Swan, an Image of Grace 199 The Proud and Gaudy Peacock 204 The Dove-Like Pigeon 207 The Ostrich and its Splendid Plumes 213 VI WINGED AND TUNEFUL HOME PETS 217 The Canary and its Song 218 The Marvellous Mocking Bird 222 Other Caged Songsters 224 The Parrot as a Talker 230 Other Talking Birds 236 VII OUR COUSIN, THE MONKEY 247 The Monkey as a Pet 248 How Monkeys Take Revenge 250 Imitation, a Monkey Trait 253 The Kinds of Monkeys 259 How Monkeys Teach Themselves 264 Anecdotes of the Ape 270 Feeling and Friendliness in the Monkey 273 VIII OTHER ANIMALS USED AS PETS 283 Pets of the Aquarium 286 Snake Charmers 289 The Mongoose and other Small Animals 297 Hawking or Falconry 309 IX WILD ANIMALS IN MAN'S SERVICE 317 The Dancing Bear 319 The Seal and the Alligator 323 The Stork, Cormorant, and Albatross 327 The Honey-Giving Bee 334 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Bird Dogs "Pointing" Partridges 16 Fox Cubs at Mouth of Den 18 Beagle Hound Chasing a Rat 21 Scottish Shepherd Dog Gathering His Flock 23 The St. Bernard Dog and His Friends 25 A Funny Quartette of Pekingese Puppies 28 Hounds Overtaking a Fox 32 The Dog Guardian. "Can You Talk" 35 A Dog Team Hauling Milk in Antwerp 37 Deerhound, Rossie Ralph 40 The Mother Cat and Her Playful Brood 42 The Canada Lynx, the House Cat's "Cousin" 45 Ready for Business 47 The Hungry Babes and Playful Kitten 51 Rabbits near Their Burrow 55 The Otter, One of Nature's Fishers 57 A Guinea-Pig. Pig Only by Name, not by Nature 58 Friends and Comrades 62 Rosa Bonheur's Famous Picture of the Horse Fair 64 Pure Bred Clydesdale Draft Horse 68 A Roman Chariot Race 70 Thoroughbred Racing Horse 72 Virginia Deer 74 A Logging Team with a Heavy Load 76 The Famous Arab Steeds and Desert Riders 80 A Pair of Prize Mules 86 Mexican Donkey Waiting for the Last Straw 87 The Striped Zebra of Africa 89 The Native Ox Cart of Delhi, India 93 Hauling Sugar Cane in Puerto Rico 95 The White Yak of the Asiatic Mountains 96 The American Bison alone on the Prairie 97 Cultivating Rice Field with the Chinese Ox. Hawaii 98 The Carabao 100 Herd of Reindeer 102 A Sahara Desert Scene 104 A Rug Laden Caravan 107 Camel Hauling Water 109 Yaks Picketed near Camp in India 110 A Llama Train Descending the Mountains of Peru 112 Dog Train Hauling Provision in Northern Canada 114 Alaskan Dog Team--The Winter Mail Carriers 116 Elephant Piling Lumber 120 A Military Elephant on Duty. India 122 A State Elephant of India with Howdah 130 Making Friends with a Guernsey Calf 134 Back to the Pasture After the Milking 138 The Holstein Cow, a Great Milk Giver 140 Ox Team and Native Cart, with Wooden Wheels 142 An Ox-Team on a Florida Plantation 145 Carting Manila Hemp. Philippine Islands 147 Moose in Harness 148 Cattle and Sheep of the Scottish Highlands 152 The Merino Ram, the Great Wool Bearer 155 The Alpine Ibex 160 Milk Goats in the Alps 162 A Pair of Angora Goats 164 The Wart Hog 167 A Fat Berkshire Hog 170 The Razor-back Hog of the South 173 Animals of the Farm and Poultry Yard 174 Feeding the Chickens in the Farm-yard 177 English Dorking Cock and Hen 181 Willie and His Pet Ducks 187 An Assault by Hungry Geese 190 Gander Hissing at an Enemy 192 Driving Turkeys to Market 197 The Black Swan of Australia 201 The Graceful White Swan Swimming 203 The Peacock, the Most Gorgeous of Home Birds 205 Pigeon Types. Carrier and Short Faced Tumbler 212 On a California Ostrich Farm 215 The Mocking Bird 223 The White-Faced Parrot 231 A Gray Parrot on His Perch 235 The Starling 242 Feeding Monkeys at the Zoölogical Garden 252 A Pair of Midget Donkeys 258 The Orang Outang in the Hands of His Keeper 265 An Afternoon Chat 276 The Fantail 287 Hindu Snake Charmers with the Deadly Cobras 294 The Mongoose 298 The Common Hedgehog with His Battery of Spines 303 The Three-banded Armadillo 305 A Friendly Gray Squirrel 307 A Hooded Peregrine Falcon 310 Leg and Foot of Falcon Showing Fastening 314 Grizzly Bear Cub 320 The Harp-seal Afloat on the Ice 324 The Savage Florida Alligator 326 The Stork in Its Feeding Grounds 329 The Cormorant, the Fishing Bird of China 331 The Albatross Swooping Over the Ocean Waves 333 An Opened Bee Hive Showing the Clustering Bees 336 HOME LIFE IN ALL LANDS I HOUSEHOLD PETS AND COMRADES How few of us can go into the house without their coming to meet us: the frisky dog, with its wagging tail; the sleek and soft-footed cat, with its mellow purr. On her swinging perch sits mistress parrot, greeting us with her noisy "Polly wants a cracker." In its gilded cage flirts the golden-hued canary, singing loudly to bid us welcome. They give life and joy to the most rustic home, these pets of the household, our glad though humble friends and guests. If we go out of the house into the stable-yard or the pasture-field we meet others of them: the noble horse, the patient and docile cow, the woolly sheep, the sturdy goat. In the poultry-yard still others meet us: the cackling hen, proud of her new-laid egg; the crowing rooster, the quacking duck, the gracefully swimming goose or swan, the peacock with its splendid tail, even the buzzing bee, flying home laden with wax and honey. If all our human friends should desert us, the dog would cling to us still. Carlo's faith and trust were true in all the ills of life. The ragged beggar finds a loving friend in his dog. Roger the dog may be as ragged and forlorn as tramping Joe, his master; he may be a shabby mongrel of the worst breed, but a true heart beats under his rusty hide, and he will love and follow his rambling master through thick and thin. It is the same with our petted horse, which greets us with a glad neigh and loves to kiss our hand or face with its soft muzzle. Almost any animal that we make a pet of will repay us with its love and trust, though least of all the cat, which has kept half wild through centuries of taming. But of course we cannot say this of all cats; we must give Tabby credit for some of the spirit of affection under her smooth fur, though as a rule she loves places more than she does persons and is apt to be the most independent member of the household. If we go abroad into the wilds and woods, what shall we find there? Living creatures still, multitudes of them, but all ready to flee or fly from man. They fear him and do not trust him. If strong and fierce enough they will rush upon him instead of from him and try to kill this two-legged creature who so often tries to kill them. But look closer and you will find that many of these wild animals are near relatives of those that man has tamed. The fierce wolf and cunning fox are cousins of the trusty dog; the terrible lion and tiger belong to the same family as the cat we fondle in our laps; the zebra which no man can tame is not far away in family tree from the faithful horse. Very many more of these animals might have been tamed if man had cared to do so. But he picked out those that pleased him most or that he could make the best use of and left the others to their wild ways. Now you may see what we are here to talk about. It is our purpose to set out on a home journey, one that starts from the kitchen or the parlor of the house and goes no farther than the outer fence of the farm--if we are lucky enough to have a farm. We are not making this home trip to call on anybody like ourselves. We are setting out to visit the cattle and sheep in their pasture-fields, the horses in their stalls, the poultry in their yards, the pig in his pen, and have a quiet talk about what we find there. And at the same time we must have our say about the dog that follows us in our round, and seems to fancy himself one of ourselves rather than one of those we are proposing to call upon. He thinks himself "folks," does master doggy. Let us take him at his own measure and deal with him first, of all. THE DOG, MAN'S FAITHFUL FRIEND Where did the dog come from and how long has he made man his companion? These are questions not easy to answer. Almost ever since there has been a man there has been a dog to follow at his heels and aid him in his sports. If we go back far before the beginning of history we find the bones of man and dog in the same grave. And it is a strange thing that thousands of years ago there were the same kinds of dogs we see about us to-day. [Illustration: Bird Dogs "Pointing" Partridges] How do we know this, you ask? Why, four or five thousand years ago the people of Egypt kept dogs, just as we do, and thought so much of them as to draw pictures of them on the walls of their tombs. If you should visit these tombs, cut deep into the rocks, you would see here the picture of a greyhound, farther on a kind of terrier, still farther one of a wolf-dog, all looking much like our own dogs. So in ancient Assyria we find images of watch-dogs and hunting-dogs, much like our mastiff and greyhound. Thus, go back as far as we please in the story of human life, man's faithful friend keeps everywhere with him. Where did he come from? That is another part of our question. We all know that the dog's forefathers must have been wild animals, hunters and meat-eaters, which were tamed by man and made his comrades. There are plenty of these wild animals still, wolves we call them, fierce hunting creatures that run down smaller animals and kill them for food. They do not bark like the dog, but they are like it in many ways. Barking is a new form of speech learned by the civilized dog. It is the dog's trade mark. Wise men who have made a study of the dog are sure he began as a wolf, and some dogs have not yet got far away from the wolf. Have any of you ever seen an Eskimo dog, the kind that drags the sleds of travellers over the Arctic ice? If you have, you have looked upon a half-civilized creature that is as much wolf as dog. It will work well--under the whip; but its great delight is an all-round fight, and if hungry its master is not safe from its sharp teeth. In fact, the dogs kept by savage and barbarian people look much like the wolves of the country around them. Thus the dogs kept by the Indian tribes of our land are so much like the wolves found in the same regions that it is not easy to tell them apart. In southern Asia and parts of Africa is a wild animal called the jackal. It is smaller than the wolf, but belongs to the same family and seems to come half way between the wolf and the fox. It is fairly certain that some of the dogs of India and other countries are tamed jackals. The jackal is easy to tame, and a tamed jackal will wag its tail and crouch before its master just like a dog. [Illustration: Fox Cubs at Mouth of Den. Observe Their Vigilant and Alert Outlook] We begin now to see where man found the dog. He seems in very early times to have tamed the wolves and jackals around him, fed them, won their love by kindness, and taught them to do many new things. The wolves hunt in packs just as dogs do, and they are very expert in taking their prey. It is the same with the jackals. They hunt in packs like the wolves and are very shrewd and cunning. These wild animals are fierce, but so are many dogs, though in most cases the fierceness has been tamed out of our house dogs. THE MANY KINDS OF DOGS Any of us who go into a dog show might almost fancy ourselves in a zoological garden, for we seem to be in the midst of a multitude of different animals. It is hard to believe that the fluffy little Lapdog, not much bigger than a well-grown rat, belongs to the same family as the Great Dane, as tall as a pony and strong as a leopard. The same is the case if we bring together the slender and graceful Greyhound and the sturdy Mastiff; or compare the Collie with the Terrier or the Spaniel; or the ugly Bulldog or funny Pug with the long-headed Foxhound; or the hairy Poodle or Skye Terrier with the many short-haired breeds. Nearly ten times as numerous as the letters of the alphabet, the dogs bewilder us with their variety, and it is not easy to believe that they all belong to the same family. Yet this is the case; they are all dogs, big and little, stout and slender, hairy or hairless alike, all one in their general make-up and their habits. It is very likely, indeed, that they came from several species of wolves and jackals, yet there are certain traits of doggishness that belong to them all. Shall we not fancy ourselves really in a dog show and walk around and look at the variety of dogs to be seen! We cannot name them all, there are too many of them, but we may take a quick glance at the prize dogs in the show. It is common to divide them into groups, such as hunting dogs, working dogs, watch dogs, sheep dogs, and toy dogs. Of hunting-dogs there are many kinds, including the various hounds, such as the Bloodhound, Staghound, Foxhound, Greyhound, and others. These either have fine powers of scent or are splendid runners, so that few kinds of game can escape them. The Bloodhound has very acute scent and has long been known as a hunter of men. In the past it was used to hunt fugitives from justice and in our times has been often put on the track of runaway slaves. The Foxhound has long been used in the sport of chasing the fox, large packs of them being kept in England and this country for that purpose. The Harrier, a smaller hound, is used in hunting the hare. Still smaller is the Beagle, the smallest of the hounds, but with the finest power of scent. It is a slow runner, but will keep it up for hours at a time, and seldom fails to bring down its game. Other hunting-dogs are the Pointer and Setter, the friends of the gunner. The Pointer is so called from its habit of standing fixed when it scents game, while the Setter crouches down when the scent of game is in the air. The Spaniel is another hunting dog, much liked by sportsmen. It is a beautiful dog, with very long ears and wavy and beautiful hair, red and white in color. It is fond of swimming and knows well the art of fish-catching. [Illustration: Beagle Hound Chasing a Rat] Working dogs include such kinds as the Eskimo dogs, that drag the sleds of the Eskimos and of polar explorers, and the dogs of Kamtchatka, swift, powerful animals, used for the same purpose. You have very likely read about the working dogs of Holland, which are used to pull the milk-carts of their masters. Then there is the turnspit, much used in past times to turn the spit when meat was roasting before the fire. In our days there is no use for the turnspit, and not many dogs are made to work for their living. On the whole the dog is something of an aristocrat, ready for sport, keen on the watch, but not overly fond of work. We cannot for a moment lose sight of the Sheep Dog, the Collie, as it is called in Scotland, a shaggy, wide-awake fellow, who takes better care of a flock of sheep than most men could do. He lives with the sheep, gathers them from the hills and brings them to the sheepfold when needed, and will let no prowler meddle with the woolly beasts under his care. The stranger who comes near the flock must be careful how he acts, if he does not wish to feel the collie's sharp teeth. That alert sentinel knows his duty and will stand no nonsense. There are many varieties of the sheep dog. In Asia they have often to fight for their flocks with wild beasts and robbers, and are very strong and fierce. Some of them are shaggy, wolf-like brutes, nearly as large as a Newfoundland dog and not afraid of the biggest wolf. Dogs like these are also kept in some parts of Europe. Wise and sharp-witted creatures are the sheep-dogs, knowing and doing their business well. At a word or even a look from its master the collie will scour around the hills and dales for miles, rounding up and bringing the scattered sheep to one place. And in or after the heavy snow-storms of the Scotch Highlands a dog is often worth a dozen men in saving its master's flocks. [Illustration: Scottish Shepherd Dog Gathering His Flock] Then there is the Drover's Dog or Cur, belonging to the same family, black and white in color, used in driving sheep and cattle to the city markets and well trained in the art of doing this. The sheep dogs of South America are fine animals. Large flocks are kept there and left alone in the care of these four-footed keepers. Darwin, who often saw them, says: "When riding it is a common thing to meet a large flock of sheep, guarded by one or two dogs, at the distance of some miles from any house or man. It is amusing to observe, when approaching a flock, how the dog advances barking, and the sheep all close in his rear as if round the oldest ram." Now let us take a look at the Watch Dogs, those that take charge of their master's house, or follow him in his walks, ready to fight for him whether he goes out or stays in, and to act as a sentinel or guard of honor for him at all times. The Mastiff is one of the well-known house guards, a great, strong, faithful sentinel, with heavy head and powerful limbs, bold enough to fight a bear or even a lion. The British mastiff is good-natured and will even let children play with him and tease him, but when kept tied up he often grows surly and dangerous to strangers. There is a mastiff kept in Tibet which is larger than the British one and attacks strangers as fiercely as a wolf would do. Coming a step down we meet the Bulldog, smaller than the mastiff, and looking sour and surly enough to scare any child. Its face is twisted into an ugly scowl, and its jaws are like bars of iron. When it gets its teeth into any animal nothing can make it let go. You may burn it with hot irons and it will hold on still. We may pity any one, man or beast, in whom this black bunch of obstinacy sets its teeth. It knows well how to take hold, but not how to let go. Coming another step down we see before us the Pug, a queer little house pet, which somehow is born with the bulldog's face but is as timid and good-natured as the other is fierce and surly. He is a funny little brute, ugly enough to turn milk sour. Yet with all his ugliness he finds loving friends. [Illustration: The St. Bernard Dog and His Friends] Among the large watch dogs are the sturdy Newfoundland, which is well known to us all, the splendid, erect fellow called the Great Dane, and the noble St. Bernard, kept by the monks of the Alps to seek for and save travellers who have been lost on the mountain paths or in the deep snows. When a sudden snow-storm comes on two of these powerful dogs are sent out together, one with a flask of strong drink hanging from its neck, the other with a cloak for the freezing wayfarer to put on. If the traveller has lost his way they guide him to the convent. If he has fallen and been covered by the snow, they trace him by their keen power of scent, dig the snow away, and bring the monks by their loud barking, which can be heard for a long distance in the clear mountain air. Many of you must have seen the Dalmatian coach-dog. A handsome animal it is, white in color, but well marked with round black spots. It is not fit for hunting, for its scent is not good, but it is a welcome companion when one is out on foot, on horseback, or in his coach or carriage. Lively, clean and kindly, very active and fond of running, it makes an excellent comrade for the walker or rider. We cannot give the names of all the dogs. There are too many of them. But it will not do to pass by the smaller ones, those used for sport or for house service. Chief among the small sporting breeds are the active Terriers, all of them brave, alert and quick in motion. These are used in hunting such small prey as the otter, the badger, the weasel and the rat. To see one of them at work in a room full of rats is to look upon a living flash of lightning. A single Rat Terrier has been known to kill a hundred rats, collected in one room, in seven minutes, one quick bite putting each rat out of business. There are several kinds of Terriers. One of them is the Dandie Dinmont, spoken of by Sir Walter Scott in his novels, a beautiful little dog belonging to Scotland. Then there is the favorite Skye Terrier, of the same country, with its very long body and short legs, half buried in its own hair. Between the Fox Terrier and the Bulldog, comes the Bull Terrier, having in it something of both its parents and able to fight as savagely as the Bulldog itself. These are the big and the medium sized dogs, but there are many smaller ones, used as pets and some so small as to be only a size larger than the full-grown rat. These are the toy animals, pocket editions of their breeds, many of them only fit for ladies' pets, to be fed and fondled and taken out in coach or carriage for an airing. They include the Poodles, Terriers and Spaniels, the larger ones good for the hunting field, the smaller fit only for the parlor. Of the Pug, with its ugly mug, we have already spoken, and may pass on to the spaniels, often charming little playmates. There are field spaniels and toy spaniels, the field dogs being good hunters and the water-spaniels fine swimmers. The toy spaniels are very different from the hunters and only fit to be fed and fondled. They include the pretty King Charles, glossy black in color, the Prince Charles, white with black-and-tan markings, the red and white Blenheim and the red Ruby Spaniel. There are other breeds, a popular one being the Japanese Spaniel. The toy spaniel should not weigh more than ten pounds and have a short, turned-up face like a pug. With their long coats and small size they are fit only for pets, but are very bright and cheery little creatures. [Illustration: Courtesy of Mrs. A. R. Bauman A Funny Quartette of Pekingese Puppies] The Poodles may also be divided into the hunting and the pet dogs. They are fleecy fellows, often with so thick a coat of hair that it is not easy to tell where poodle begins and coat ends. The most handsome of them is the large black Russian Poodle, well fitted for use in the hunting field. The small white poodle is only fit for a house pet, but it is a very clever one and can easily be taught tricks of various kinds. It has long been the fashion to trim the poodle's coat in an odd fashion, shaving it all off from the body and hind-quarters except a few scattered tufts, but leaving it very long and thick on the shoulders. Very likely the poodle himself does not like to be made such a show of, especially if there is any bite in the air. Those who have any feeling for their dogs let the hair grow in the winter and trim it only in the warm season. As there are toy spaniels, so there are toy terriers, among them the pretty little Black and Tan and the lovely little Maltese, with a white coat as soft as floss silk and long enough to touch the ground. These toy terriers are scarcely a handful in size, some of them weighing not more than three pounds. Then there is the graceful and beautiful Italian Greyhound; of about eight pounds weight, with soft and glossy coat, fawn and cream colored, and in every way an elegant little creature. ANECDOTES OF DOG WIT AND WISDOM What could we do without the dog? There are many other animals made use of by man, but the dog, his faithful friend and companion, stands first of all. It not only aids him in his sports, but clings to him in all the affairs of life, and has been known to lie down and die on its master's grave, not willing to leave him even after death. Not only faithful and loving is the dog, not only fond of play and sport, but it has a very good brain of its own and is one of the smartest of all the animals. If it could only talk we would find that a great deal goes on inside its little thinking organ. How wisely it will at times look up in our faces, as if to say, "If I could only speak I could tell you many things worth listening to." But can dogs think? some of you ask. I am sure that most of you who keep dogs could answer this question for yourselves. Certainly dogs very often do things that look much like thinking. There are hundreds of anecdotes telling us of wise things done by dogs and I propose to tell you some of these. I think you will find that they answer your question. I am sure that most of you could tell me of some clever dog doings. Here are some that seem worth telling. A farmer friend of mine long ago told me of some curious things done by a dog of his. He had a bell hung on a post in his yard, with a rope coming down from it. He would ring it in the early morning to rouse up the farm hands for their day's work. One morning he was surprised to hear the bell ring very early, but no one could tell him who had rung it. The next morning it rang again. He sprang from bed and looked out the window to find that his dog was the culprit. It had the rope in its teeth and was pulling away like an able bell-ringer. The little chap was lonely and wanted company; he had often seen the men troop out on the ringing of the bell; so he put two and two together and rang the bell himself. The farmer had to hang up the rope out of reach to put an end to this doggish trick. The same dog had a great fancy for riding in a carriage of his own, and when one of the men drove up to the door with his cart, and left the horse standing while he went into the house for orders, doggy would bark and bite at the horse's shins until he set him in motion, and then would jump into the cart for a free ride. He was "only a dog," but he knew how to get what he wanted, and he looked proud enough as he stood with his feet on the front of the cart, as if he owned all the world he could see. Another friend tells me that, when a country boy, he had to go a mile or two every morning to the post office for letters and papers, his dog keeping him company. On one morning there was nothing for him and he started back empty handed. But the dog refused to follow. It seated itself on the post-office steps and would not budge. He tried in various ways to make it come, but in spite of all he could do back it would go to those steps and seat itself as before. The boy was at his wits' end. At last the thought came to him of what ailed the obstinate brute. He took a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up and at once the dog came running up, frisking about him gladly. If it could have spoken it would have said something like this: "You and I were sent to bring the papers. If you choose to go home without them I do not. I know my duty better than that." [Illustration: Hounds Overtaking a Fox] The story has often been told that dogs which have been in the habit of eagerly following their masters on their week-day walks, will not stir on Sundays. They seem to know from past experience that they are not welcome on that day. Do these creatures count the days of the week and know in that way when Sunday comes? Or is there something in the dress of the family, the sound of church-bells in the air, or other indications to tell them that this is a day set aside from doggish sports and duties? All I can say in the matter is that a village friend of mine, whose church was too far away for the bells to be heard, had a dog of this kind, that ran friskily up to go out with him every morning but Sunday, when it would not stir from its rug. To test the animal he on several occasions came downstairs in his week-day clothes and went about in his week-day manner. But the wise creature was not to be fooled. It looked at him lazily and lay still, its looks seeming to say, "I can count as well as you and I know this is Sunday. You can't fool me with your old clothes." You may see that I am not going abroad for my stories. These are not anecdotes taken from books, but little matters told me by friends. The book stories, no doubt, are better, but these are fresher. Here are one or two that I have heard of a different kind, tales which go to show the faithfulness of the watch-dog. One of these is of a gentleman who went out one day, leaving his dog locked in the house. On his return in the evening he found that he had forgotten his key and could not get into the house by the front door. He tried the other doors and windows and at last found an open window into which he tried to climb. But so savage a bark came from the care-keeper inside that he backed out again in a hurry. "Don't you know me, Carlo?" he said, in a coaxing tone. Carlo knew him well enough and came with wagging tail to the window to be caressed by its master's hand. But the instant he tried again to climb in the animal's attitude changed and it became the fierce watch-dog again. Try as he would, Carlo simply would not let him come into the house in that way. It was the burglar's route, and even if this man were his master he had no right to take it. In the end the baffled gentleman had to give up the attempt and leave Carlo lord of the premises. The faithful watch-dog knew not master or man when it came to a question of duty. Now let me speak of a dog that had a different sense of duty. It belonged to a cousin of mine and when left in charge of the house in the absence of its mistress was quite willing to let visitors enter and seemed very glad to see them. The trouble began when they tried to go out. This the dog would not permit. It was ready to attack them with teeth and claws if they tried it. "Here you are and here you stay till my mistress comes home," its attitude seemed to say. "Your coming may be all right, but that is for the lady of the house to decide, and you shall not go a step until she returns." Dogs cannot talk, that we all know very well. It is true that there is at present a dog in Germany which has been taught to speak a number of words, in a way that makes it easy to understand them. But no one fancies that even this dog will ever become a good and ready talker. Yet it is well known that dogs can understand human speech and sometimes very well. [Illustration: The Dog Guardian. "Can You Talk?"] Thus a friend of mine comes home at night, after a day's hard work, flings himself lazily on the sofa, and says to a visitor: "If Jim there knew enough I would ask him to go upstairs for my slippers." Jim, the dog, who has been lying in easy content on his favorite spot, at once gets up, stretches himself, and trots off up stairs, coming back in a few minutes with a slipper in his mouth. Off he trots again and comes back with the other, then lies down once more with an air of satisfaction. This is an actual incident. Very likely the word "slippers," joined with his own name, was the key-note to the dog's action. The two words were enough to tell him what was wanted. Dozens of incidents of this kind might be given. Here is a good one that has so often been told that many of you may have read it. A sheep-dog in a Highland cottage was lying one day before the fire while his master, a shepherd, was talking with a neighbor. He wished to show his friend how quick-witted a dog he had, and while talking about a different matter, said in a quiet tone, "I'm thinking, sir, the cow's got into the potatoes." The dog, which had seemed asleep, at once jumped up, leaped through the open window and scrambled to the cottage roof. Here it could see the potato field. As no cow was there, the dog ran to the farm-yard, where it found the animal it sought. It then came back to the house, and quietly lay down again. Some time later the shepherd said the same words and the dog sprang up and went out again. But when the words were repeated a third time the wise creature came up to its master with wagging tail, and looked into his face with so comical an expression that the talkers broke out into a loud laugh. Then with a slight growl, the dog laid down again on the hearth rug with an offended air, as if saying to itself, "You shall not make a fool of me again." [Illustration: A Dog Team Hauling Milk in Antwerp] This is one of the stock stories of dog wit. Many others like it might be told. There is no doubt that dogs have ways of making their dog friends know things they would like to have done. Many stories could be given to prove this, but most of them are too long to be told here. Thus we are told of dogs that have got the worst of it in a fight seeking a stronger friend, telling their story in their own way, and the two going out together to whip the whipper. Dogs have their feelings, too, and can easily be insulted. "Low life" dogs are so used to being cuffed and kicked that a kick does not hurt their feelings, though it may their flesh. But "high life" dogs are apt to be very delicate in their feelings, and the mere touch of a whip hurts their pride deeply. Here is a story of a Skye terrier that went out every day for a walk in the park with its master's brother. One day when it hung back to amuse itself with another dog the gentleman, to induce it to follow, struck it with his glove. The terrier looked up with an air of anger and dignity, turned round and trotted off home. The next day it went out again, but after a short walk it looked up into the man's face, turned on its heels, and trotted back once more with an air of great dignity. Having thus made its protest, it would never go out with him again. Here is another case, having to do this time with unjust treatment instead of offended pride. Arago, the famous French scientist, was once detained by a storm at a country inn, and stood warming himself by the kitchen fire while the innkeeper roasted a fowl for his dinner. Having put the fowl on the spit over the fire, the innkeeper tried to catch a turnspit dog lying in the kitchen and put him in the wheel by which the spit was turned. But the dog would not enter the spit, got under a table, and showed fight. When Arago asked what made it act that way, the host said that the dog was right, it was not its turn but that of its companion, then out of the room. The other turnspit was sent for, entered the wheel at once and turned away willingly. When the fowl was half done Arago took this dog out and the other dog now readily took his turn. He had fought for right and justice and had won. We must stop here. The stories told about the intelligence of dogs are so many and of such different kinds that they would more than fill this book if all were told. We have picked out a few of some kinds. There are other kinds. Thus dogs do not like to be laughed at. They have also some sense of humor and will try to play tricks on their masters. They have a sense of shame and will slink away when caught at some act of which they should be ashamed. And there are thieves among them that will steal in a very skilful manner. Thus sheep-killing dogs are very cunning at hiding the evidence of their nightly raids in the sheep-field. I cannot leave the dog without quoting Senator Vest's fine words of praise of this noble animal. They may be viewed as a classic tribute to the dog. They were spoken in a law-suit in which the Senator was acting for a party whose dog had been killed. It was "only a dog," said the other lawyer. Here is what Senator Vest said to the jury: "Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him. His son and daughter whom he has reared with loving care may become ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their trust. The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from him when he may need it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees and do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend a man may have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is the dog." [Illustration: Deerhound, Rossie Ralph] "A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground when winter winds blow and snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounters with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains; when riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast into the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger, to fight against his enemies. And, when the last scene of all comes and death takes his master in its embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground; no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even unto death." The claim for the loss of the dog had been $200, but when the jury heard this just and masterly tribute to the dog they gave a verdict of $500. Well they knew that every word of it was true. THE CAT, OUR FIRESIDE INMATE When the sun has left the sky and night flings its dusky cloak over all things out-of-doors, then within the house we draw the curtain, light the lamp, and gather round the study table with books or games. And soon from her fireside nook steals up soft-footed puss, seeking a friendly lap in which she may nestle and purr the hours away. [Illustration: From Trueblood's Cats by the Way The Mother Cat and Her Playful Brood] This bundle of fur we call by the short name of cat was born in other climes and trained in other ways than the dog, and is as sly and sleek as the dog is rough and boisterous. It knows how to make itself at home and dearly loves a soft spot, but it has never quite got rid of its wild-life ways and is often as hard to make a friend of as the dog is easy. Rarely does it follow at man's heels in the dog's faithful fashion. When did man first take the cat into his house and make it one of his pets? That is hard to say. If we go back to the early days of civilization we find the cat an inmate of man's house as well as the dog, and quite as much at home. It was kept in Egypt several thousand years ago and thought so much of in those far-off days as to leave the dog almost out of sight. The people of that old land loved and worshiped the cat, made it into a mummy when it died, and any one who killed a cat was punished as if he had committed a great crime. That was the golden age of the cat, for one of the goddesses was said to have a cat's head, and the cat had a sacred city of its own, the city of Bubastis, where a festival in its honor was held every year and attended by more than half a million of people. The people of Greece and Rome also thought much of the cat--perhaps because it helped them to get rid of the rat, which was as great a pest then as it is now. In later Europe also the cat was a favorite, and it was the custom at Aix, in Provence, to get the finest male cat that could be found, dress it like a baby, and seat it in a splendid arm-chair for the people to bow down to and worship. The time came at length when the cat lost its good name and people began to look upon it as an imp of evil and the companion of the witch and the sorcerer. A black cat was the worst of all and its life was a hard one. In those evil days for the cat it became the fashion to fling cats from the tops of high towers, and at Metz, at the festival of St. John, cats were thrown by the dozen into a blazing fire and burned alive. But better days have now come to pretty puss, and she is cared for as much as the dog, making the house her nest while the dog lives largely out-of-doors. It is chiefly at the late hours of the night that the cat goes abroad. I need not tell any of you what follows. You have all heard the music of a cat concert and felt as if you would like to treat those midnight howlers as the witch-cats were treated of old. Caterwauling we call it, and of all the noises of the night it is far the worst. Where did the cat come from? That no one can tell exactly. There are wild cats in many parts of the world, we find them in Asia, in Europe, in Africa, in America, but none of them just like our household cat. The fact is that cats differ in different parts of the world and they may have come from several species. The Gloved Cat of Nubia comes nearest to the house cat in size and the shape of the head and tail, but in other ways is unlike it. So, on the whole, we are still in the dark about the origin of the cat. One thing we do know, and this is that the cat has kept more of its wild ways than the dog. In its nightly rambles it is like the wild-cat of the woods. And even in the house it is a little too ready to show its claws. It will scratch where a dog would not think of biting. It is said that the cat loves places much more than it does people, and in moving from one house to another it is hard to get the cat away. It loves its old haunts more than its old friends. The cat walks on its toes like the lion and tiger and all its other wild relations. But its claws do not touch the ground. They are drawn up into a sort of sheath and kept sharp for use as a soldier keeps his sword sharp in its scabbard. The paws being covered with fur, its step is silent and its movements are quiet and cautious, as many a mouse has found out. [Illustration: The Canada Lynx, the House Cat's "Cousin"] We might not care so much for the cat if it were not of use to us in killing those pests of the house, the rat and the mouse. No matter how well fed she is, pussy dearly loves her mouse, and if on the track of one she is not to be turned aside. She will crouch for an hour at a time watching a mouse-hole, never moving a hair until the victim appears; then a single bound and all is over for the little creature. Even if the cat is asleep, no mouse can pass it with safety. Its ears and nose do not seem to sleep. Once caught, the mouse is played with in a manner that seems cruel to us. The cat makes a game of letting its prey run away, but takes good care it does not reach its hole. This, no doubt, is one of its wild traits, handed down from its ancestors and never tamed out of it. We are told by one observer that a cat will catch and eat twenty mice in a day--this, of course, where mice are plentiful. But when a cat gets a taste for poultry or rabbits it is spoiled as a mouser. And though it is said that cats do not like to get wet, their fondness for fish is greater than their dread of water and they have been known to go fishing in a stream. It is not easy to make a treaty of peace between the cat and the dog. Do they hate each other or are they jealous of their position in the house? The cat is not a match for the dog and makes haste to get away from the chasing cur, yet when driven into a corner it will put up a good fight for its life, and many a dog has been sent yelping away from its sharp claws. But this state of warfare does not always exist and it is not uncommon for cats and dogs to live together on friendly terms. [Illustration: Lippincott's Primer Ready for Business] If we go around the world we shall find cats everywhere and of many kinds. There are not nearly so many varieties of them as there are of dogs and they do not vary much in size like dogs, yet some breeds of cats differ greatly from others. Thus the cats from the Isle of Man--Manx cats they are called--have no tails, while their hind legs are very long and strong and they are covered with a thick coat of fur instead of hair. Let us compare this with the showy Angora cat, with its tail like a great white plume and its long white hair. And they differ as much in character, for the Manx is a hardy animal and the Angora is a delicate parlor cat, its health needing to be carefully looked after. Then there are the Malay cat, with a tail only half the full length; the royal Siamese cat, fawn colored, with blue eyes and small head; the Carthusian, with long, dark, grayish-blue fur; the South African, with red stripes along its back; the Cyprus, striped and very tall, and the handsome Persian cat with its long silky hair. As races are apt to be mixed, cat fanciers make color their chief point of value. The principal colors are white, black, blue, blue-gray, smoke-color, orange, and tortoise-shell. A true tortoise-shell tom-cat brings a big price. The color of the eyes is very important. Blue eyes are a sign of deafness. Some white cats have red eyes. As for the hair, cats are divided into two classes, the long-haired and the short-haired, the Persian and Angora being notable for the length of their hair. Most common among our cats is the soot-colored or gray, known as the "tabby," which has black stripes going round its legs, neck, and tail, and also down its sides. These show a return to the wild-cat in color, though tabby is as tame as her rivals. The cat is not lacking in brain power nor in affection, for in many cases it shows warm love for its mistress. There are various anecdotes of cat logic, of which a few may be told. When crumbs have been thrown out to feed the birds a cat will often hide in the shrubbery, waiting for a chance to spring on them as they feed. One writer speaks of a case where the cat went farther in its logic. The crumbs thrown out had been covered by a light fall of snow, and the cat was seen scratching the snow away. Then she took up the crumbs, laid them on the snow, and hid behind the bushes to wait for the hungry birds. A cat trick which shows good reasoning power has often been seen, that of opening latched doors, a thing which dogs very rarely do. Thus a cat will spring from the ground, catch the latch handle with one paw and with the other pull down the thumb-piece, at the same time scratching with its hind paws at the door post to open the door. The cat that does this must have seen men pull down the latch for the same purpose and reasoned out that it could do the same. Also there are cases of cats learning to sound knockers and ring bells, with no one to teach them. Thus a Mr. Belshaw writes: "I was sitting in one of the rooms on my first evening there, and hearing a loud knock at the front door was told not to heed it, as it was only the kitten asking for entrance. Not believing this, I watched for myself, and very soon saw the kitten jump up to the door, hang on by one leg, and put the other forepaw right through the knocker and rap twice." Here the cat is not trying to open the door herself, but to bring some one to open it for her. Dogs have been known to do the same thing, but not so often as cats, and there is a story of a dog which had seen the cat do this, and after that sought the cat when he wanted to get in, without trying to do the trick himself. One story is told of a cat's ringing a bell by pulling at an exposed wire. Though the cat's display of thought is not as varied as the dog's, it is very good so far as it goes. Here is a story of a different kind. An oil lamp was being trimmed and some of the oil fell on the cat's back. Afterwards a cinder from the fire fell on it and set it in a blaze. The animal at once sprang for the open door and ran up the street with her back blazing for about a hundred yards. Here was the village watering trough, into which she plunged and put out the fire. 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. In this case it is plain that the animal, as soon as the fire scorched her back, knew very well how to deal with the danger. After all this, who will say that a cat does not think? Here is another story, told of her cat by a London lady: "I once had a cat which always sat up to the dinner-table with me, and had his napkin round his neck and his plate and some fish. He used his paw, of course; but he was very particular and behaved with extraordinary decorum. When he had finished his fish I sometimes gave him a piece of mine. One day he was not to be found when the dinner-bell rang, so we began without him. Just as the plates were being put round for the entrée puss came rushing upstairs with two mice in his mouth. Before he could be stopped he dropped a mouse on to his own plate and then one on to mine. He divided his dinner with me as I divided mine with him." [Illustration: The Hungry Babes and Playful Kitten] Such is the cat, a sedate, warmth-loving creature, dearly loving to be petted, yet far less dependent on man or woman than the dog. If left to itself in the woods, the cat knows well how to take care of itself where a dog would often be helpless. As for love of play, we do not find much of it in the cat but we find plenty in the kitten, which is a regular little rogue, lively, playful, frisky, brimful of fun and a cute little creature in all its ways. OTHER FOUR-FOOTED PETS Looking around us for our household pets after the dog and the cat, we find that Bunny, the rabbit, comes next. Bunny is a darling pet of the little ones, who dearly love to fondle this pretty bundle of fur. They are sometimes too kind and the poor little thing suffers from their fondness. That is the sad way with children's pets, they are at times loved to death. But the rabbit is kept for something else than a child's plaything. It is often raised for food, much like the hen and the duck, and its furry skin brings a good price. Thus the Angora rabbit, the most beautiful of them all, has splendid snow-white fur four inches and more in length, which is made into many things useful to wear. Stockings, gloves, shawls, and even stuffs for clothing are made of it. Under-garments made of the Angora fur are said to be very good for gouty persons. The pretty little Angora is so often kept as a pet by the ladies of France and some other countries that it is called "the ladies' rabbit." It is not always full white, for the Russian Angoras have jet-black noses, ears, legs and tails, which make them look very comical. You would be surprised if you could see all the kinds of rabbits brought together, for there are many more of them than you would think. A splendid one is the little Silver rabbit, whose skin is used by the fur-makers and brings a big price. Some of them are silver-brown and others silver-yellow in color, but these are not common. The Dutch rabbit is the smallest of all the bunnies, and when the colors are good it is very pretty. It may be black, yellow, steel-blue, and of other colors, these hues being oddly combined. Other rabbits of small size are the Polish and the French papillon (or butterfly). The one called the Polish is really an English rabbit, and little folks are very fond of it, with its red eyes twinkling out of its snow-white fur. This fur is of high value. The papillon is white, with black, yellow, gray, or blue spots, and is quite pretty. Then there is the Japan rabbit, also called the tricolor or tortoise-shell. It has black, yellow and whitish markings and rings round its body, while its head is often half yellow and half black. You can see from what has been said that color has much to do with the difference in rabbits. The ears form another point. They are generally long and stand straight up, giving the rabbit a wide-awake look, but there is a lop-eared rabbit with ears so long and heavy that they hang down on each side and nearly touch the ground. The king of all the rabbits in size is the Giant rabbit of Flanders. Two others known as giants are the Blue Giant of Vienna and the Blue Giant of Beveren (Flanders). The flesh of these Blue Giants is very good and their fur brings a high price. That of the Blue Giant of Beveren is very thick and close and is of great value. This animal weighs from seven to ten pounds. We are familiar in this country with the Belgian hare. It is not a hare at all, though it looks like one, but is really a rabbit, and is a fine strong species, weighing six or seven pounds and excellent for the table. It is a little wild, but soon grows gentle with those who care for it. It used to be sent in great numbers to the United States. You may see from what has been said that there are many varieties of the rabbit. Of those used for food much the best is the Norman rabbit, which weighs nine or ten pounds and is sold in the markets in Paris and other cities of France. The black-and-tan is one of the most beautiful of the rabbits, from its splendid color, but it is very shy and hard to tame. The last we need speak of is the Havana rabbit, of brown or chocolate color, now much raised in Holland. When the rabbit is taken good care of it is very healthy and those who raise it for the market for its fur find it of much value, since it increases in numbers very rapidly. Many of the young die, it is true, but enough live to keep up a large family. [Illustration: Rabbits near Their Burrow. The Young at Play, the Mother Alert for Danger] A good rabbit home may be made of a number of boxes of about the same size, raised four or five inches above the ground and facing the sun if they are kept in the open air. Casks or barrels may also be used, with a door at one end of the barrel, covered with netting to keep out rats and mice. It is amusing to see the care with which the mother rabbit makes her nest when she is about to have young. Some soft straw and hay is put in the box or cask and this she carries into one corner of her home, makes a hollow in it, and lines this with fur pulled from her breast, to make a warm, soft nest for the little brood. When the young are born she must be given something juicy, such as a turnip or carrot, or perhaps a little warm milk or water, for if left thirsty she grows feverish and is apt to eat the little ones, not knowing what she is doing. She cannot bear thirst and it makes her do strange things. There may be new broods of young five or six times a year, and if only three or four of each brood live there will be a good many by the year's end. There are many other animals which are at times kept as pets by man, though the dog, cat, and rabbit are the most common. The Ferret is often kept, though not as a pet. It is a half wild little brute, hard to tame and used for hunting, for some kinds of which it is very useful. It is a sort of white weasel, long and slender, so that it can make its way through rat holes or rabbit burrows. A brave little thing, it is not afraid to attack the largest rat, and is good at clearing a house of rats and mice. It is also used to drive rabbits from their burrows. Nets are set to catch the prey or they are shot as they rush out. But a muzzle is put on the ferret, for if it can kill the rabbit and drink its blood it may stay for days in the hole. At other times a long string is tied to it, so that it can be pulled out. The ferret is sometimes used to chase and catch fowls. Once caught, a single sharp bite on the neck puts an end to the life of the fowl. [Illustration: The Otter, One of Nature's Fishers] The ferret is a blood-sucker, and this makes it dangerous when it has once tasted blood. It has been known to attack a child in its cradle when the mother was away, and will bite its master if not given enough food or ill-treated in any way. It is an ugly tempered little brute, usually unfit for petting. But Mr. Romanes tells of one kept by him that was fond of being petted and would follow him like a dog when he walked out. It was also taught tricks, such as begging for food and leaping over sticks, and those it never seemed to forget. The Guinea-pig, which is often kept as a home animal, has none of the fierce ways of the ferret. In spite of its name, it has nothing to do with the real pig, but is one of the gnawing animals, a timid and stupid creature, that first came from South America. Large numbers of them are found on the banks of the La Plata River, being there known as the Cavy. They burrow in the ground and feed on fruits and herbs. [Illustration: A Guinea-Pig. Pig Only by Name, not by Nature] What people like in the Guinea-pig is its pretty coloring. The wild form is of a grayish-brown color, but as kept on the farm its color is white, with patches of red and black. It is of no use to man except as a pet, for it is not fit for food and is too stupid for anything else. It has been said to drive off rats and mice, but this is a false notion. What can we say of the Hedgehog as a pet? Not much, though it is often kept. It is no more a hog than the Cavy is a pig, but is not one of the gnawing animals, for it lives chiefly on mice, game, birds, frogs, insects and worms. This makes it very useful in a garden or in a house in which roaches are a pest. The odd thing about the hedgehog is its armor of sharp spines. When attacked by a dog or other animal it at once rolls itself up into a ball with the spines pointing out in all directions like those of the porcupine. Thus the little creature is quite able to take care of itself. The dog may roll it about with his foot but is afraid to bite into its spines. The Weasel has also been tamed and been found a lovable little animal. The Otter is another tamable creature and can be taught to catch fish and bring them to its master. Dr. Goldsmith tells us of one that would go to the fish pond when told to do so, drive the fish into a corner, seize the largest and carry it in its mouth to its master. There are many other animals that have at times been kept as pets, among them such a queer one as the Kangaroo, with its very long hind legs and very short fore-legs and its habit of jumping instead of walking. A pet kangaroo of which we are told was a very man-like or monkey-like creature in its way of eating, using its fore-paws like hands to take food from its dish. What it most enjoyed was a rabbit-bone, which it would take in its right paw and pick clean, eating it with great relish. It was very fond of tea, but liked to have it well sweetened. If the milk was left out it would lash its tail, draw up its tall figure angrily and bound away with a long leap. Kanny had a very sweet tooth and liked sugared almonds best of all titbits. Other odd pets we have heard of were a couple of Prairie dogs, brought from Texas to Scotland and kept in a village garden. They proved very friendly but needed to be locked up in a strong box at night, for they would gnaw into shreds the mats and rugs and everything open to their sharp teeth. But they were loving little things and had a way of showing affection by a gentle pressure of their teeth on the hands of their friends. If a stranger touched them in a timid way he was apt to get a pinch but if a firm hold was taken they seemed to like it. These are only a few of the animals that have been kept as pets. Cardinal Wolsey made a friend of an old carp, Cowper, the poet, loved to play with his hares, and Lord Clive, the soldier, kept a pet tortoise. Others of less note have made pets of snakes, frogs, lizards, and various other animals. We have not tried to name them all and have said nothing about so common a pet as the monkey, for we must keep this funny fellow for a chapter of his own. [Illustration] II OUR SINGLE-HOOFED HELPERS Is there anywhere, has there ever been, a finer or more useful animal than the horse, the swift racer of the plains, the noble lord of the desert, the mainstay of the city and farm? To us the horse is as familiar a friend as the dog. We see this fine animal everywhere that man lives, now valued for his speed, when he flies away over the racing field "with the wings of the wind;" now admired for his beauty and stately form, when he draws the coaches of kings and nobles; now for his great size, as the huge draught animal; now for his small size, as the dainty little pony. It is sad to say also that we often see him as the old, worn-out drudge of the streets, hard-worked, half-fed, and slowly dying in harness. Go back as far as we can in history it is the same story still. The horse is man's friend and helper, carrying him in the battle-field, working for him on the farm, bearing him in his travels. But if we go back beyond history we come to a time when the horse was free and wild. It was not yet tamed by man, but was hunted and killed for food. In the caves that were the homes of early man great numbers of horses' bones are found, left from the feasts of old-time savage men. [Illustration: Friends and Comrades] The wild horse has not gone from the earth. Troops of them still live on the vast plains of northern Asia, and they are found also in the forests of the south of Russia, small, wiry animals, full of life and spirit. These are called Tarpans. Centuries ago wild horses were to be found in Spain and parts of Germany, but these have all been caught and made to work for their living. America has its wild horses also, plenty of them in South America, but they are not natives of the soil. Some of the horses brought over from Spain by the early settlers escaped from their masters and became free and wild in the great grassy plains. These are known as "mustangs" or "cimmarones," and no use is made of them except by the Indians, who kill and eat some of them and tame others. THE HORSE IN ALL LANDS No matter where we find horses they are very much the same. They are not like dogs, of which there are so many kinds. Of course there is much difference in the size of horses and also in their colors, but little difference in other ways. If we travel together over the earth and see the horses of the various countries we shall find them very much alike. Yet such a journey is well worth taking, for it will show us many things we ought to know. The horse family, as very likely you know, differs from all other animals in having only one toe. It comes from animals that had a number of toes, but these have all gone but one, and the nail of this toe has grown into a thick, horny hoof which keeps the foot from being hurt as the horse gallops over its native plains. Its home is on broad, grassy levels, soft to the tread. But when used by man it has to travel much on hard and stony roads which would soon wear out its hoof. So to save this it has to be shod with iron. The hoof is so thick that the iron shoe can be nailed to it without touching the flesh. There are a number of animals much like the horse, but unlike it in several ways. These animals we shall speak of further on. One of the special points by which one knows the horse is the long hairs which cover the whole length of its tail. Another is its splendid, flowing mane. It has also longer legs and smaller head and ears than the other members of its family. Altogether a fine horse is one of the handsomest of all animals. And among them all it is one of the most useful to man. [Illustration: Rosa Bonheur's Famous Picture of the Horse Fair] Now let us start on the journey abroad we laid out and see some of the world's horses. If we go first to the grand plains of northern Asia, the broad, level country called the steppes, the people of which are always travelling about with their flocks and herds, we shall find ourselves in the native land of the horse. In far-off times this was the great region of the wild horse and here very likely it was first made a slave of man. All the time on the move, as these shepherd people were, driving their cattle and sheep from pasture to pasture, the horse was fitted for their use by its strength and speed, and very long ago it must have been caught and made to bear the saddle and bridle and carry man on its back. No one can say how long ago this was, but these people are now the great horsemen of the earth. They live with their horses, sleep with them, and love them even more than they do their children. The Mongols of the steppes have almost lost the art of walking. They live so much on horseback that their legs have become curved instead of straight and when they walk their bodies bend forward as if they were riding. The time was when great hordes of these wild horsemen swept over the south of Asia and a great part of Europe, capturing and killing the people wherever they came. Thus the horse has been of great use in war. The horses of the steppes are of middle size but are very strong and can go long without food and bear very hard work. They have quick, alert ears and eyes full of life and spirit, and can easily travel from forty to sixty miles in a day. Their color is light bay, cream color, white spotted with red, or sorrel, and some of them are quite pretty. Here let us step aside to the British island and tell the story of a famous horse, Black Bess, belonging to a famous rider, Dick Turpin, the highwayman. Once when Dick was chased by the soldiers, this noble animal carried him from London to York, a distance of one hundred and five miles, in eleven hours. And this was done over rough roads and without a stop to eat or drink. As she entered the gates of York the splendid beast fell dead. You may learn from this what the horse is able to do. If we wish to see the noblest and finest of all horses we must go from the grassy steppes of the north to the sandy deserts of Arabia, where for thousands of years has been kept the splendid Arab breed, the pride of their masters and the swiftest and most beautiful of the horse tribe. Many of these have been brought to Europe to give their blood to the racing stock. Black Bess, Dick Turpin's noble horse, had much Arabian blood. But the best of these horses are not sold out of their native land, for a true Arab horseman would almost rather sell his soul than his horse. Persia also has its noble breed of horses, kept for desert travel and of the same type as those of Arabia. The mountain horses of the Balkans are of a similar type, beautiful in color, often a golden brown, with dark brown manes and tails, and soft, glossy coats. Like the Persian and Arabian they have delicate but strong bones, large muscles and much power of work and travel. Russia, with its vast plains, is the great country for the horse. Most of these are the horses of the steppes, which we have spoken of, but the Russian peasants have many millions of working horses, tall, stout, strong beasts, with powerful legs and solid hoofs. They are not only strong, but willing and ready, and are good for riding as well as drawing. Germany comes next to Russia in the old world in numbers of horses, and is noted for its fine, large, handsome carriage horses. From the days of George I. of England, to Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1897, eight of the splendid horses of Hanover were used to draw the royal coach on all state occasions, and fine, stately animals they were. France has several fine breeds of horses, from the heavy Norman Coach horse to the powerful French Draft horse and the well-known Percherons, much used in this country. In England the hunting and racing horses stand first. These, known as Thoroughbreds, are in great part of the Arabian stock and there are no finer animals to be found for the race-track. Of the many other large breeds in Europe we shall speak only of the great draft horses of Belgium, known the world over for their fine shape, great muscles and vast strength. Coming down now from these elephant-like horses it is a long step to the pony, the toy animal found in the cold countries of the north. Best known among these are the Shetland ponies, from the frosty islands north of Scotland. These tiny creatures, sometimes less than three feet high, are ridden by children and used in circuses. But the chief use in their native land for these poor little ponies is in the coal mines, to draw the coal carts. Once taken into a mine, they never see the light of day again, some of them living fifteen years in these dark prisons. [Illustration: From Davis' Practical Farming Pure Bred Clydesdale Draft Horse] Another small, pony is the Norker horse of Norway, a strong little creature, noted for its power of mountain travel and of swimming. The ponies of Iceland are much like these, with thick coats of hair. These get their food in winter by scraping away the snow with their hoofs and eating the thin coat of grass and moss below. Sweden also has its ponies, as also the mountain regions of Britain and other northern countries; but ponies are not confined to cold regions, for we find them as far south as Italy and Greece, and in the Grecian islands known as the Cyclades is a breed of ponies said to be still smaller than those of the Shetlands. If we now cross the sea and come to our own country, the United States, we find no native breed of horses, all those we have being of European stock. This may seem strange when it is known that America was one of the native homes of the horse. The ancestors of the horse dwelt here, from little, five-toed animals of the size of a fox to the large one-toed animal of the recent age. All over America horses once spread, from the Arctic Seas to Patagonia, but when white men first reached this soil not a horse remained. They all had gone, no one knows how, and the continent had to be supplied again from European stock. RACER AND HUNTER The horse has long been used in many ways by man; in cart, wagon, and plough; on the race-track and in the hunting field; in war and in peace. It has been man's great aid and helper, and through all the ages until less than a century ago it was the fastest means of travel or of sending news. Up to about 1830 all land travel was on horseback or by coach, or else on foot. Then the locomotive came and brought a great change. It was later still when men began to send news by lightning express over the telegraph wire. In early days in our country the mails, which now go so fast, were carried by old men on horseback, who spent the time in knitting stockings as they jogged along slowly over the rough roads. [Illustration: A Roman Chariot Race] The horse has long been used not only in travel but also in sport, as a hunter and racer. When we read the story of ancient days and of the old Greeks and Romans we find many tales of chariot races. These old nations had great oval buildings, with thousands of seats, and a long oval race-track around which the horses had to run several times to finish the race. These were not horseback races, like those of to-day, but races with chariots like those used in war. Each chariot was drawn by four swift horses and driven by a man who stood upright with reins and whip in hand and drove his horses at full speed round the track. The great and rich people took part in these races and many thousands of lookers on cheered them wildly as they sped onward like flying eagles. If any of you should like to read a good story of an ancient chariot race you can find one of the best in General Lew Wallace's novel of "Ben Hur." In the Middle Ages riding was done on horseback, and when carriages and coaches were brought into use people despised those who rode in them, calling them weak and lazy. So in those days the racing was on horseback, as it still is in most cases. Many of these races went on in the open country, through rough fields and over streams. They were called "clock races," for the prizes were little wooden clocks, or clock towers. These were afterwards made in silver, and from them came the name of "steeplechase," by which such races are now called. Regular race-courses began in England in the reign of James I., after 1600, and in later years many Arabian horses were brought to that country and racing became a common sport. One of the most celebrated of those early racers was Eclipse, a horse never beaten and never needing whip or spur. Since then there have been many famous racers, and racing has become very popular in all parts of Europe. A bad feature of it is the habit of betting on the speed of horses, by which many men have lost all their money. [Illustration: Thoroughbred Racing Horse. A Trained Horse of This Breed is the swiftest of all Animals] Racing was early brought over to this country, and was common in the South in the times of the colonies. It is still kept up. The trotting horse has been developed in the United States until now we have the best trotters in the world. In the British islands, as you may know, the racing horses are made to run, or gallop, quite a different pace from the trot. The trotting horses of this country began with a fine English horse named Messenger, born in 1780, of Arabian stock. In 1806 it was thought splendid when a horse trotted a mile in 2.50 (2 minutes and 50 seconds). There are now trotting horses which can make a mile in less than 2 minutes. Running is a faster pace and a mile can be made in less time, but Americans like trotting better. Shall I say something about the use of the horse in hunting? This has long been a common sport in England and Ireland, much more so than in this country. The owners of large estates in the British islands often keep large packs of hounds, trained to chase the fox or the deer, and known as fox-hounds and deer-hounds. Their stables are also filled with horses, trained to run at full speed over rough country and jump high fences and wide ditches. The hunting of deer and hares is an old form of sport, centuries old, but now fox-hunting is liked better, and great care is taken to protect the foxes for the use of the hunters. Fox-hunting is very hard work for horses and only a good horse can be used as often as twice a week in a fox-chase. There is a story of a deer hunt by the king's hounds and horses where the chase was kept up nearly five hours over wild country. It was so hard on horses and men that many of the riders had to give up, two horses died in the field and seven others during the week. A run of this length over rough ground, with all sorts of obstacles in the way, will kill or badly injure the strongest horse. Trained hunters can do wonderful feats of jumping over fences and ditches, but this leads to many accidents, and the injury or death of horse or rider in the hunting field often takes place. [Illustration: Virginia Deer] WAR-HORSE AND WORKING-HORSE In far past times the horse was used in war far more than in our days. Men can now kill one another fast enough without the use of horses, but large numbers are still used in the army, to haul wagons and guns and for those who fight on horseback. In ancient days no saddle was used, soldiers riding their horses bareback, though the great men of the armies rode in war-chariots. The old Roman horsemen did not use bits or bridles, but guided their horses by a headband which pressed on the nose, the reins being fastened to rings on this band. In later Roman times the saddle was used, but the Germans they fought with still rode bareback or used the skin of an animal for a saddle. They did not use stirrups. It was the same with the great Tartar riders, who came from the steppes of Asia and conquered great part of Europe and Asia. In the days of chivalry, when the knights wore steel armor and used heavy harness, large and strong horses had to be ridden, but in later days much lighter horses served for the soldiers' needs. Those who have read of Napoleon's wonderful campaigns know how much use he made of his cavalry, and many horses are still used in war, though not so many as of old. If now we leave the story of the war-horse and the racer and hunter and come to that of the working-horse we meet with an animal in which strength and pulling power are of more account than show and speed. For ages past the horse has worked faithfully for man, in the farming field, along the country road, on the streets of the cities; hauling the plow and harrow in the field, the wagon and cart along the road, the carriage, car, dray and other wheeled vehicle in the street. And its life has often been one of much suffering, and still is in some countries, for there are nations in which the poor, patient horse is treated with great cruelty. [Illustration: A Logging Team with a Heavy Load] But in these days man has much less need of the horse than of old. Once it did nearly the whole of man's hauling. Now the powerful locomotive takes its place. In city streets the electric car saves the horse from much of his former labor, and the automobile and auto-car are taking the place of the horse for riding and hauling. Yet horses are still in use in large numbers and it will be long before man gives up this useful friend and helper. THE HORSE TAMER The taming of wild horses is no light task. It is one that needs the greatest skill and daring. The lasso, a long, strong rope with a noose at its end, is the weapon of the tamer, with which he can bring down the strongest and wildest animal. Chasing the wild horse on a tamed one, trained in the art, the skilled rider, when near enough, will fling his lasso with wonderful skill and rarely fails to catch the fleeing animal in its strong noose. The horse he rides knows well its duty, which is to pull back on the rope and check the flight of the frightened creature. To bring the wild captive to the ground is only half the labor. It must be saddled and bridled and ridden until it is worn-out and its wild spirit gives way. It will plunge and rear, whirl round and kick in all directions, even roll over and over, in a mad effort to throw the rider from its back. Only when completely subdued will it yield, but once tamed it may become a very faithful friend and servant to its tamer. Bucking is one of the ways a wild horse seeks to get rid of his rider, and it takes a man of great skill to keep on the back of a bucking horse. Lowering its head between its fore-legs, it gives a wild leap upwards and comes down with a smash of its hoofs on the ground. The man that can keep in the saddle through two or three of these jumps must make himself part of the horse. The men who do this are splendid riders, and the cowboys of the plains, who have to take care of the great herds of cattle, almost live on horseback. Such a man can often bend over from his horse, reach down, and pick up a small object, such as a glove, from the ground while riding at full speed. Every young horse has to be broken to harness before it is fit for work. The freedom which it has been given in its youthful days must come to an end, and this it does not like. For a race-horse the breaking is done when it is about a year and a half old, but for a working or coach horse it is left until it is three or four years old. The horse-breaker must be gentle and patient or he may spoil the temper of the horse. He must get the colt used to be touched and to feel the halter. After that he leads out the young animal with rein and halter. The next thing is to teach the colt the feel of the bit. A bit may be put into its mouth every day while it is in the stable, so as to accustom it to the feel of the metal. It is then taken out and driven with long reins fastened to the bit, and taught to move to the pull of the rein. After this the horse can be harnessed and put to work. All this takes much time and trouble and it is only done with fine horses, other horses being broken with less pains. But if the animal is high-bred a quick breaking may spoil its courage or ruin its temper. THE ARAB AND HIS HORSE Would you not like to hear some more about the Arabian horse, the noblest and best of his race? I have told how all our best racers are of Arab stock and how dearly the Arab loves his horse. A child of the desert, often having to go long and far without food and under a blazing sun, the horse becomes very hardy. It may be tied by all four legs to stakes set in the ground and kept there for many hours, the sun burning hot, yet if now its legs are set free and its master springs upon its back it is as full of life and spirit and as eager for a wild ride as if it had been taken fresh from the stable. The comrade of its master by day and night, his support and comfort, ready to go without food or drink in his service, the horse and its rider grow more like two lovers than like master and servant. The poverty of the Arab may at times force him to sell his horse, but it is like selling a part of himself. "My eyes! my soul! my heart!" he will say, "must I be forced to give thee a new master, and not keep thee myself? I am poor, my antelope; I brought thee up in my dwelling as a child; I did never beat or chide thee." Then he will embrace the noble animal, wipe its eyes with his handkerchief, rub its glossy skin with his sleeve and remain long talking to it as if he was parting with his dearest child. [Illustration: The Famous Arab Steeds and Desert Riders] "When I was at Jerusalem," says Chateaubriand, "the feats of one of those steeds made a great noise. The Bedouin to whom the animal, a mare, belonged, being pursued by the governor's guards, rushed with him from the top of the hills that overlooked Jericho. The mare scoured at full gallop down an almost perpendicular declivity without stumbling and left the soldiers lost in admiration and astonishment. The poor creature, however, dropped down dead on entering Jericho, and the Bedouin, who would not quit her, was taken, weeping over the body of his faithful companion. Ali Aga showed me, in the mountains near Jericho, the footsteps of the mare that died in the attempt to save her master." Here is one more story of the Arabian horse. "When the envoy," says Sir John Malcolm, "was encamped near Bagdad, an Arab rode a bright bay mare, of extraordinary shape and beauty, before his tent until he attracted his attention. On being asked if he would sell her-- "'What will you give me,' was the reply. "'That depends upon her age; I suppose she is past five.' "'Guess again,' said he. "'Four?' "'Look at her mouth!' "On examination she was found to be rising three. This, from her size and fine shape, added much to her value. "'I will give you fifty tomans,' said the envoy. (The toman is worth about five dollars.) "'A little more--if you please.' "'Eighty--a hundred.' "He shook his head and smiled. The officer at last came to two hundred tomans. "'Well,' said the Arab, 'you need not tempt me farther. You are a rich elchee (nobleman); you have fine horses, camels, and mules, and I am told you have loads of silver and gold. Now,' he added, 'you want my mare, but you shall not have her for all you have got.'" ANECDOTES OF THE HORSE The horse has a mind of its own, and now and then lets us see that it can think, but it does not seem to have as good brain-power as the dog or the cat. There is much reason for this. The horse eats grass and does not need to think how to get its food. The dog and cat eat meat, and in their wild state have to catch other animals for food. To do this they have to use tricks and plans which need thought and thus their minds are kept busy. Also they are in danger from other animals. Take the fox, which is a sort of cousin of the dog. When chased by men and dogs it has many ways of getting away from them besides running. This is not the case with the horse, which is one of the best of runners and trusts to its heels instead of its brain to escape from its enemies. So in its wild state it does little work with its brain. The horse is a timid animal and easily scared. And when in a state of fright it seems to have no power of thought. All it does is to run in a mad way, rushing along over roads and streets without heed of where it is going, and sometimes knocking out its brains against a post or wall. You will not find a scared fox or wolf show such lack of sense as this. They never get into a wild panic like the horse. Thus there is very little in the life of the horse to make it think. Yet it can think to some extent, as may be seen from a few anecdotes. It can also be taught to do tricks that need some brain-power. I think you will like to read some stories of horse-thought. The horse has a good memory, as any one can see when riding over roads which it travelled long before. There are many stories of men trusting to their horses when they were in a dangerous place, and in this way being brought out all right. A friend of Darwin, the naturalist, wrote him this in a letter:-- "I want to tell you an instance of long memory in a horse. I have just driven my pony down from London here, and though she has not been here for eight years she remembered her way quite well, and made a bolt for the stables where I used to keep her." This is only one out of many cases that could be told. A horse driven by a doctor or milkman does not need to be drawn up before certain houses. It knows just where to stop. There is a story told of a gentleman who was in the habit of stopping his horse to give money to every beggar he met on the road. He loaned or sold this horse to a friend, who soon wrote to him asking him to take his horse back again. "I cannot pass a beggar on the road but the old fellow will stop and will not start again until I have given the man something. If I have no money I have to pretend to give before I can get him to move on." Some horses have the sense to help themselves in various ways. One of these learned how to step out of its halter when the coachman had left it for the night. Then it would pull out the sticks in the pipe of the oat-bin so as to let all the oats run down over the stable-floor. Of course, it had seen the coachman pull out these sticks and knew that this was the way to get a free lunch. The same horse would also turn the water-tap to get a drink and pull the window cord to open the window on hot nights. Not many horses are as smart as this, yet numerous tricks played by horses could be told. There is one told of a horse which, when turned into a field where there was a pump, soon found out how to get water. He would take the pump-handle in his mouth and work it with his head until he had all the water in the trough he wanted to drink. Of course, he had seen men work the handle in this way. A number of stories could be told of horses which went themselves to the blacksmith shop when their shoes were out of order. One is of a Shetland pony which came to a blacksmith shop a long distance from its home and thrust its head in the door. The blacksmith drove it away but it soon came back again. Then the smith looked at its feet and found that one shoe was gone. He made and put on a shoe and then waited to see what the animal would do. "For a moment it looked at the blacksmith as if asking whether he was done. Then it pawed once or twice to see if the newly-shod foot was comfortable, and finally gave a pleased neigh, lifted its head, and started homewards at a brisk trot. The owner was much surprised to find the horse at home that evening, fully shod, and could not understand it until the smith had told him the story of his pony's wit." One of the smartest tricks we have met with is told of a mule, an animal which is not supposed to have the sense of a horse. It belonged to a gentleman living at Iowa City, and was an expert at getting into mischief. It took every chance when the yard-gate and barn-door were open to slip in and steal a mouthful of oats. One morning it was found in the barn with the gate shut and latched and no one could tell how it got there. This went on for some time, until a watch was set and the smart mule was "caught in the act." This is the way it worked. It would reach over the fence with its head and lift the gate latch. Then when the gate swung open it would go through into the yard and back up against it, pushing it to till the latch caught. This done, it went to the barn, pulled out the pin that held the door, and walked calmly in. The owner says: "I am of the opinion, had not discovery of the trick prevented, it would soon have occurred to him to retrace his steps before daylight, in order to avoid the clubbing which the stable boys gave him in the morning." [Illustration: A Pair of Prize Mules] THE ASS, ZEBRA AND MULE The animal called the ass is a near relation of the horse, one best known to us under its common name of Donkey. It is like the horse in some ways and not like it in others. The ass is much smaller than the horse, being nearer the size of the pony. It has a heavy head, thick lips, long ears, and a tail not covered with long hair like the horse's tail, but with a tuft of hair at the end like that of a cow. A decided difference is in its voice, the bray of the donkey being an ear-splitting sound, not at all like the neigh of the horse. The wild ass is found through all parts of Central and Southern Asia and also in Northern Africa. It is spoken of in the Bible. The book of Job praises this animal for its love of liberty. Job says of it: "He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the cry of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture and he searcheth after every green thing." [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of Amer. Conservatory Mexican Donkey Waiting for the Last Straw] That is a good picture of the wild ass, for it seems to like every green thing. It eats the bitter herbs of its favorite regions, the mountain spinach, the dandelion, the thistle, and the witch grass, and drinks the salt water of the Caspian Sea as readily as fresh water. It is taller and stouter than the donkey, very active and able to bear fatigue. Its winter coat resembles that of a camel, being long and fleecy, but in summer its hair is soft and silky and silvery white beneath. The Tartars and Persians kill and eat this animal, but it has sharp eyes and keen ears and is a swift runner, so that it is hard to shoot. When taken young it is easily tamed, and if well fed grows to be a strong and handsome animal which sells at good prices. Such is the fine animal which has been turned into the dwarfed and stupid donkey of Europe. To be dull and obstinate is not native to this animal. Its lack of sense comes in great part from the way it is treated and its being taken to a climate too damp and cold for it. In the warm, dry regions of the south it is a finer animal and gets better care, and here the people often pet and love their donkeys. In China and Persia there is a fine race of asses, used only for riding, and these are so thick in Bokhara that the streets are often crowded with them. They are of many colors, white, black, brown, blue-gray, etc. The donkeys of Egypt also are handsome animals, with an easy gait that makes them much liked for riding. Still handsomer are those of Upper Egypt and Nubia, which are such fine creatures that they sell for more than horses. In the western states of this country and in the Spanish republics is a very small donkey, called the Burro, much used as a carrier of loads in the mountain regions and in the streets of cities. There are also great numbers of wild asses in parts of South America, Patagonia having very many of them. They were once so abundant in the Cape Verde and Canary Islands that they were hunted and killed like beasts of game. Aside from their flesh, which is much liked when they are young, the skin is of value, being made into parchment, vellum and shagreen. [Illustration: The Striped Zebra of Africa] The Zebra, one of the most beautiful of animals, from its handsomely striped skin, is a member of the horse family, but one of which we do not need to speak, since it is found only in a wild state. It has in some cases been tamed and trained to harness, but it is an obstinate and hot-tempered brute, so that few have tried to tame it. Another striped animal of Africa rather like the zebra, is the Quagga, but this has been hunted and killed till now none of them can be found. Its name came from its cry ("quag-ga quag-ga"), as different from the neigh of the horse as from the bray of the ass. A cross has been made between the zebra and the horse, which has been named the Zebrule or Zebroid. These have proved strong and easy to train for harness and saddle. There are several of them now in the government collection of animals at Washington, and some time they may prove useful. But the best cross-breed is that between the horse and the ass, well known to us all as the Mule. The breeding of mules has been carried on from very old times and is now common in many parts of the earth. It yields an animal which is cheaper to keep than the horse and better fitted for many kinds of work. I hardly need tell you what the mule is like, for all of you have often seen this ugly and at times very obstinate, but hard-working brute. The mule is much like the horse in size and shape, but it has the long ears, the tufted tail, the thin, wiry legs, and the narrow hoofs of the ass. And while its coat is like that of the horse, its voice comes near that of the ass. The mule is like the ass also in being strong, hardy and not given to disease. Even when thirty years old it often shows no sign of age. Thus it is useful for more years than the horse, eats less, and is fit for work not suited to the horse. The mule is of great use in carrying loads over mountain paths. It has a firm, sure foot and can carry loads of five hundred pounds for weeks at a time over pathless hills. The planters of the South could not do without it in their cotton and sugar fields and it takes the place of the horse for much of the street work of cities. This is not all. Mules are often used for riding and are very good for this. They are also used in carriages. They are raised in large numbers in Spain, where fine ones bring high prices, selling from $150 to $350. We should hardly look to the donkey and the mule for signs of powers of thought, but it is likely that they are equal to the horse in intellect. The story of a gate-opening mule, given above, goes beyond anything we have found said about the horse, and it is very likely that all those members of the horse tribe, which are much alike in habits, are also much alike in thought powers. [Illustration] III CLOVEN-HOOFED DRAUGHT ANIMALS Now we come to the two-toed animals, those called the cloven-hoofed. Looking at our own arms and legs we find five toes on each foot and five fingers on each hand and might fancy that this is the natural number. We find it to be so with the monkeys and with many other animals but we soon find some with fewer toes. Thus the dog, while it has five toes on its fore feet, has only four on its hind feet. In the tapir and the rhinoceros we meet with three-toed animals and soon come across two-toed and one-toed animals. The two-toed are very common, for we find them in the sheep and cattle of our fields, the pig of the barnyard, the camel, the deer, the antelope, and several other kinds. As for the one-toed, their story has just been told. Is it not worth knowing that the fewer toes an animal has the faster and longer it can run? We find this in the one-toed horse, and its cousins, the ass and the zebra, the greatest runners of all animals. Next to them come the two-toed animals. Of these the deer and antelopes are fast runners, though some of them run very little. We do not find many runners among the five-toed animals. Those of the cat tribe are better at jumping than running. In the dog tribe, in which are the wolves and foxes, there are good runners, but these animals trust to their wits as much as to their legs, catching their game often by cunning tricks. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums The Native Ox Cart of Delhi, India] Another matter of some interest is the fact that all the one-toed animals are much alike in form and habit, while the two-toed differ so much that we can find little or no likeness between them. Take the ox, the goat, the pig, the buffalo, and the camel. Are these alike in anything except their split hoofs? The fact is that the single hoof seems to fit animals only for running, while the double hoof fits them for various kinds of life. We find them at home in the desert, on the mountains and plains, in the forest depths, and in swampy regions, their forms and habits changing to suit the kind of life they lead. Many of these animals have been tamed and made to serve man in various ways. We can see them all about us, some of them kept for food, some for work in the field or on the road. Let us take a look at those used for work. THE OX AND BUFFALO That great lumbering beast we call the ox, with his long horns and his slow, lazy walk, is one of the strong workers of the world. Go where we will we see him, pulling the plough or the cart and wagon. If we leave home and go over the world we shall find many people using the ox. In South Africa we may see long teams of them pulling the heavy wagons of the farmers. In India the Hindu people eat no meat, but they keep many cattle to work in their fields. It is the same in many other countries both of the Old and the New World. Among our own people the ox is much used as a working animal. While large use is made of the horse and donkey, the strength and patience of the ox give it great value and it is used for many kinds of work. Though a slow, plodding animal, it can pull a big load by the aid of its wooden yoke. In the fields of the South the farmers and planters could not well get along without it. Our ox is not the only worker of his kind. In far-off Asia there are two other animals which are cousins of the ox and are made to work like him. Their names belong to the end of the alphabet, for they are called the Yak and the Zebu. The Yak is found in Tibet and other parts of Central Asia, where it is tamed and put to work, but not to pull the cart or the plough. It can carry heavy loads and travel twenty miles a day. [Illustration: Hauling Sugar Cane in Puerto Rico] This animal has a thick coat of long, silky hair, which hangs nearly to the ground. Ropes and cloth are made from it. The tail is just a great bunch of long hair. The Yak does not bellow like the ox but gives a short grunt. Its milk is very rich, and fine butter is made from it. [Illustration: The White Yak of the Asiatic Mountains] The Zebu is kept in India, China, East Africa and the islands of the eastern seas. It is much like the ox but has a big hump of fat on its shoulders. Sometimes there are two humps. In this way it is like the camel. Some of the zebus are larger than any oxen and some are only as big as a large mastiff dog. They are quiet, gentle animals, made to work in the plough and in the road and also used for riding. They can travel from twenty to thirty miles a day. There is another animal much used for the same kind of work, the Buffalo. This is not the animal long known in our country as the buffalo, but which is really not a buffalo, its proper name being bison. It is not a savage animal and could easily have been tamed and put to work. But as the settlers in the colonies had the ox and the horse already trained to their work no one tried to tame the bison. Since no one cared for these great animals, the hunters got after them and shot them in such vast numbers that now they are nearly all gone. Where fifty years ago there were millions of them in the West, to-day there are only a few hundreds to be found anywhere. [Illustration: The American Bison alone on the Prairie] The real buffalo is found in the south of Asia and Europe, where it is tamed and put to work, much use being made of it. There is another species found in Africa which is very fierce and savage, hunters often being more afraid of it than they are of the lion. The buffalo of India is also savage in its wild state and the princes of that country set it to fight with the tiger in their public shows. Armed with great, sharp horns, it is more than a match for the tiger. In its tame state the buffalo is a very docile animal when it is well treated, but will not bear bad treatment. In size and shape it is like a large, clumsy ox, but it is much stronger than the ox and can carry or draw a much heavier load. Thus it is of great value as a working animal. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums Cultivating Rice Field with the Chinese Ox. Hawaii] It is used in many parts of the East. The farmer in the Philippine Islands could not get along without it, as it is his common helper in the fields. Known there by the name of Carabao, it is loved by its owner and played with by his children, and is the plough-horse of the islands. It can be driven by a mere child. The plough used there is no more than a heavy stick of wood sharpened to a point at one end, with a handle for the farmer and a beam to which the buffalo is harnessed. This is the way in which the rice fields of the East are worked. The buffalo is also kept in Egypt, Greece, Italy and some other countries and everywhere is a very useful working animal. But it has one habit that needs to be looked after. By nature it is a swamp dweller, and can keep its head under water for two minutes at a time, feeling at the bottom of pools and streams for certain favorite plants. If it is to be kept in health it must have its daily mud-bath. It loves to fling itself in the mire and shuffle about until it is covered with mud from its tail to its eyes. When it has dried itself in the sun it looks like a huge clay image. It has its reason for this, for in those swamp regions are millions of stinging flies and the mud is intended as a coat of armor. Strong as the buffalo is, it cannot work for more than two hours without rest, and will not live long if kept at a distance from streams. Its fondness for mud and water is the habit that needs to be looked after. It is not safe to load it with any goods that are likely to be spoiled by water, for it will lie down with its load in any stream it comes near. Travellers who have ridden on the Philippine Carabaos have found out this habit in a way not to their liking, for they have more than once been flung suddenly into a mud-bath by their ugly steeds. If the animal sees a bed of mud along the road he is sure to fling himself into it unless kept out by a strong rein. And unless his rider gets off in a hurry he will be treated in the same way. In Italy the buffalo is most at home in the Pontine Marshes, and no one can keep it anywhere unless there are mud and water near at hand. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums The Carabao, the Working Animal of the Philippine Islands] THE LAPLAND REINDEER While the buffalo is the draught animal of the sultry south and the ox of the more temperate regions, in the freezing north the Reindeer takes their place. Among the many species of deer, some of which, as the moose and elk, are large and strong, this is the only one that has been made to work for man. The people of Lapland could not live without it, and it is also of very much use to the tribes of northern Siberia. We have the same animal in the northern parts of America, where it is called the Caribou, but there it has rarely been tamed and is hunted as game. The Laplander uses the reindeer as we use the horse and as the Eskimo uses the dog, as a travelling animal. It is strong and swift and can easily draw a weight of two hundred pounds on a sledge. It can travel for a long time at a speed of nine or ten miles an hour. A rich Laplander is a man who owns a great many reindeer, some of them having herds of two thousand or more. To the men of Lapland, as we are told, "the reindeer serves as a substitute for horse, cow, sheep, and goat." It gives fine milk, is a good traveller, its hair is of use, and its flesh and skin are of much value. Almost every part of the dead animal can be used in some way, so that it serves the Laplander dead or alive. It is not hard to keep. In the summer it feeds on the shoots of the willow and the birch, and in winter on the reindeer-moss and other snow-covered plants. To get at these it uses both its hoofs and its long, branching antlers in digging through the snow. This is the way in which various hoofed animals keep themselves in the winter, such as the musk-ox of the far north. The horse does the same in such cold countries as Iceland. [Illustration: Herd of Reindeer Brought from Lapland for the Use of the Indians of Alaska] As I have said, we have a reindeer of our own in the Caribou, but no one has really tamed it and put it to work. Yet it would be useful in the north of Canada, and reindeer have been brought from Lapland to Alaska and Labrador. They seem to do well there and may in time become of much service to the Indians and to white settlers. THE SHIP OF THE DESERT Far away from where we live, in what may be called the world of the East, there are mighty deserts, almost oceans of sand. These are oceans without water, vast tracts of land in which no blade of grass can grow, except where a green oasis rises like an island in their midst. Such a desert covers nearly the whole of Arabia and other wide regions in Asia. On the map of Africa may be seen a still greater one, that which bears the name of the Sahara. In these deserts no rain falls to water the thirsty soil, springs are few and far apart, and those who travel through them must carry food and water on their journeys. These great sand oceans have their native animal, the humped and long-necked Camel, the "ship of the desert," as it is fitly called, since it carries freight and passengers over the sand-strewn lands as ships do over the wide seas. An ugly brute is the camel, with its humped back, its long neck, short legs, and bunches of shaggy hair. But ugly as it is the Arab finds something in it to praise, and could not well live in the desert without it. Arabia and the other deserts of Asia are the camel's native soil, and nature has fitted it well for its home in the sands. It does not belong to the Sahara, but was taken there by the Arabs. But it finds itself much at home on that world of sand. It is not well suited for fertile countries, though it is used in India and China to carry loads for their people. The camel is a two-toed animal but is like the horse in having only one hoof. This is a broad pad or cushion which takes in both its toes and fits it to travel over the soft sand. It is not hard, like the horse's hoof, but elastic so as to yield at every step. [Illustration: A Sahara Desert Scene. The Mohammedan driver hobbles the animal's foot while at prayer] It is not only by its foot that the camel is fitted to dwell in the realms of sand, for it seems made for the desert in every part of its body. There are two kinds of camels, the Arabian, with one hump, and the Bactrian, of the northern deserts, with two humps, and it is these which give it so ugly a shape. Are these humps a kind of saddle made for man's use, you ask? Not at all, for the camel had them before there were any men to ride him. They are really food supplies, masses of fat which help to keep the animals alive on long journeys. No wise Arab will set out to cross the desert without feeding his camel until its hump is full and plump, for in this the animal carries its own food. It dines and sups on its hump when there is nothing else to eat, so that the hump shrinks and grows smaller. But how does the camel find water to drink in the dry desert? Has it a water supply as well as a food supply? We should not think this possible, yet it has. In long journeys it needs water as well as food and inside it is a well-filled water vessel. There are "water-cells" in its stomach, in which about a gallon and a half of water can be stored away, enough to last for three days if no water is found. At times, when the rider is in great need of water, he will kill his camel so as to get this store from its stomach. There are still other ways in which the camel is fitted for a desert life. Thus it has fine powers of sight and smell. It can smell water when it is more than a mile away and if tethered will break its halter and run in a straight line for the well or spring. Its nostrils are mere slits, which it can close when the wind fills the air with sand. At times a burning wind called the simoon blows fiercely across the desert. Then the camel falls on its knees, stretches its long neck like a snake along the sand, and closes its nostrils to keep out the sand carried by the wind. Thus it stays till the storm is past. At the same time the driver wraps his face in his mantle and hides himself behind his beast. There is one other thing to say. The camel likes good food when it is to be had, but it can live on any kind of plants. It will eat anything in the way of leaves, shrubs, dry sticks, or vegetable matter of any sort, and can live on food on which many animals would starve. You may see from all this how wonderfully it is fitted for a desert life. Are we not right in saying that without the camel the Arab would find it hard to live in the desert? For ages past long caravans of camels have been crossing the sea of sand from the fertile lands of the nearby countries to the oases where the settled Arabs dwell. Not until the camel is four years old does its training as a carrier of loads begin. Then it is taught to kneel down and to rise at a given signal, light weights being at first put on it and heavier ones afterwards. It can carry heavy weights, its loads ranging from 500 to 1000 pounds, some breeds of camels being much stronger than others. In desert journeys it is expected to carry this load twenty-five miles a day for three days without drink. The swift animals used for riding will carry their rider with his food and water fifty miles a day for five days without drinking. A camel lives from forty to fifty years, so you may see that it is of great value to its master. [Illustration: A Rug Laden Caravan] If too heavy a load is put on its back the camel will not rise from its knees; but when once on foot it is very patient and will plod on under its heavy load until it is ready to die. When its load is taken off it does not seek the shade, like other animals, but kneels down in the full glare of the sun, as if it loved the burning sand. THE DROMEDARY There are almost as many breeds of camels as there are of horses, and the kind used for riding is as different from the load-carrier as the race-horse is from the cart-horse. The burden-bearer has a thick body, heavy feet, coarse hair, and a slow pace. The racing breed is thin of body, fine-haired, and much more elegant in shape. It is as celebrated for its swift speed as is the Arabian horse, and a good animal is able to carry its rider a hundred miles in a day. While all the single-humped camels are often called dromedaries, it is more correct to speak of the racing camel as the dromedary. An Arab sheik is as proud of a fine animal of this kind as an American or Englishman is of his fine race-horse. But if any of you should ever be asked to mount a camel it would be wise to decline the honor, unless you are good at holding on, for camel-riding is an art that must be learned. The awkward animal has a swinging and jolting gait that is hard to get used to. During the world's fair at Chicago in 1893 one of the greatest amusements of the Midway was to see people trying to ride the camels which had been brought to the Egyptian section of the fair. It was much better fun for the lookers-on than for the riders. In camel-riding a saddle is not used, as on the horse, but a sort of platform is fastened on the hump. The camel we have so far spoken of is the one-humped Arabian kind. The two-humped or Bactrian species is larger and stronger but is not nearly so common. It is found in the desert region of the north from the Black Sea to China. Both kinds are found in Central Asia, but the Bactrian goes as far north as Siberia, where the cold is often very severe and it has to live on the leaves and twigs of the willow and birch trees. Though the camel is fitted by nature for life in the desert, it is much used elsewhere. For ages past it has been the great carrier in Asia, long camel trains, or caravans, taking the place of the modern railroad train. It is also used for pulling carts and for ploughing, in which yokes of four camels may be seen. You could not think of anything more awkward or clumsy-looking than a camel harnessed to a cart. [Illustration: From Madeira's Hunting in British East Africa Camel Hauling Water. The Camel is Used Alike as a Carrier and a Drawer of Burdens] If any one asks about the intellect of the camel we can only say that it does not show much sign of having any. It seems to be a stupid creature, with only sense enough to protest against bad treatment. In most cases it is very docile but if ill-treated it can be as obstinate as a mule. Also it bears in mind a wrong done to it and will at times wait a long time to revenge itself. The camel-driver knows this and if he thinks the animal is waiting its chance to attack him he will throw his clothes before it. These the animal tosses and tramps on in a wild rage. After that it appears to forget the wrong done it and the man is safe. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums Yaks Picketed near Camp in India] The camel is useful to its owner in other ways than those mentioned. Thus it supplies him with food, the Arabs being fond of the flesh of the young camel, which tastes like veal. Camel's milk is also excellent to drink and can be made to yield butter and cheese. The hair is woven by the Arab into cloths suitable for clothing and for tent covers and the finer hair is used for paint brushes. So living and dead the camel serves his master. THE LLAMAS AND ALPACAS If my readers are now ready to leave the deserts of Asia and go with me to the mountains of South America they will find there the only animals on the earth that are relatives of the camel. How the family of the camels came to be so widely separated no one knows. As it is, we find than on two sides of the earth with no links to join them. In Peru and Chile there are four different kinds of these camels of the New World, two of which, the Llama and Alpaca, have been tamed, the others being wild. These are not animals of the desert, but lovers of the hills, as they dwell on the highest parts of the Andes. Like the camels of the East, they have long been in the service of man. The Llama was the bearer of burdens for the old Peruvians and is a burden-bearer to-day, though the mule is beginning to take its place. These animals do not look like the camel. Their backs have no humps and their heads are more like that of the deer. Instead of the small ears of the camel they have erect ears like the mule. But they have long necks like the camel, also cushioned feet and a stomach that is fitted to hold water. This is strange in animals that have no need to store up water. It seems as if the habit of storing water began very long ago among the ancestors of the camel tribe. The Llama is a much smaller animal than the camel, being about three feet high at the shoulders. It keeps its head raised like a deer and is a gentle and docile animal, though it has a habit that is not much liked by those that make it angry. This is to squirt a mouthful of its yellow spittle into their faces. This has an unpleasant odor and this nasty habit makes drivers careful not to overwork the animals. [Illustration: A Llama Train Descending the Mountains of Peru] The Llama is a sure-footed creature, knows how to find food for itself, and can carry a weight of a hundred pounds about twelve miles a day. This makes it very useful for the miners of the Andes, who use it to carry their ore down the rough and steep mountain paths. When the animals are tired they will lie down, and the only way to make them get up is to take off their loads. That is another way they have to make their drivers treat them kindly. The Alpaca is a smaller animal than the Llama and is not used to carry goods, but for all that it has its uses and is kept in large flocks on the high levels of the Andes. Its value lies in its wool. While the hair of the Llama is coarse and of little use, the Alpaca is covered with a long, fine wool, of a silky lustre, which if left uncut will grow to twenty, and even to thirty inches in length. If cut every year it grows to be about six or eight inches in length. Its color is often a yellowish-brown, but is sometimes gray or black. For very many years the Indians have made their blankets and cloaks of alpaca wool, and for more than fifty years it has been used in Europe and America to make shawls, coat-linings, umbrella-covers and other goods. The wild species have also a very delicate and soft wool, of high value in weaving, but it is not nearly so long as that of the alpaca. THE ARCTIC BEAST OF BURDEN A fact many of you may know is that nearly all the animals kept by man for work or for food are those with hoofed feet. Among other animals that he puts to work may be named the dog, and this is not used much as a worker. A little has been said in former pages about working dogs, but the only region in which the dog is kept only for work is in the Arctic zone. The dog is the working animal of the Eskimo and the only one. Therefore in speaking of animals that work for man we must not forget the Eskimo dog. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of The Philadelphia Museums Dog Train Hauling Provision in Northern Canada] These big, strong, savage, thick-coated dogs of the realm of ice, are so much like the wolf that if let loose they would soon begin to make their living in the wolf's way. Their owners do not think of making pets or hunters of them. They simply feed and drive them and keep them in order with the whip. What the Eskimo dog dearly loves is a fight, and they snarl and snap at one another as savagely as any wolf could do. Only the sharp use of the whip can keep them from fighting. The Eskimos could not live in their cold country without the aid of these hardy animals. No other creatures could be found so well suited to their needs. With their thick and warm coat of hair these dogs can bear the greatest cold, and at night all they need for bed or shelter is a snow-bank into which they can dig and bury themselves. Here they sleep as cosily as if they were in a bed of feathers. They will eat any kind of meat or fish, and can drag a sledge with great speed and for hours at a time over the ice. Thus it may be seen that the Eskimos and Indians of the north have a useful servant in the dog. They hitch it to their sledges, the number of dogs varying with the load to be drawn. No reins are needed. There is a leader to the team trained to follow a trail and to obey its master's orders. The driver also carries a long, stinging whip with which he is very expert and can reach any dog in the team. If they get into a fight, as they are apt to do even when drawing a sledge, the whip is used to bring them back to their work. What would travellers in the sea of ice or seekers for the North Pole have done without the dog? It has drawn them and their food in all their journeys over the ice and the Eskimo dog is the only animal besides man that ever reached the Pole. Without its aid Peary, the great explorer, would never have got to the North Pole or got back again to his ship. Is it not well to speak, then, about how the dog helped him in this famous discovery? When Peary took his ship, the Roosevelt, far to the north, he had on board more than two hundred dogs and plenty of walrus meat to feed them. When he went north over the ice these dogs were used to draw the sledges loaded with food and other supplies. The explorers had to walk; no dogs could be spared to draw them. [Illustration: Alaskan Dog Team. The Winter Mail-Carriers] On his last dash to the north, from 87° 57´ north latitude to 90° (a distance of about 140 miles), he had five sledges and forty dogs. The sledges were the pick of twenty-five that had started from the ship and the dogs were the best of all his teams. Also for drivers he had his four best Eskimos. With these sledges and men and dogs he got to the North Pole, which no one had ever reached before, and the faithful dogs shared the glory of the discovery. They came back with him--some of them, for some died on the way. The poor brutes did not know what they had done, and no doubt thought a good meal of walrus meat better than a dozen Poles, either North or South. Now shall we say something about the South Pole? Dogs have been used there too, but when Lieutenant Shackleton, the English explorer, made his famous journey in that region in 1909, he took with him four of the hardy ponies of the North, thinking they would be better than dogs. But his ponies died, one by one, and he and his men had to drag their sledges back by hand, eating the frozen pony meat as they toiled along over mountains of ice. Later explorers have taken dogs with them as better fitted for the work than the best ponies. THE ELEPHANT IN MAN'S SERVICE I do not need to tell you what the Elephant is like. Almost everybody has seen this noble creature, the largest of all animals except the whale. It belongs in its way to the hoofed animals, though it has five toes on each foot. For these are covered by a sort of elastic hoof, something like that of the camel, which gives it an easy, springy step. Though its home is in Asia and Africa, it has often been brought to America and shown in menageries and other places. It is a great, clumsy-looking brute, with a long, flexible trunk, ivory tusks, great flapping ears, stout legs and broad hoofs. The tusks, you know, are great overgrown teeth made of hard ivory. It does not look like an animal that could think, but few of the animals below man have done so many wise and smart things. Only the dog and the monkey are its equals. I shall speak of its thinking powers further on, but here I wish to deal with the elephant as a worker for man. The wild elephant loves its freedom and fights hard against those who seek to capture it, but when taken and tamed is often very mild and gentle. In India large parties of men, four hundred or more in number, are sent out to drive the wild elephants into great, strong pens that have been built of heavy timbers. Here tame elephants are used to hold the wild ones while they are being tied fast. By these and other means many of them are made captives and they soon become man's willing friends and helpers. The elephant is made use of in various ways. In ancient times it was often used in war. Troops of elephants were made to rush on the ranks of enemies and kill them with trunk and hoofs. In this way even the Roman armies were put to flight, they being scared when they first saw these huge, strange animals. But they soon learned how to frighten them with torches and drive them back upon their friends. The elephant has long been used in India as a working animal, and for this its great strength makes it of much use. It can lift and move heavy loads and a common elephant can carry half a ton for a long distance. But they need much care and cost a good deal to keep, for it takes about 800 pounds of fodder a day to feed a large one. When at work they show very good sense and know well how to do things. You would think so if you could see them at work in piling or moving timber. I fancy you would laugh to see how nicely and neatly they do it and what good sense they show. The female elephants have no large tusks, so that they can use only their trunks in moving the logs, but the male animals use their great tusks as well as the trunk. They will push logs weighing a ton and a half with ease. If the log has to go into the river they will push and roll it along to the bank, and as it slides down the muddy bank to the water will give it a slap with the trunk, as if to say, "Good-bye, old fellow; there you go." If the log to be moved happens to be jammed among the others, the wise animal soon sets it right. He will begin by getting his tusks under it and lifting it to the proper height. If the log is a heavy one, he will sink down on his knees so as to get a better lift upon it. It is a lesson in elephant wit to see him stack timbers. He will lift one end of the log nine or ten feet, and put it on top of the pile. Then he will go to the other end and push this forward until the log lies straight. The driver helps him in this by words and signs, all of which he knows as well as a sheep dog knows the words of the shepherd. The best trained animals are put to work in the saw mills, where they move about with much care among the saws and other machines. One man who saw an elephant laying planks and slats to be sawed, said in a newspaper that he saw the animal shut one eye while it squinted along the bench with the other to make sure the timber was laid straight. Perhaps the reporter had both eyes shut when he saw this. [Illustration: Elephant Piling Lumber. Observe How the Log is Grasped between the Trunk and the Tusks] It must be said that elephants are in some ways like men and boys. There are willing ones and lazy ones; some that like to work and some that hate work. You will see the willing ones drag along a log that weighs two tons without a groan. The lazy ones may be as strong as the willing ones, but they will make a dreadful fuss over a log not half as heavy. They are like boys, too, in the fact that some of them have good tempers while others are cross and surly. There is one thing more to be said about the elephant. It knows how heavy it is and does not like to go over a weak place. Thus it will not walk over a bridge until it has tried it to learn if it is strong enough, and it will not go into a boat without doing the same. You may see that it has sense enough to take care of itself. Here is the story of an elephant that had every day to go over a small bridge. "He one day refused to go over it, and it was only by goring him most cruelly with the _hunkoss_ (a sharp iron goad) that the driver could get him to venture on the bridge, the strength of which he had first tried with his trunk. At last he went on, but before he could get over the bridge gave way and they fell into the ditch, which killed the driver and greatly injured the elephant." It is very likely that the wise animal had found it to be weak when he last crossed it and knew it was not safe. I must tell you the story of some elephants that were with a body of troops in the mountain region of India. In their march they came to a steep place where the men laid a stairway of logs for the elephants to climb up. The first elephant came to it, took a good look, shook his head, and backed off. When the driver tried to force him to climb he would not move, but roared like a scared boy. Only when some change was made in the stairs could he be got to set foot on them, and he climbed up with great care, trying every step as he went. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums A Military Elephant on Duty, India] When he was part way up he came to a tree which he tried with his trunk and did not like. It seemed too weak. Again he stopped. The driver tried to get him to go on with such words as "My life," "Well done, my dear," "My son," and other kind words of which elephants are very fond, but he would not be got to move. Then force was tried. The elephant roared terribly but would not stir. At length some other change was made in the logs. This the wise creature tried and then went on until he reached the top. When he got there he showed the greatest delight, caressing the keeper with his trunk and throwing dirt about in the most playful manner. The elephant that followed was a much younger one. It had watched its comrade go up with great interest, making movements with its head and trunk as if it was helping him. When he reached the top it gave a salute like the sound of a trumpet. But when it was called on to take its turn it was greatly scared and had to be forced to mount the slope. When it got near the top the older animal reached down his trunk and twined it around that of the younger and thus helped him to the summit. Then the two animals greeted each other in the most friendly manner, as if they were old friends just met. They embraced each other with their trunks and stood for many minutes face to face as if they were talking over what they had done. All this goes to show that the elephant has a good deal of human nature in his huge carcass, and along with it a good deal of sound sense. ANECDOTES OF THE ELEPHANT The stories just told show that the great beast we are talking about has a keen idea of danger, often a better one than his drivers, and is more careful than a good many men we have seen. We give them as examples of the wit and wisdom of this sensible animal. If we look for stories of this kind among the other working animals, such as the ox, the buffalo, and the camel, we find little show of powers of thought, but of the elephant as a thinker there are very many interesting anecdotes. Some of these you may like to read. The story has often been told that the elephant, when he wants to get something a little out of reach, will blow on the ground or a wall beyond, so as to drive it inward by the wind of his breath. Here is the story of an elephant in which the cunning fellow took a different way of doing this. "I was one day feeding an elephant 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 trunk. After trying in vain to reach it, he at length blew the potato against the opposite wall with such force as to make it rebound, and he then without difficulty secured it." That is much like what a boy does in playing hand ball. The elephant has a good memory and also a fine sense of justice. It is not a safe animal to play tricks upon, for it does not forget the man who did this and will wait long for a chance to get even with him. Here is an instance told by a Captain Shipp, who wished to learn for himself if the elephant would bear in mind an injury and try to repay it. One day he gave an elephant a sandwich of bread, butter and cayenne pepper. After he had waited for six months he visited the animal to see how it would act and began to fondle it as he had been used to do. The great beast showed no signs of anger and the captain thought that it must have forgotten him and his pepper sandwich. But suddenly, while he was not looking, the elephant filled his trunk with dirty water and drenched the captain from head to foot. You may see from this that elephants have very good memories. One gentleman tells of visiting some elephants in London, and moving out of reach with his cane a part of the hay one of them was feeding on. The great beast showed much anger at this act. "Look out for him," said the keeper; "he will never forget it." The joker forgot it, for some weeks later he visited the same place and came within reach of the animal's trunk. Instantly it made a savage blow at him, that would have cracked his skull and killed him on the spot if he had not jumped back. In fact, many instances might be given where elephants have killed those who had injured them. Numbers of such tales could be told. Here is a story that teaches more than one lesson of elephant nature. An English gentleman, Mr. G. L. Layard, was visiting Ceylon and there saw a troop of working elephants coming up the road in the evening. Mrs. Layard asked if she might go down from the bungalow and see them nearer at hand. "Certainly," said Mr. Birch, the gentleman who had them in charge. He took a bunch of bananas from the lunch table and led the way to a fine female elephant, who was swinging her trunk about and looking at them. He gave the fruit to the lady and said:-- "You may give them to her, Mrs. Layard; she is a nice, quiet beast." Mrs. Layard held them out to the elephant, who took them gently, put them in her mouth and swallowed them, and then fondled the giver with her trunk. After patting and talking to her for some time they walked back to the house, where something was said in praise of the animal. "Yes," said Mr. Birch, "she is a noble beast, and very intelligent. She has killed two of her keepers within the last month." The lady grew pale as death on hearing this, and Layard turned on the speaker in a rage. "And you let my wife put herself in that creature's power!" he cried. "What do you mean by that?" "Oh," said Birch quietly, "do you think I would have let Mrs. Layard go near her if there had been any danger! She is the quietest and best tempered beast in the stud. She was quite right to kill her keepers. They had robbed her of her food." You may see from this that there is a code of right and wrong among elephants. Kind treatment they meet with kindness and ill treatment with revenge, and while they have a sense of justice they also have a sense of humor, and can give trick for trick. You can at times see them fairly laughing at some trick they have played. While an elephant was being shown at Dublin, doing a number of things he had been taught, a little boy, full of mischief but not of sense, was doing everything he could to annoy the great beast. The elephant gave no sign of taking notice, but it saw all that was passing, and when the boy came near enough thrust out its trunk and snatched his hat from his head. Then it turned half round, snorted loudly, and acted its part so well that all who were there thought it had swallowed the hat. The imp of mischief stood scratching his head and looking very blank, while the great animal appeared as if he enjoyed the joke highly. By the twinkle in his eyes he seemed to be laughing inwardly. In the end he drew the missing cap from his mouth and flung it into the boy's face with such an air of fun-making that all present broke into a loud roar of laughter. One would not think of such a huge brute playing tricks, but the elephant is fond of a joke and seems to enjoy it as much as one of us would. Elephants will raise latches, open doors, and show a fondness for mischief in other ways. They will also steal and hide their theft if the chance offers. An American showman saw one of them pull up the stake to which he was chained, go to an oat-bin, wrench off the lock, raise the lid, and eat all he wanted. Then he put down the lid again, went back to his place, poked the stake into the same hole, and stamped it down with his foot. When his keeper came the cunning brute looked as innocent as a lamb. The keeper raged and stormed on finding that he had been robbed, while the big thief stood quietly by, with an odd twinkle in its little eyes. Here is another story of the same kind. "An elephant in India was chained to a tree, and his driver made an oven at a short distance in which he put his rice-cakes to bake, and then covered them with stones and grass and went away. When he was gone the elephant unfastened with his trunk the chain round his foot, went to the oven and uncovered it, took out and ate the cakes, re-covered the oven with the grass and stones as before, and went back to his place. "He could not fasten the chain again round his own foot, so he twisted it round and round it in order to look the same, and when the driver returned the elephant was standing with his back to the oven. The driver went to his cakes, discovered the theft, and, looking round, caught the elephant's eye as he looked back over his shoulder out of the corner of it. Instantly he detected the culprit and punishment followed. The whole affair was seen from the windows by the family." No other animal has a weapon that can compare with the trunk of the elephant. With this long and flexible nose he can tear off great limbs from trees, and with the same trunk can be taught to pick up a pin. But great and strong as he is, the elephant is very nervous. He is ready to fight a tiger, yet mosquitoes disturb him very much and we are told that he is as much afraid of a mouse as any nervous girl, and will trumpet with terror if one comes near him. Elephants like bright colors and sweet perfumes, they are very dainty in their tastes, and are as fond of bathing as any one of us could be. They dearly love to revel in the water, and an elephant bath is something worth seeing. It is wonderful what tricks they can be taught and how neatly they will go through with them. In circuses and menageries the tricks of trained elephants are things people like to see. Most of us have seen how these animals, clumsy as they look, can balance themselves on tubs, stand on their hind legs like a poodle, with their fore-feet in the air, and do many other tricks, such as standing on their heads, with their hind feet raised. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums A State Elephant of India with Howdah] Baby-elephants also can be taught to play many tricks, such as to sit at table, use the fan, and the like. We are told of two of them named Jock and Jenny, that would come in, bow to the audience, mount on a plank, and see-saw like a couple of children. One of them would then walk on the tops of a double row of bottles. They would also play on an organ and drum, dance to the sound of bells, and do other clever tricks. If we seek elephant stories of another kind there are a number of cases in which the animals have been hurt and borne surgical treatment with great patience. There is a case where one went blind through some disease in its eyes. Nitrate of silver was applied to one eye and caused so great a pain that the animal roared wildly. But the treatment did the eyes so much good that when the doctor came the next day to try it on the other eye, the animal lay down, placed his head quietly to one side, and drew in his breath as we would do when expecting to be hurt. When it was over he gave a sigh of relief, and showed how grateful he was by movements of his trunk. This is one out of various tales of this kind that could be told. The elephant here learned by the good done to one eye that he was going to be helped with the other, and made up his mind to bear the pain for the good it would bring him. Not many animals can learn things without being taught, but the elephant can. One thing a tamed elephant is taught to do is to pick up things from the ground and hand them to the driver on his shoulders. At first he is made to pick up only soft articles, for he is apt to throw them up with force and might hurt the man above. After a time the animal gets to notice the difference between soft things and hard things. A bundle of clothes may still be thrown up with force, but a hard and heavy thing, such as a piece of iron chain, will be handed up gently. The wise creature learns in time to pick up a sharp knife by its handle and lay it on his head so that the driver can also take it up by the handle, and when made to pick up things it has never seen before it shows that it knows how to deal with them. We might go on and give many other examples of the mental powers of the elephant, but enough have been given to show that this great creature is one of the most sensible of all beasts and is as quick at learning the best way to do things as any others of the animal tribe. And it can think out things for itself, which shows finer thought than to have them taught it by others. [Illustration] IV ANIMALS USED FOR FOOD AND CLOTHING When we think of the many things man does with the animals he has tamed, the first that comes into our minds is their use in hunting and as house guards and pets. But we must not forget how useful they are as workers, in the fields and in the roads, in war and in peace. For long ages they were the only helpers that men had in work and travel. Only within our own times have we found out how to put the forces of nature at work for us and how much stronger those are than any animals. The animals kept by us have one value for which the forces of nature can never serve. That is their value for food. While we can use the power of the winds and of coal and iron in doing work, we cannot feed upon these or anything of this kind. To live we must have food, and this we can get only from the world of plants and animals. We also use the skins and furs of animals for clothing, and weave warm cloths out of their wool and hair. These are the things I now propose to talk about. THE CATTLE OF THE FIELD Is there anything that adds more to the beauty of a scene in the country than the grazing cows that give life to the fields, now cropping the grass, now resting under the shade of the trees, now wading in cool streams, now lying in midday rest? They are so mild and gentle, and look at us so quietly out of their big, kindly eyes that we cannot help keeping a soft spot for them in our hearts. [Illustration: Making Friends with a Guernsey Calf] They wear horns, but they do not use them, and we can walk through a herd of these large animals as safely as through a grove of trees; that is, if they are all cows, if there is not a bull among them. The bull, the male form of the cattle tribe, is a creature we must watch. If he happens to be cross and bad-tempered, as is often the case, he is not safe to trust. It is certainly not wise to wear a red coat or hat in a field where a bull is kept, for he seems to look on this color as a challenge to battle. To have to run from a bull is no fun, at least not if he gets close enough to help you over a fence with his horns. But we seldom see a savage cow. These are quiet, dull animals, that have no thought of anything but to crop the grass and flick off the flies from their skin with their waving tails. They do not have to take care of themselves. Their masters and mistresses take care of them, so they have nothing to do or think of but to grow fat and yield milk. There are wild cattle in various parts of the earth, and these have to take care of themselves, but the cattle of our fields have been kept tame so long that it is hard to tell from what wild species they came. We know that they were kept by the people of Egypt and China thousands of years ago, and that the Egyptians had certain bulls which they worshiped as gods. The bull and the cow are sacred animals in India and are never killed for food by the Hindu people. In modern times the cow has been kept chiefly for the milk she gives. She is also kept as a food animal, but is not made to work, like the bull and the ox. The animal that is killed for food is a large, well-fed beast, with straight back and well developed body. As for the bull, its savage nature is made use of in the bull-fights of Spain and it is also used in the "bull-races" of the South of France. Cows, as well as bulls and oxen, have two horns on their head. In some breeds these are very long and powerful, but there are others that have no horns and in fighting use their heads to butt with. In this way they can give a powerful blow. With his head, his horns and his hoofs an angry bull is an animal that it is best to keep away from. Cattle are of many colors and it is this which gives beauty to many of them. Among them we find such colors as black, white, yellow, brown, fawn, reddish brown, black-spotted and other hues, this variety of colors giving new beauty to a herd of grazing cows. It is a pretty sight to see them strolling up the leafy lane in the evening to the milking shed, with a boy and a dog to keep them moving. MILK-GIVING COWS There are a number of animals from which men get milk, but chief of all these is the cow. Those are breeds of cows which are kept only for milk-giving and which have been brought to yield so much and such rich milk as to make them of great value. In all history we read of the milkmaid, the girl whose duty it is to milk the cows, one of the chief duties on a farm. Nowadays we do not hear so much about the milkmaid. She has for the most part gone out of business. No doubt, many of my young friends have seen how milking is done, the cow with its full udders, the white stream of milk which flows from the teats when pressed, and the large quantity of this rich fluid which some cows will give. Perhaps some of you may have tried the art yourselves, but it is an art that needs to be learned, and many cows will not yield their milk to awkward fingers. Some of them, indeed, when they do not like the milker, will kick over the full bucket and now and then the milker with it. In some way the cow turns part of the grass she eats into this rich fluid, so useful to mankind, not only as a drink, but for the butter and cheese it yields. Nature provides milk to all animals of the class known as mammals as food for their young, but by long usage the cow has been brought to give milk at all times and thus helps to feed her keepers as well as her calves. I hardly need tell you that milk is a white fluid in which float small globes of fat. This fat is the butter of which we make so much use. If the milk is let stand, the butter floats to the top and is skimmed off in a rich fluid we call cream. By various modes of churning the butter is got out of the cream, leaving a thin liquid behind called buttermilk. Butter is not the only thing got from milk. Cheese is another product of much use. It is made from the solid parts of the milk. When an acid, or a substance called rennet, which is obtained from the calf's stomach, is put into the milk, the solids come together in a soft, white jelly, leaving a greenish, watery liquid called whey. It is from this jelly, or curd, that cheese is made by pressing out the whey and leaving a hard, solid mass. There are many ways of making cheese and many different kinds of cheese, often so unlike that we can scarcely think they came from the same source. [Illustration: Back to the Pasture After the Milking] Now let me say something about the various breeds of milk-giving or dairy cows. They differ very much. Some give a great deal of milk; some much less. There are cows that have given as much as twenty-four quarts of milk a day. Think of six gallons from one cow in one day, enough to fill a vessel of large size! Others may give only ten quarts or even less. But the cow that gives the most milk does not always give the best, for there is great difference in the richness of milk. Thus the best butter makers may not be those that fill the fullest pail. The quantity of milk depends on the food eaten, the kind and plenty of grass in the fields or hay in the stables. But the amount of butter in it seems to come from something in the animal herself. You have often heard, and perhaps often seen, the different breeds of dairy cows, the Jerseys and others. There are many of these breeds. The Dutch cattle, those that come from Holland, are mostly good milk-givers, also those of Holstein and Friesland yield a very full pail, and there are splendid milk-givers elsewhere. All of us must have seen the beautiful cows from the Channel Islands, near the coast of France, known as Jerseys and Guernseys, often called Alderneys, now so common in our fields and which give such rich milk, from which splendid butter is made. We may also speak of the Ayrshire cow of Scotland, which is of high value to the cheese-maker. All these and other cows have been brought in numbers to this country, which has no good breeds of its own. Did any of my readers ever try to churn cream into butter? Those who have done so did not find it very easy work. To lift a long rod up and down or turn a handle till your arms feel ready to drop off is never the best of fun. In past times all butter-making had to be done in this way, with some sort of churn, but now in large dairies a small engine is used to do the work. In our days great part of the butter is made in creameries to which the farmers take their milk. Here the cream from 600 or 800 cows may be dealt with by one skilful butter-maker, who handles it with great care, so that we get a better quality of butter than was of old made on most of the farms. [Illustration: From Davis's Practical Farming The Holstein Cow, a Great Milk Giver] This way of getting the butter from the cream was started in the United States, where now there are thousands of creameries in the many states. From this country it has spread to many parts of Europe, but there most of the butter is still made on the farm. Cheese is also made in the same wholesale way and American cheese is sold in many parts of the world. We use here so much milk and butter that it is not easy for us to see how people anywhere can do without it. Yet there are parts of the world where cow's milk is not used. Thus if one should go to China he would find the people making no use of the milk of their cows. And in India the milk of the buffalo is liked better than that of the cow. Even in parts of Europe little use is made of milk and butter. This is the case in Italy, where olive oil takes the place of butter. But almost everywhere, except in India, much use is made of cattle for food, and of this something must now be said. BEEF-MAKING CATTLE In the United States the raising of cattle for meat is a great business. For years past this country has fed its own people and helped to feed those of Europe. The meat of cattle killed in Chicago and other cities is sold in the markets of London and other parts of England and the people of that country have long been growing fat on American beef. This is not so much the case in Germany, France, and Russia, for great numbers of cattle are raised there, but at times we could find the beef of our country on the tables of most of these lands. When the white man went to America he found no cattle there. But it was not long before there were plenty of them, brought from Spain, France, England and other countries. These spread all over the continent until there were cattle everywhere. But these were not the best of cattle. There were no fine breeds raised here as in Europe. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums Ox Team and Native Cart, with Wooden Wheels, Nicaragua] This is the reason why so many Jersey, Ayrshire, Dutch and other fine milk-givers have been brought here from Europe. Meat-making cattle have also been brought, those known as Shorthorns, Herefords, and others, and now we can find in our fields great numbers of fine, fat animals, which are taking the place of the old poor stock. Good beef cattle are large and square in shape, full and broad over the back, with thick legs, short necks, and well rounded bodies. The eye is bright, the face short, the skin soft, the flesh mellow and rich. Cattle of this kind are to be seen now in numbers in our fields. But the great cattle-raising sections of this country are the broad grassy plains of the West and the vast fields of Texas. Here may be seen the great ranges, where for long years past cattle have been kept by the millions, roaming about, feeding on the rich grass, and growing fat and juicy. Here also is the home of the cowboy, the man who lives on the horse and rides as if horse and man were one animal. His duty it is to ride among the great herds, keep them in order, stop them when they run away in mad fright, and live among them as the sheep-dog lives among the sheep. Brave fellows and splendid riders are these cowboys, among the best in the world. If you should go west to-day you would not find the open cattle range of the past. The cattle-owners have found it best to fence in their ground, and wire fences may now be seen all over that once open country. But the fields thus made are very large and the cowboy still finds plenty to keep him busy. If we seek other parts of the world we shall find cattle-ranges like those of the United States. In South America there are two great regions of this kind. One of these is in Venezuela. Here are great open plains called llanos, covered with rich, thick grass on which millions of cattle feed. The same is the case with the pampas of Argentina, vast prairies over which cattle roam in countless numbers. On those great plains dwell the brothers of the cowboy, daring riders whose lives are spent in the care of the grazing herds. The Gauchos, as the cattlemen of Argentina are called, are not the sons of civilized fathers like our cowboys. They are a race by themselves, bold and hardy, but ignorant, many of them part Indian. But they are born and bred to the saddle and no riders can surpass them in handling their swift horses. Of the other countries where great herds of cattle are to be found we may name South Africa and Russia. Mongolia, in the Asiatic part of Russia, is a land of vast plains, called steppes. This may have been the first region in which cattle were kept. As far back as history goes the herdsmen of this great region have been roaming about with their cattle, horses and other animals, living in tents, and moving from place to place seeking new fields of grass when the old ones are cropped. This was their life thousands of years ago and this is their life to-day, and they seem no more civilized now than they were then. We do not care to talk about the killing of these fat herds. That has nothing to do with Home-Life, except in so far as we find their meat on our tables, for the killing is mostly done in great sheds and pens built for that purpose. It will be enough to say that the animals we have been talking about are of the greatest use to man. They work for him, they feed him with their milk and flesh, and after their death nearly every part of them is of use. From their skins leather is made and we walk upon their hides in our shoes. From the bones glue and gelatine are obtained, and when the bones are ground they are used to fertilize our fields. In fact use is made of nearly all parts of the animal and hardly a scrap of it goes to waste. [Illustration: An Ox-team on a Florida Plantation] IN THE BULL RING The bull is not a nice animal to deal with. It is often surly and savage, and few of us care to be in the same field with it. In some parts of the world its courage is made use of in a brutal kind of sport. In former times what was called bull-baiting was very common in England, and might be to-day only for the laws. A bull was driven into a closed-in place and dogs were sent in to fight with him. Sometimes, to make him furious, pepper was blown into his nose before he was set free. At times a dozen or more dogs were sent in at once. At other times the bull was tied to a stake by a rope of some length, and bulldogs were set upon him, one at a time. They were trained to seize the fierce animal by the nose, which was called "pinning the bull." But the best fun to the lookers-on was when the bull lowered his head to the ground, caught a dog on his horns and tossed him a long distance away. Bull-baiting was kept up until 1835, when laws were passed to stop this cruel sport. But bull-fighting, which has long been very common in Spain, is still kept up in that country. In ancient times fights between bulls and men were common in Greece and Rome, but in modern times they have been held only in Spain and its colonies. They may be seen to-day in the cities of Spain and Mexico. As we have a baseball season in this country so they have a bull-fight season in Spain. In the city of Madrid it lasts from April to November, there being at least one fight every week. The fights are held in a kind of circus, with seats for 10,000 or 15,000 people, who have to pay well to see the brutal game. There are three classes of men who take part in a bull-fight. The first of these are the "picadores." These fight on horseback, each of them with a lance. If the bull is a coward they crowd upon and kill it. If it is brave they often have to fight for their own lives. The bull may lift the poor horse on its horns or may throw the rider, who is sometimes killed. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums Carting Manila Hemp. Philippine Islands] When the picadore is in danger the second class, the "chulos," run in. They wear bright-colored cloaks and gay ribbons and draw the bull after them by waving their bright cloaks in his face. When the bull shows signs of being tired these men throw darts at him which stick into his neck. Some of these bear fire-crackers, the noise of which makes the bull furious. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums Moose in Harness. This is a Rare Use of this Great Deer-like Animal] Now the third man comes in, the "matadore." He is on foot and carries a sword, and in his left hand is a short stick with a piece of red silk tied to it. When the angry bull sees this red stick he rushes at it, for he hates anything red. Now the matadore has his chance. With one quick stroke he thrusts the sword into the animal between the shoulder-blade and the spine, driving it in to the hilt, and the poor bull falls dead. Then a team of mules, gay with flags and bells, enter and drag out the dead bull, another is driven in, and the fight begins again. The horses and bulls are the chief sufferers, it being said that about 2500 bulls and 3500 horses are killed every year in the bull-fights of Spain. The horses used are poor creatures, only fit to end their lives in a bull-fight. The people cheer the matadore for his victory; but they are quite as ready to cheer the bull that has killed his man. But it is a rare thing for a man to be killed in the fight, usually it is only the poor animals that suffer. The other nations of Europe and the people of this country do not like bull-fights. They look on them as cruel and unfit for civilized times. But the people of Spain love them and will not give them up. THE WOOL-CLAD SHEEP Long, long ago, hundreds of years before men began to write history, perhaps before they had tamed any other animal, the woolly creature called the sheep began to share the home-life of man. In the first pages of the Bible we find its name. Abel, the second son of Adam and Eve, was a keeper of sheep before he was killed by his brother Cain. It may have been kept in very early times in all parts of the earth, for the sheep can live in all climates, from hot to cold, and its meat and wool are of great use for food and clothing. Also it is easily tamed, and in the ages of the past it became so used to being taken care of that it has long forgotten how to take care of itself. Thus the sheep that crop the grass in our fields have come to be stupid animals. But this is not the case with the wild sheep which are found in various parts of the earth. These are quite able to fight their own battles and are sharp-witted, like most wild animals. It is only the female sheep, the ewe, that is so dull. We all know that the male sheep, the ram, is much more wide-awake. These often have very large horns, and the wild ram knows quite well how to take care of himself and his family. They will run from danger if they have to, but if cornered can make a very good fight. Even one of our field rams has at times shown itself a good match for a bull. While much smaller in size, it is far more active and can hit a very hard blow with its bony head and big horns. Have you ever seen a fighting ram? One of them has been known to throw a bull to the ground at the first rush. It can fight dogs, too, and is always ready to defend itself and its flock. Rams also fight one another, and when two of them come together at full run, their heads crack like the sound of a musket and their hind parts are lifted into the air. Many sheep have no horns, and these are not so fond of fighting, as the horns are a great help to them. Men keep sheep for two things, their wool and their meat. The same is the case with cattle, which are also kept for two things, their milk and their meat. All over the earth people are fond of mutton, or the meat of the sheep, while the wool is used wherever warm clothes are needed. In some cold countries the skin of the sheep, with its woolly coat, is used as a cloak and is found a warm covering. The wool of wild sheep is short and lies below an outside coat of long, straight hair. But this hair is lost in the tame animals and a coat of long, thick wool takes its place. Wool, you should know, differs from hair in having a scaly surface, which causes its fibres to cling together. This makes it good for twisting into yarn and weaving into cloth, also for felting, as in the making of felt hats and rugs. Of course very many of you have seen the sheep in the field, walking slowly about all day long, cropping, cropping, cropping, as if eating were all it lived for. This is the case all over the earth, for sheep are the most common of our farm animals and are kept in vast multitudes in various countries. So tame and gentle are they that the shepherd and his dog can easily keep a large flock in order. He has to guard them in some countries against wolves and also against sheep-killing dogs. [Illustration: Cattle and Sheep of the Scottish Highlands] The sheep is a mountain animal, not a native of the level plains like the horse and the ox. The wild sheep do not live on level ground but among the lofty hills and are often found in very high places. We have one species in our own country, the Big-horn or Rocky Mountain Sheep, which can climb over the roughest cliffs and plunge down steep places without hurting itself. There are other species in Asia and Africa, with the same habits. From this we know why tame sheep are so fond of hill climbing and why they do so well in such rough regions as the Highlands of Scotland. Young lambs are very fond of climbing every little hill they see. When feeding, sheep like mountain sides better than they do plains. Here they nibble away at the short, fine grasses, which they like better than any other food. You may have read of troubles and fights between the shepherds and cowboys of our western plains. This comes from the close nibbling of the sheep, which cuts the grass down to its roots and leaves no food for the cattle. On this account the cattlemen hate the sheep-men and in some cases kill large flocks of sheep. The sheep are said to do harm also on the mountain sides, clipping the grass so close with their sharp teeth that the rains carry away the soil, and leave none for the trees to take root in. There are a number of countries in which sheep are kept in mighty flocks. These are the United States, Europe, Argentina, Australia and New Zealand. There are numbers of them also in Asia and Africa and here there are several queer kinds, which would seem very strange to us. The oddest of these is the fat-tailed sheep. The tail of this animal grows to a very great size and has been known to weigh 70 or 80 pounds. It is a big bunch of fat of which the people of those countries are very fond. In some cases, to keep it from being hurt by dragging on the ground, little wagons are used and the sheep go about dragging their tail behind them in a sort of baby carriage. There is another kind with a huge hump of fat on its hind-quarters and hardly any tail at all. On the other hand the Circassian sheep has a tail so long that it trails behind on the grass and is covered with fine, long wool. There is a kind of sheep in Africa with very long legs and hanging ears, and in several places they have odd kinds of horns. Those of the sheep of Wallachia make a complete turn and then rise up from the head to a great length. The Iceland sheep and some of those of Russia has three, four, and even five horns. In Europe sheep have been kept during many centuries and a number of useful breeds are now to be found in the different countries, some with fine, thick wool, some with rich, juicy meat. All of the sheep of this country were brought from Europe, and many of the best breeds are kept here, among them the Southdown of England, which is of value for its splendid mutton. But nearly the whole of our sheep came from the Merinos of Spain, a kind of sheep which has been kept in that country from the past ages on account of its fine, soft wool. The Merino may now be found all over America and Europe and also in Australia, so that it is the most common kind of sheep on the earth. The first of them were brought to our country in 1801 and we have now many millions of their descendants. There is much more that could be said about sheep. No meat is more common on our tables than mutton and in all cold countries woolen clothing is worn. In Bokhara, a country of Central Asia, is a sheep which yields the valuable _astrakhan_ fur. This is not taken from the full-grown sheep, but from the lambs. When very young these bear a short, fine wool, curled all over them in small locks. To make it curl better they are sewn up, while very young, in another skin or a piece of coarse linen. Long hairs soon grow through the wool and to prevent this the lambs are killed when they are only a few days old. [Illustration: The Merino Ram, the Great Wool Bearer] There is still another use to which sheep are put. This is the making of cheese. There is a breed in the south of France which are milked and from their milk is made the famous Roquefort cheese. In making this layers of moist bread crumbs, ground to powder, are placed between layers of the milk curds. This mixture is pressed and salted and then kept for a month or more in dark mountain caves. There the cheese ripens and gets the special flavor for which it is liked. WOOL SHEARING AND WEAVING Sheep are of value for various things: their meat, which so many like; their skins, from which parchment and fine leather are made; their bones, used in making buttons; their fat, for soap and candles; but most of all their wool, which has long been the most valued product. So here I must tell the story of this very useful animal fibre. Go back as far as we can in history we read of the sheep-shearing. You may find it spoken of in the early parts of the Bible as a time of feasting and merry-making. In many countries it is a festival time. In past ages people seem to have cared more for the wool than for the meat, though now sheep are kept as much for their mutton as for their wool. In the past the custom was to pull the wool from the sheep at the molting season. This is the time when the sheep shed their wool and when it comes out easily. But it is at times a cruel process, as the skin may come off with the wool. It is still done in Ireland and in parts of Europe, but the common custom in these days is to cut the wool with a sort of tool or machine. This cuts the wool in a smooth and even manner and does not hurt the sheep. It also can be done in much less time. When in the old way it took half an hour to shear a sheep, in the new way it can be done in ten minutes or less. The sheep should be washed and the wool cleaned before they are sheared and this is done in our country and in some others. But in many places it is not done and the fleece is cut with all the grease and sweat in it. Of course, these fleeces have to be washed by the buyers, and do not bring so good a price. Shall I say something about the uses of wool? In all times it has been used for making cloth for clothing, and spinning and weaving are very old duties of the household. If wool is made damp and then pounded it clings together so as to form a kind of felt, and in our times much wool is used in this way to make felts for hats, carpets and shoes. Felting is a simple process, but in weaving there are many things to be done. The wool has to be combed out, spun into yarn, and handled in other ways before it can be woven into cloth and fitted for making into clothes. All this business of yarn-making and weaving is now done in great factories, fitted with machines, which rattle and roar as they swiftly change the rough fleeces of wool into smooth sheets of cloth. But all this work in former times had to be done at home, in a much slower way, from which there came a rough, coarse cloth called homespun. This was the way in use in this country in the times of the colonies. Many of the old spinning-wheels, by which the wool was spun into yarn, are still kept and may be seen in museums, and some of the old looms by which the yarn was woven into cloth are also to be seen. It was hard work for the women of the house to make the clothing of the family in this slow way. A suit of clothes then had to be worn for a long time, for they took too much labor in the making to be thrown aside as quickly as they now are. It was in these homespun clothes that our soldiers won freedom in the Revolution, and they were woven after that date. But in time the factory came, cloth grew plentiful and cheap, and the rattle of the old spinning-wheel was no longer heard in the land. THE BEARDED GOAT Now we come to an animal in some ways much like the sheep, but in other ways very little like it. This is the goat, a more vigorous and hardy animal. Unlike the sheep, it wears a beard under its chin. It is not kept much in our country, for it is not well fitted for cold climates, but likes best the warm airs of Southern Europe and Asia and Northern Africa. Some of my readers may only know this animal from taking a ride in a goat carriage when young. Or they may have seen it roaming about in rough places eating anything it could find, for that is the way with the goat. It will even eat tobacco and seems to think this a fine diet. The wild goat, like the wild sheep, is a dweller in the mountains. It is still more daring than the sheep. No peaks are too high for it to climb, and when chased by the hunter it will make long jumps from one pointed rock to another where no man would dare to follow. No other animal can equal the goat in climbing and leaping. It is even said that some kinds of goats will jump down from a high place and save themselves by falling on their strong horns. But I do not know if anybody ever saw this done. A well-known wild goat is the Ibex of the Alps. This is a splendid fellow, with long and strong horns but no beard. It used to be very common, but has been shot at so much that very few are left. The Chamois of the Alps is an antelope, but is much like the goat, and is a wonderful jumper. It thinks nothing of leaping over a ravine sixteen or eighteen feet wide, or over a wall fourteen feet high, or of running up and down very steep hills. But the hunters have killed most of these animals also. They think it fine sport to shoot a poor chamois and let it fall to die in a deep abyss where no one can reach it to get its body. There are many who do not think this good sport. Goats, like sheep, were tamed and made natives of the home and farm very long ago, no one knows how long. The tame kind comes from the wild goat of Southern Asia, but it has grown smaller in size and its horns have become shorter. It was kept in Bible times and by the old Greeks and Romans. These kept it for its milk and the cheese made from it, and also for its meat. The flesh of the kid, or young goat, is very good, but that of the old goat has a strong and unpleasant smell which few people can endure. [Illustration: The Alpine Ibex. Note the Curiously Knobbed Horns] In modern times Greece and its islands have more goats than they have people and there are many in Malta and Corsica, Italy and Spain. They are not kept largely in the United States, there being about one goat to every fifty sheep. The goat will thrive where the ox and the sheep would starve, as on rocky hill-sides or thin, poor soil. There is little they will not eat, though you had best not believe that they are fond of old tin cans or any diet of this kind. One bad habit they have is to gnaw the young shoots of trees, of which they are very fond. This makes them deadly to forests, for no young trees can grow where they are kept. The goat has done much to kill out the trees on the hills of southern Europe and Asia and thus to destroy the forests of those regions. It is also fond of the grape-vine, and on this account, in ancient times, it was sacrificed to Bacchus, the god of wine. The goat is far from being so dull and stupid an animal as the sheep. It makes friends with its keepers and is a cunning and curious brute, though too fond of using its horns. This is often done in play, but in a way that is not very funny, except to those who look on. It will rear up and pretend to attack you with its head and horns, but this is only its way to ask you to play with it. The playful pranks of the kid, or young goat, are often spoken of in poetry. It is a gay little creature, fond of capering about in an amusing way. In fact the goat is not at all stupid and has often shown sense and cunning. There is a story of a goat that rang a door bell when hungry for its dinner, by hooking its horn in the wire. Another story is of two goats that came face to face on a narrow ridge in the rocks. There was no room to pass and after looking at each other for some minutes one of them lay down and let the other walk over its body. Two men could not have done better than that. The long-eared Syrian goat is trained to do all sorts of tricks. One of these is to balance itself on a pile of small wooden blocks built up to a height of several feet. Fancy a sheep doing this! [Illustration: Milk Goats in the Alps] If it be asked what are goats kept for, the answer would be, chiefly for their milk. Goats' milk is very rich and is easy to digest and this makes it of much use for sick or feeble persons, to whom cows' milk is at times dangerous. It is very good for consumptive people. In parts of Europe it is thought that certain diseases of horses and cattle will not come when goats are with them, so they are often kept in stables and cow-barns to ward off disease. Though the goat is a small animal it gives a large quantity of milk, often from four to six quarts a day and sometimes more than this. There are cases where twelve quarts a day have been given. The milk is apt to have a bitter taste and an unpleasant odor, but that comes from the way the animals are fed and kept. With good care and food, the milk will lose this taste. The goats of Syria and Palestine give sweet milk and goats' milk is much used in that part of the world, as it was in the old Bible times. The Arabs have a great dislike for cows' milk. The milk of the Syrian goats is also very good for making butter and cheese, which are said to be of very fine quality. Much butter and cheese are also made in Europe from goats' milk. These have a special taste of their own, but are much eaten, for one soon gets used to the taste. Goats are made use of for other things than for their milk, butter, cheese and meat. In early times the goat-skin was used for clothing, and it still is in some countries. The skins are also used by the wandering tribes of Asia as vessels to hold drinking water, and also, tightly sewed and blown out with air, as a sort of boat for crossing or floating down rivers. In our days the skins of goats are made into leather. Kid skins are used for gloves and shoes, and goat skins for morocco, shagreen, and other fine kinds of leather. The hair is made into ropes which may be kept in the water without injury; also in England to make wigs for judges and others, the hair of white goats being used for this. Goats' hair is also used to make brushes and hats. Knife-handles and other things are made from the horns, and the fat is better than that of the ox for candles. [Illustration: A Pair of Angora Goats] I must now speak of two kinds of goats of use for their wool. One of these is the Cashmere goat, from the wool of which the fine cashmere shawls are made. This goat has a coat of long, stiff hair, but under this is a very fine, soft, fleecy wool, white or gray in color. Of this each goat yields from one to one and a half pounds. To make a shawl a yard long, takes the wool of twenty to twenty-five goats. They were formerly made in large numbers but in our days few of them are to be seen. The other wool-yielder is the Angora goat, well known in this country. This yields a thick and fine wool, soft and silky and slightly curled. The color is mostly snow-white, though at times there are dark patches. It is shed in great locks in summer, but soon grows again. During the hot weather the goats are constantly washed and combed, to add to the beauty of their wool. The finest Angora wool, called Mohair, comes from goats a year old. All its value is lost at six years of age. IN THE PIG-STY Let us now take a glance at that grunting brute known to us by the various names of pig, hog, and swine, which dwells in the pig-sty when tame and in the forest when wild. Clad in bristles, with thick skin, short legs, curled-up tail, no neck, and round snout, no one would buy the pig for a beauty. But in his case use goes ahead of beauty, and who will say that he is not of use? Though the pig is a very docile brute in man's care, he is far from mild and gentle in his wild state. In fact, the wild hog is not an animal to be played with, nor is it a safe one to fight with. Hardy and active, fierce and bold as a lion, with a strong head and long, sharp tusks in his large jaw, the hunter who goes out to seek him in his lair must do so with care and skill or the pig will get the best of the hunt. Most of the beasts of the wildwood let the hog alone. He is not safe game. But for many long years he has been hunted by man, who likes a game that has a spice of danger. In the days of old Rome the chase of the hog was a favorite sport, and it was the same in later times, when the lords and dukes of England and Germany were very fond of hunting the wild boar. In our days "pig-sticking" is a common sport of the English in India. Mounted on trained horses and armed with long, sharp lances, the hunters seek to bring down their game from the saddle. But if by any foul chance the hunter should be thrown from his horse near the hunted brute his chance for life is not good. The furious brute will rush upon him, and with one thrust of its strong jaws may rip his body open with a deadly wound. Great nobles and warriors have met with death in this base way and the wild hog has held his own bravely among his enemies. Is this fierce fighter of the forest the same animal as the lazy grunter of the pig-sty? There is no doubt of it. His long life under man's care has taken all the fight out of him. Only in one way does he show his old temper. He is the most obstinate of all the animals we know. He does not like to be driven and will do his best to go just where you do not want him to. But he no longer fights to win his way; he only grunts or squeals and holds back. [Illustration From Madeira's "Hunting in British East Africa" The Wart Hog. An African Tusked Cousin of the Wild Boar of Europe] Try to drive a pig and you will find this out. You will soon be in a fret over the stubborn brute. If you want him to go forward you may find it best to try and drive him backward. An Irishman tells us that this is the only way to "persuade" a pig. It takes a Chinaman to make little piggy go the right way, and this is done by putting him in a basket and carrying him. Two men carry this basket, hung on a pole. It is a sort of cradle in which piggy goes to market. The only time the pig can show his obstinate temper is when he is asked to go into the cradle. He holds back, as usual, but the cunning Chinaman knows what to do. He takes hold of the pig's tail and gives it a hard pull as if trying to drag him backward and the stubborn brute at once rushes forward into his cradle. The pig will eat almost anything. By nature he is a plant feeder and in his wild state will roam the forest feeding on plants, fruits, and roots of all kinds. His hard snout helps him to dig into the ground in search of favorite roots and his keen sense of smell aids him in finding them. Thus he likes wet, shady places where the ground is soft and such plants grow. In France and Italy the pig is trained to hunt for truffles, a kind of fungus which grows under ground and which makes good eating. He finds the truffles by his sense of smell and roots them up with his snout. In some places dogs are trained to do the same. The truffle found, the pig's master rescues it for his own table. Pigs are fond of mast, the name given to the acorns and beech nuts that cover the ground in the nutting season in oak and beech woods. In ancient times it was the common practice to fatten the pigs on these nuts in the proper season. A hungry pig is not particular about his food. If no plants are to be had he will feed on worms, snakes, and small animals of any kind. Pigs in the pen are often fed on animal refuse, all sorts of kitchen slops being poured into their troughs. They will swallow this stuff greedily enough, but it is not good for them, or at least for those who eat their flesh, for this loses in flavor and is not so wholesome as when they are fed on good vegetable food. Corn and clover are two of the things the pig likes best. Turn him out into a clover field and he will have a joyful time of his own in this rich food and put plenty of good fat on his ribs. He does no harm to the field if not left there too long and it does good to him. In fattening pigs corn is freely given. It is not best to give corn alone, but it makes a good dessert after he has had the run of the pasture or clover field, and is the best fattener when he is being put in order for the market. In visiting a farm the pig-pen is one of the things we are shown. It is not a pleasant place for a morning call, for the smell is not a sweet perfume and the mire in which the pig rolls is not nice. We are apt to go away with the feeling that this animal is a dirty brute. This is giving poor piggy a bad name which he does not deserve. It is his owner more than himself that is to blame. If he had his own way he would be clean enough. Like all thick-skinned animals the pig loves to wallow in the mire and cover himself with mud to protect him against insects. But left to himself he will keep his sleeping place clean. Those who know how to keep pigs soon learn this and supply the animals with dry and clean places to sleep in. [Illustration: A Fat Berkshire Hog. A Monarch of the Sty] Pork, or the flesh of the pig, has long been used as meat. In some places so much is thought of it that the animal is held to be sacred. It is the chief flesh food in the South Sea islands, where the animal was long made a precious sacrifice to the deities. This was also the case in ancient Greece, and on the island of Crete the hog was a sacred animal. No people have ever been fonder of hog meat than the ancient Romans, and we are told of strange ways by which they gave it a fine flavor. They fed their pigs with old, dried figs, drenched with wine and honey. This was to make their livers grow large, pig's liver being a choice Roman dish. In cooking the meat they would often serve a pig whole, one side being boiled and the other side roasted. In dressing the animal for the tables of the emperors and of rich Romans they would stuff it with such delicate food as larks and nightingales and serve it with wine and rich gravies. To eat pork in such ways would seem very odd in our days. In many countries pork is the favorite meat. We find it so in Germany and France. In Ireland every peasant raises his pig, which makes its home in the same hut with him and thinks itself one of the family. In the end the man often has to sell his pig to help him out of debt, and looks on the porker as "the gintleman that pays the rent." But the pig is not eaten all over the world. The Jews and Mohammedans will not eat it, and look upon it as an unclean animal. As there are nearly two hundred millions of these people on the earth, there are at least that many who do not eat pork. But aside from these, pork is eaten by the great mass of the people of the earth. The pig is not an American animal. All our pigs, and they are many millions in number, came from animals brought from Europe. We have here the peccary, a kind of little pig, very savage and dangerous, as it goes in herds and attacks every man or other animal it meets. But it has never been tamed, and we owe our pigs to the Spanish and other discoverers. Our swine have grown mighty in numbers, and we pay the Old World for its gift of the pig by sending it back every year many millions of dollars' worth of pork, bacon, hams, lard, and other pig products. The best foreign breeds have been brought here and other breeds have been produced here, so that the American pig is hard to beat. This country is the great corn country of the world and great part of its corn is fed to the pigs of the West, so that we sell much of our corn in Europe in the form of pork. Of the many breeds of pigs, that of China is one of the best. The Chinese are as kind to their pigs as the Irish and they have an animal worth being good to, one that has been sent abroad to many other countries. It is noted for its small size, fine head and snout, large hams and shoulders, compact body, fine bone, hair and skin and sweet, delicate meat. We have it in some of the best American breeds. If it be asked what the pig is used for, we should say that there is no part of it that is not used for some purpose. We eat it under the names of pork, bacon, ham and lard; its skin is made into leather, which is much used for saddles; the bristles are used for brush-making. In fact, when we think of all its uses, there is little left but the squeal and in our days even that may be used in the phonograph. [Illustration: The Razor-back Hog of the South. Compare this lean Beast with the Fat Berkshire Hog given above] We might look upon the pig as a stupid animal, that lives only to eat and to be eaten, but this is not the case. It is in fact, a rather smart fellow in its way and can be taught to do many tricks. If you have ever seen what are called "learned pigs" you will agree with this. The pig can do tricks without being taught. We have told how cats and some other animals can open latches and gate pegs. This the pig can do as well as any of them. We are told of one pig that was taught to point game like a pointer dog, and did this so well that she was more useful than a dog. [Illustration: Animals of the Farm and Poultry Yard] Here is a good pig story. A gentleman named Stephen Harding says:--"I saw an intelligent sow-pig about twelve months old running in an orchard, going to a young apple tree and shaking it, pricking up her ears at the same time as if to listen to hear the apples fall. She then picked the apples up and ate them. After they were all down she shook the tree again and listened, but as there were no more to fall she went away." That might not be very smart in a boy, but it is smart in a pig. [Illustration] V THE BIRDS OF THE POULTRY YARD We have had a long talk about the four-legged home-folks, those animals, big and little, that aid man in hunting, amuse him as house pets, carry him on his journeys, pull his carts and wagons, supply him with milk, butter and cheese, and yield him food for the table, wool for clothing, skins for leather, and other things for other uses. This is a long list of the good that man gets from the animals he tames and feeds. But it is not the whole. There is another class of animals, two-legged ones this time, with claws instead of hoofs, horny beaks instead of mouths, feathers instead of hair, and wings in place of fore-legs. These are the birds of the poultry yard and the lawn, some of them kept for their eggs, some for their flesh, some for the splendor of their plumage; some of them very useful, others very beautiful. I am sure that you will enjoy a talk about these winged and feathered creatures. They belong more closely to the home-life of all people than some of our four-legged friends and helpers, as they are kept close to the house and fed by its people, not left to feed themselves in the fields. Best known and most useful among these is the hen or chicken, our clucking friend of the poultry-yard, who fills our pantries with eggs and is served on our tables as one of the best liked foods. THE HEN AND ITS BROOD The city, we know, is a hotbed of noises, sounds of all sorts troubling our ears by day and night. We try at times to get rid of them, but find that not easy to do. The best thing for us is to get used to them and learn to sleep in spite of them. We need to become like Jock the miller, who got so used to the roar and clang of his mill that he could not sleep when it was still. Some city people find it so hard to get used to the noises of the night that they go to the country for a quiet sleep. Do they find it? They may in still winter nights, but in the summer season the country has noises of its own. As soon as night falls a host of wood insects begin their endless drone. Then there is the locust and the katydid, with their shrill calls, and perhaps the whip-poor-will, with its mournful cry. Falling to sleep at last, after these sounds have lost their force, no sooner are the first faint rays of light sent from the east, at three or four o'clock in the morning, than a new sound invades the ear and wakens the sleeper with a sudden start. This is the early waking cock, with his loud "cock-a-doodle-doo." Standing on his own fortress he sounds his shrill alarm. A dozen more, near and far, from all points of the compass, take up the tune. The air is soon full of this strident cock-crow, the signal of the coming of the sun, until all hope of sleep is at an end, and the pilgrim wishes himself well back in his city bed. He finds the country not such a sweet sleep-producer as he hoped. [Illustration: Feeding the Chickens in the Farm-yard] In old times people held the cock to be a sacred animal, the herald of the dawn, the symbol of light and the sun. In later times it was held to be the wide-awake sentry of the coming day. There are places where its image is mounted on church steeples on guard over the winds. Everywhere it is the emblem of vigilance, and this is what the city sleeper in country beds finds it. With its stately attitude, its erect head crowned with feathers like an Indian chief, its showy spread of tail, and its air of pride and dignity, our cock strides about as the lord of the farm-yard and peals out his loud "cock-a-doodle-doo" like a challenge to battle. And he is usually quite ready for battle if any rival cock takes up his challenge. While the cock thus blows his trumpet blast, the hen finds other work to do. Her business is to lay eggs, hatch out her brood of funny little chicks, lead them about the poultry yard in search of worms and other food, and gather them fussily under her wings when a hawk is seen in the sky or any danger appears. Mrs. Hen does not have the ear-splitting voice of Mr. Cock, but she has a language of her own. There are only a few words in it but each of them has a meaning. There is the proud cackle with which she tells the world that she has laid an egg, the lively chuckle with which she brings her brood to a feast of worms, and the quick cry of danger which sets them running to the fortress of her wings. Her brood know what all these chickenwords mean, and it is for their ears they are spoken. The hen is not as handsome a bird as some other inmates of the poultry yard, but if we look over all our stock of these birds we will find some very good-looking ones, these for their showy colors, those for their fine shape. Among those that are kept more for ornament than use are the great Cochin China fowls, stately birds, giants of their kind, of lordly bearing and fine coloring. They do not lay many eggs and those they do lay are small. Also they are not very good to eat. But they win respect through their size and beauty and thus are kept by many as birds of show. Another family of giant fowls are the Brahmas. They are smaller than the Cochin Chinas, but are as handsome, and along with this they lay many and large eggs and their flesh is very good. So these are kept not only as birds of show but birds of use. When we come down to hens of smaller size we find a number of breeds, not less than forty in all, dwelling in various parts of the world and many of than good in various ways. Like nearly all our home animals, America is not the native place of the hen. Neither is Europe, for it came from Asia, that great continent in which so many animals were first born. But the hen tribe has spread all over the earth, the chicken is a household treasure almost from the north pole to the south, and we can hardly find a country home in any land without its crowing cock and its clucking hen. While not native to America, it makes itself very much at home there and the United States has some excellent breeds of its own, of which we may be proud. These are the Plymouth Rocks and the Wyandottes, which have been called the national fowls of America and which can hold their own with the best breeds of Europe. While we have brought a number of fine breeds from foreign lands, we have sent these two abroad, and they have won high praise both for beauty and usefulness. The Wyandottes are of various colors, the white being best liked; others are of silver, golden, speckled, black, and partridge-color. They are splendid egg layers, filling the yearly basket with from a hundred and fifty to two hundred eggs. The Plymouth Rock may be speckled, light yellow, or white, and it bears a strong resemblance to the Wyandotte, except that the latter has a double comb on its head while the former has a single one. As the cow is kept for its meat and its milk, and the sheep for its meat and its wool, so is the hen kept for two purposes, its flesh and its eggs. Some kinds are bred for the table and they are of great value in our food-supply. Everybody likes a dish of chicken meat, which is fine in flavor, easy of digestion, and very good for the weak or sick. Other kinds are kept for egg-laying and the egg-harvest of the world is vast in size. It is the nature of the hen to lay eggs enough for a brood of chicks, sit on them to keep them warm, and take care of the brood when it appears until the chicks are old enough to scratch for their own living. [Illustration: English Dorking Cock and Hen] But these duties take up much time in which no eggs are laid, and the farmers who deal in eggs try to prevent the hens from nest-making and egg-hatching. In this way many hens have been forced to forget what they were made for and have gone out of the hatching business. These give all their spare time to egg-laying. Some of them lay more than two hundred eggs a year. Breeds of this kind are found mostly in the countries along the Mediterranean. The number of chickens kept and of eggs laid in the world is far out of sight. In the United States alone in 1900 there were nearly 250,000,000 chickens, and nearly 1,300,000,000 dozen of eggs were laid. This made three chickens for each man, woman and child in the country and seventeen dozen of eggs for each. Since then the number has grown much larger and the annual egg crop of the world, if it could be heaped up together, would make a pyramid far larger than the largest in Egypt. THE GAME COCK AND ITS BATTLES I do not want to say much about cock-fighting, for it is a cruel sport and leads to the vice of gambling, through which many lose large sums of money. But the fighting of game-cocks has a history of its own, and cannot be quite passed over in our story of the hen and its brood. The males of all the higher animals are fond of fighting. It is one of their duties to act as guardians of the family against danger from outside, while the females look after home affairs. This fighting temper is very common among animals and men have often made use of it in getting up battles between animals. We find it in the chicken family, and cock-fighting has long been enjoyed by sport-loving people. While all cocks are ready to fight at times, and the winning cock struts about the poultry yard like a conqueror, there are special breeds known as Game-cocks which are always ready for a battle and will fight till victory or death ends the fray. Game-cocks are classed among the ornamental poultry, for they are of little use as food and their hens lay few eggs. Yet they are highly thought of in some countries, a good fighter is treated as a member of the family, and one that has won several victories is worth much money to his owner. There are two kinds of fighting cocks, large ones and small ones. Some of the little kind are not larger than pigeons. They are usually known as Bantams, from the town of Bantam, in Java, though it is more likely they came from Japan. These little birds, many of them of only a pound in weight, are heroes of the poultry yard, for a fighting bantam is more than a match for a common cock five times its size. The bantam has been spoken of as "a fine example of a great soul in a little body." The large game-cocks of Europe come chiefly from France and Belgium, but good ones may be found in other countries. In fighting, the chief weapon is the sharp spur on the back of the leg, which they use as a sort of dagger. It is common to fasten steel spurs, and sometimes even silver ones, on the leg, and the first blow from one of these may bring death to an opponent. Cock-fighting is a very old form of amusement. It was common among the Greeks and Romans, and was kept up in England for six centuries. It was even an annual sport at public schools. Laws have been passed against it at various times, the last in 1849, but it is still practiced now and then out of sight of the law officers. The same may be said of the United States. In these times this sport is most common in India, the Malay Islands, and the Spanish countries of America, where the people are very fond of it. The training of cocks to fight and getting the bird ready for the cock-pit is an art in itself. It needs skill to fasten on the spurs. Two years old is the best fighting age. When a match is made it is settled how many birds there shall be on each side and they are carefully weighed, those within an ounce of each other being matched. These are said to "fall in." Those that do not fall in are set to fight what are called "byes." In a Welsh main the cocks fight until only one is left alive. They are like the famous "Kilkenny cats." If we should seek a country where cock-fighting may take place under the laws, the nearest to us is in the isle of Cuba. In the cities of that island the cock-pit is as popular as the circus is with us. It is a circular space, with seats around filled with lookers-on and bettors, for much money is lost and won in one of these fights. The birds are of a native breed, and are said to be very brave and bold. In a country under our own rule, the Philippine Islands, cock-fighting is one of the best liked forms of sport. To take this from the Filipino would be worse than robbing him of his freedom. Sundays and feast-days are the times for cock-fighting, and on these dates the cock-pit is sure to be crowded. When a feast-day arrives, after the siesta, which comes in the hot hours of the afternoon, crowds of natives may be seen going to the large bamboo building where the fight is to take place, many of them with fighting cocks under their arms. A sharp steel spur, two inches or more in length, is tied to the left leg of each, as an aid to the spurs given the cock by nature. These cocks are the great treasures of the natives. The bird is often more to its owner than his children. He fondly caresses it, and it eats, crows, and sleeps in his arms. But it is apt to become a nuisance to the traveller, for he often has to spend the night in the same room with the family cock, and as it begins to crow about three o'clock in the morning all sleep after that hour is at an end. Inside the pit two cocks at a time are matched, and when the hour for the fight is reached dollars begin to rain into the ring, each bettor laying a stake on his favorite and throwing his money into the ring. Then come the words _usada_ ("matched,") and _largo_ ("let go"), and in an instant the two birds are in and at each other, fighting as fiercely as two bull-pups. The battle is usually short, a well-directed blow from the steel spur stretching one of them dead on the ground. The name of the winner is now called out and those who have won bets hurry down into the ring and pick up their own stakes as well as the sums they have won. This seems a queer method, but the bettors act honestly. It is safest to do so, for to take more than their due would likely lead to a knife thrust from these hot-tempered people. Under the Spanish law fifty dollars was the limit of a bet; but little heed was paid to this and larger bets were often made. THE WEB-FOOTED DUCK AND GOOSE While the hen is not fond of water, the duck and goose could not well live without it. They are born for swimming, with webs between their toes that serve as oars. On the land they walk with an ugly waddling gait, but in the water they are very graceful, and a flock of swimming ducks or geese is a pretty sight. In raising ducks the nature of the bird needs to be kept in mind. Water is its native element and it will not do well on the land. It cannot be kept in a coop or an inclosed place like fowls, but give it an open field, with a running stream, and it will ask nothing more. You will hardly need to feed it, for it knows well how to feed itself. The duck is not a lazy bird. It will eat almost anything, and is always waddling about picking up snails, grubs, and insects, or sailing on the water and thrusting its beak into the soft mud for worms. [Illustration: Willie and His Pet Ducks] If the duck farm is large enough and has a pond or stream, the keeping of ducks is very easy. They are nearly free from disease and need little looking after. Some kinds of ducks are very handsome, their colors being bright and varied. The male of the common duck (known as a drake) has a splendid plumage in its wild state. The head and upper neck are of deep emerald green. Lower down is a collar of white, and the lower neck is of dark chestnut. The wings are of a beautiful deep blue. The tame bird is not nearly so beautiful. It uses its legs instead of its wings to get about, so that it almost forgets how to fly. This easy life and plenty of food helps it to grow and fatten, a fact that makes it better suited to man's use. It has long forgotten how to build a nest and almost how to sit on its eggs, so that in some places the hen is used to hatch out the young ducks. To see a hen going about with a flock of young ducklings looks odd to us, and when the little waddlers jump into the water and swim away the hen mother seems sadly scared. She fears that all her pretty ducklings will be drowned. When the baby duck gets out of the egg and is ready to begin life it is shut up for a few days and fed on soft food, such as ground wheat and barley mixed with hard-boiled egg. After this it is let out into the field and set free to search for the animal food it needs. In Belgium, where many ducklings are raised, it is comical to see the breeder hopping about the field on big wooden shoes, kicking up the earth as he goes so as to force out the worms for the little strangers to feed on. It does not take them long to learn how to find food for themselves. Of the different kinds of ducks we may name the Rouen of France as a fine and beautiful bird and a good layer. In England the Aylesbury is the best, as it grows fast, is very hardy and lays many eggs. The Pekin duck is much like it and is highly thought of in this country, where large numbers of white Pekins are raised for market. The duck of India is new to us but has won its way among duck raisers. It is the best of its kind as an egg layer, its harvest being over one hundred and fifty eggs a year. Its flesh is very delicate so that it is much liked for the table. While the duck is not so widely kept as the hen, there are places where it is raised in large numbers. In the United States there are duck farms in which as many as twenty thousand birds a year are grown. There are no farms like this in Europe, though in some countries ducks are raised in great multitudes. These are not allowed to grow old, being sent to market when eight to twelve months of age. They pay better when sold at this age, for after that new feathers begin to grow and buyers do not want them. If we turn now to the Goose, we find it a swimmer like the duck, but larger in size and with a much longer neck. It belongs to the duck family, but does not eat animal food like the duck. It gets a good living off of grass and this makes it cheap and easy to raise. In Russia, where geese are kept in large numbers, the goose girl leads her flock every morning to the fields, lets them feed during the day, and brings them home at night to the village. The goslings are given some ground grain for a few weeks, and then are left to feed themselves. [Illustration: An Assault by Hungry Geese] The goose, like the duck, has largely gone out of the business of egg hatching, turkeys or large fowls being used to sit on the eggs. They are neither good hatchers nor good layers, the best breeds rarely giving more than thirty eggs a year. But they are hardy and healthy and do not die off like young chickens. They can bear cold easily, and though a shelter is made for them in winter, they always sleep in the open air in the summer. The goose is a strong bird and can strike a hard blow with its wing. In trying to catch them the keeper must be careful, for they are able to break his arm with a blow and have done so more than once. But they are good watchers for the farm. They wake very easily, and if a stranger comes upon the farm in the night they make noise enough to arouse the whole household. This habit has given the goose a place in history. The Romans of old kept a number of geese in the temple of Juno on the hill where stood the Capitol. The goose was sacred to that goddess and it was the custom to keep a flock in her temples. One night a party of Gauls, who had laid siege to the city of Rome, found a narrow path up the steep hill and were almost at the top when the sacred geese heard them and made so loud a cackling that the garrison woke up and rushed out. Here the Gauls who had reached the top were flung down the steep hill, stones were thrown down on those that followed, and the Capitol was saved. One of the best known breeds of geese is that of the Giant goose of Toulouse, usually about sixteen pounds but sometimes twenty-four pounds in weight. The Embden goose is still larger. The Giant goose of Italy is the only good layer, and yields about sixty eggs a year. In Germany and some other countries geese are driven for days along the roads, in flocks of several hundred. They are not easily tired and are good travellers, so that this is the cheapest way to get them to market. As for the uses to which the goose is put, these are simply for food and for their feathers and quills, which are plucked several times a year. The fine, soft feathers are of much value for pillows and beds, and before the steel pen was invented goose quills were used all over Europe and America to make into pens. [Illustration: Gander Hissing at an Enemy] In England the goose is often roasted for the Christmas dinner, as the turkey is with us, and the gizzards, heads and legs are sold in sets, under the name of "giblets," to be used for pies. Goose liver has long been a dainty dish. It is made in Strasburg to grow very large by keeping the geese in a room at high temperature. In this state it is sold as a great delicacy under the French name of _pâté de foie gras_ ("pasty of fat liver"). THE TURKEY AND THE GUINEA FOWL So far we have had to do with birds and beasts of foreign birth. As men from abroad have peopled our cities, so animals from abroad have peopled our fields, and we have not as yet met with one true American in the list. It is lucky that I have a native American to offer you, and one that is in some ways the finest of all our birds of the farm. This is the Turkey, the largest of them all and the choicest when roasted and served upon the table. We may well ask, what would a Christmas dinner be like without this noble bird to fill the place of honor? There are wild turkeys still in our woods, though the bullets of the hunter have left few of those once found there. These wild birds have certain odd habits well worth speaking of. Thus the male birds keep away from the females during a great part of the year, going about in flocks of from ten to a hundred, and feeding on grain, seeds, fruits, insects, tadpoles, lizards and such small game. The females go about singly or in flocks with their young. They take care to keep away from the old males, which have a bad habit of killing and eating the young. Turkeys roost in trees but make their nests on the ground, laying from ten to twenty eggs before setting. These are much larger than the egg of the hen. The wild turkeys have small wings and are poor flyers, so that when they try to cross a river a mile wide many give out and fall into the water. But they usually manage to swim ashore. There are two species of wild turkey in America, one native to the United States and Mexico and one found in Central America. The latter is somewhat smaller than our home bird but is finer in color, its feathers being of a beautiful metallic-green or bronze color, with hues of black, gold and sky color. The male turkey has a habit much like that of the peacock. He spreads his large tail upward like a fan, while his wings are made to trail on the ground. In this way he struts round and round with great dignity, giving vent at times to a loud "gobble, gobble," an odd sound of his own. The tame animal has the same habits, gobbling and strutting in the same way. Cared for and fed for the market, it grows to be a large and fat bird, with plenty of rich, juicy meat upon its bones. It is its size and the sweetness and delicacy of its flesh which make it a feast-day favorite. The turkey is fond of roaming about and does not like to be confined to the poultry yard. On a large farm, where there is plenty of room to wander, the bird will do well and find most of its own food. But the young birds are delicate and hard to raise and it takes great care to bring them alive through babyhood. The hot sun hurts them and so do rain-storms and it is bad for them to get wet by running through long grass. If they are carefully attended to for their first few weeks of life and fed on food fitted to their young tastes they can be trusted afterwards to take good care of themselves. While this bird has long been one of the prized tenants of our home poultry yards, the same is the case in Europe. There is a Mexican variety, with a whitish tail, which was taken to Europe by the early Spaniards and has spread widely in that continent, where it is raised with great care. There are few large farms in America and Europe on which these birds are not kept--not in large numbers like the hen, for they do not take kindly to home life and need much room to wander, but enough for the demand. They are first-class hatchers, and will sit on from twenty to twenty-four eggs. They also take very good care of their flocks and guard them from harm. The turkey, as we all know, is a large bird. It may be had of many sizes for the Christmas table, from ten or twelve pounds up to twenty-five or thirty. While much attention is paid to it in this country, it perhaps gets still more in Europe. In our cities it is a sad case when a family cannot have a roast turkey for its Christmas dinner, and in England it is taking the place of the roast goose, once the favorite. But the goose still holds a pleasant corner in the British mind. Any of you who have read Dickens's story of Tiny Tim and Bob Cratchit's Christmas dinner will be sure of this. It is a queer fact that, while the turkey is the only American bird on our farms, it is at the same time the only one that has been given an old world name. It was early named after the Turks, under a wrong impression as to its origin, and the name has clung to it. It is quite as strange that the same must be said of the natives of America, who were given the name of Indians from the idea of Columbus that it was the land of India he had found. This name has also clung. France is a country well suited to the raising of turkeys, and for hundreds of years the turkey has been a favorite bird in that land. Splendid birds are grown there, chief among them being the Solonge turkey. This is a bird of a brilliant black color, though now and then it is of white or steel-blue. They grow to be very large, one having been sent to the poultry shows of 1902 of the great weight of forty-five pounds. This was sent to Spain to be seen and was visited in Madrid by the king and queen. On its return it took cold and when it got well of this it was killed by a fellow who did not believe in fat turkeys. The turkey was revenged, for the murderer spent five months in prison for his crime. In some of the villages of France a woman is paid at the public cost as a care-keeper of the turkeys. Every morning she gathers her flock in the village and leads them to the open fields like the goose girl of Russia. When she comes home at night with her flock she does not need to pick out those of the different owners. Every bird knows its home and goes there, never making a mistake. [Illustration: Driving Turkeys to Market] That is all we need now say about the turkey. The rest may be left unsaid till the Christmas dinner, when the noble bird lies brown and steaming on his back in the great platter. Then the carver stands over him knife in hand and we hear from him the customary question, "Which will you have, white meat or dark?" To most of us it does not matter which so that we get a bounteous share. The Guinea-fowl, of which we shall speak in passing, must be dealt with briefly, for it is not largely kept in our home poultry yards, though much attention is paid to it in some parts of the world. It is one of the few gifts which Africa has made to our home-life family. This bird belongs in the pheasant tribe and is found in Guinea and South Africa. It also occurs in the north and was much liked by the ancient Romans. But it is better fitted to warm than to cold climates, and as the young are apt to die of infant troubles it is not kept in large numbers in our poultry yards. Yet the bird and its eggs bring good prices in the market. The climate of Jamaica is just right for the Guinea-fowl and in that island it has made itself at home, taking to the woods and to a wild life. There it has become fond of feeding on the growing crops and is hunted and shot like a game bird. The special fact about this bird rests in its color, it being prettily speckled with round white spots on a dark gray color of plumage. There are several species, the best known being the common guinea, which is often called "come-back" from its call. In its wild state it gathers in large flocks and is very shy and hard to get near, while it keeps up most of the time a harsh cry which Latham compares to a door turning on rusty hinges or a wheel on an ungreased axle. In the farm-yard it perches at night in high places and if disturbed rouses up the whole neighborhood by its ceaseless cry. The eggs of the Guinea-fowl are smaller than those of the hen and rounder in shape. They are of a reddish-white color, and are delicious eating. Many are laid and the female has the habit of hiding her nest until the young are hatched out. The flesh tastes like that of the pheasant, but is rather dry. It was served up at the Roman feasts, and is much liked now by many persons. It may be further said about this bird that it is at times a nuisance in the poultry yard, for the male guinea has the tendency to attack the other poultry and act the tyrant over them. Another habit is to scrape in the ground like a hen. It also loves to roll in the dust and thus free itself from insects. THE SWAN, AN IMAGE OF GRACE Next on our list of home birds is the Swan, one of the most beautiful and graceful of the whole bird race. When afloat, like a winged boat, on the still surface of lake or pond, with its snow-white body and wings and its long, curving neck, it is a thing of beauty which we are all glad to see and enjoy. The swan may still be found wild, but it has long been tamed and kept as an ornament of lakes and rivers and the broad ponds of country homes. Here it may be seen gliding softly along, with its white wings partly lifted, as if to catch the wind, and its neck gracefully bending as it moves. In ancient times the swan was called the Bird of Apollo or of Orpheus, and was held to have splendid musical powers, singing most sweetly when it was dying. But this is a fancy of the poets, for the voice of the tame swan has no music in it, being only a sort of hiss, like that of the goose. There is a variety of the bird called the Trumpet Swan, but it is so noisy that few care to keep it. Also in Australia there is a bird called the Singing Swan, with a voice that might be spoken of as a kind of song. Some of these have been brought to Europe, but the common swan has no sort of song, living or dying. There is an American species of the swan, which in winter may be seen flying in flocks as far south as Texas, but this has not been tamed. There is also a black swan found in Australia, and now to be seen in a tame state. It is deep black in color, except the main feathers of the wings, which are white. It is not nearly so pretty as the white swan, but when black and white are kept in the same pond the contrast is very fine. The black-necked swan of South America is thought by many to be the most handsome of them all. Its bright white body and black neck make a pleasing contrast. When tamed this bird keeps to its own part of the pond, as if too proud to mix with common folks, and will fight them off if they come too near. [Illustration: The Black Swan of Australia] In fact, the swan is always ready to fight if it is meddled with. Quiet and docile with its friends, it does not like strangers and will make furious attacks on its enemies. When the mother bird is going about with her flock it is best to keep out of her way, for she is jealous of her brood, and if the male bird is near he will not bear meddling with his family party. He will attack men and dogs alike if they come too close and drives away the other birds of the pond. His weapons are his strong wings, with which he can deal powerful blows. Under the law of England the swan is a bird royal. All swans found on sea or river in a partly wild state are claimed as birds of the crown. These royal birds are marked in a special way and whoever steals one of the king's marked birds may be punished as a thief. The same is the case with tame swans and with swan's eggs. He who steals or destroys the latter is liable to a fine of five shillings for each egg. The mother swan lays from six to twelve eggs, on which she broods for thirty-six days, while the father bird keeps at hand with a sharp lookout for meddlers. They make their own nests and take care of themselves, though a little island is often built up in the middle of the pond with a straw-lined shelter in which the nest may be made. After they are hatched, the little swans take boldly to the water and swim about in search of food. They are gray when born and do not gain their dazzling white color until they are two years old. Swans live chiefly on plant food, but they are also fond of fish spawn and will destroy this in great quantities, thus helping to keep down the crop of fish. In the tame state they are fed by throwing food upon the water, though they may be taught to come ashore and seek their food in a fixed place. In Belgium there is a flock which has been taught to come to the casino of the military officers for its meals. The casino stands close to the canal and steps go down to the water. Every afternoon at feeding time the swans may be seen coming up the steps from the canal and crossing the street to the kitchen of the casino, where they make a signal by knocking on the floor with their beaks. The cooks then throw them food. After this is eaten they make their way, at the command of the head-cook, in a straight line back to the canal, heedless of men, dogs, or wagons which may be in their way. [Illustration: The Graceful White Swan Swimming] In former times swans were used for food, and it was common at every great feast in England to serve up roast swan, there being special rules how it was to be cooked and the proper gravy made. Swan's quills were also used for pens. In our days it is seldom eaten and quill pens rarely used, and the only value to be had from the swan comes from its downy feathers and its large and beautiful wings, which often bring good prices. THE PROUD AND GAUDY PEACOCK Among all the birds of the poultry yard first in display stands the peacock, one of the most splendid in show of all birds. This fine fellow, with his glowing colors and royal tail, has some claim to be proud of his looks. Any of you who have seen him will agree with me in this. For those who have not seen him I must try and tell what he is like. Rising from the head of the peacock is a crest of feathers of the most brilliant green and gold, while all its plumage is richly colored. But its finest feature is its splendid train, a great circle of feathers which rise above the tail and which it can lift into a glowing circle of wonderful beauty. Of these feathers the middle ones are sometimes more than four feet long. They grow shorter on each side till they form a complete fan. All of these are spangled with eye-like richly-colored spots, so that a peacock with its tail spread is one of the most brilliant objects in nature. Well he knows how royal is his dress, and dearly he loves to show himself to the plainly-dressed ladies of his flock, strutting about with full spread train and turning slowly round that they all may see how lovely an object he is. Once each year this proud fellow loses his fine feathers, and at this time he tries to keep out of sight, as if ashamed of his plain attire. But they soon grow again and once more he comes forward to show himself to the world. [Illustration: Lippincott's Primer The Peacock, the Most Gorgeous of Home Birds] This bird comes from India and Ceylon. There is another species in Java which is said to be still finer in its display. We are told that "its crest, head and neck are rich green, the breast bluish-green margined with gold, the back bright copper-color barred with green and light brown, and the upper tail coverts rich green with gold and copper-color reflections." Nature seems to have done her best to lay splendor on this royal son of the tropics. What else shall be said about this bird, aside from the beauty of its colors? In its younger days this does not appear, the sexes being alike in plumage when they are young. The male is three years old before its days of show begin. The cry of the bird is a shrill sound like _Pao_, and it also makes an odd noise by rattling its quills. It is given to quarrels and keeps to itself at night, roosting high in the trees. Its chief food is grain, though it also eats insects and worms, and if it can get into a garden it is sure to make mischief before it is found out. In the woods of India the peacock is said to be often seen in company with the tiger, though why no one knows. It is not easy to learn in what way these two can help each other or what tastes they have in common. If the taste of the tiger is for the meat of the peacock, the bird would be likely to keep out of its way. How long it has been since the peafowl was first tamed we cannot tell, but the Bible speaks of it as being known in Palestine in King Solomon's time. Alexander the Great seems to have brought it from India to Greece and after that time it was well known in the west. The Greeks and Romans called it the bird of Juno, and the rich Romans, who would go to any expense to make a new dish for their tables, are said to have eaten the tongues and brains of the peafowl. How many of the birds must have been killed to serve for one foolish dinner! In our days the eggs and young are said to make good eating, but the birds are kept usually for their beauty alone, though their splendid tails are used at times as an ornament. THE DOVE-LIKE PIGEON Is there not something very soft and tender in the word dove and in the loving ways of this fine bird? When we speak of the Turtle-dove there rises in our mind an image of tenderness and love which never comes to us when the Pigeon is named. Yet these two are the same. Pigeon and dove are two names for one family of birds. Long ago the species known as the rock-pigeon was tamed, and this is the one that lives with us in such numbers as one of our chief home birds. The place we keep him in is often called the dove-cot, and in this way the two names are still kept together. The wild rock-pigeon, the ancestor of our tame pigeon, is also known as the ring-dove, so that the term dove-cot fits very well. The pigeon is our one bird of the air. The other tenants of the poultry yard have long given up the art of flying, except for a very short distance, but the pigeon is a great flyer still and spends much of its time on the wing. It is indeed one of the fastest of flyers and thinks little of a journey of a hundred miles through the air. But it never forgets its home and if taken away will wing its way straight back again. The pigeon has been a companion of man for ages past. It is spoken of in the annals of Egypt at a date five thousand years ago and has been at home in city and village ever since. With its wonderful power of flight it seems strange that it does not leave us never to return, but as it has nothing to escape from and much to come back to, the pigeon can be trusted with the fullest liberty. It is, in truth, a trusty bird, gentle and lively in nature, fond of society and faithful to its own. It loves its home, and tenderly caresses its mate, with a graceful show of affection. Under its name of the dove it has long been held as the emblem of peace and innocence, and the phrase "billing and cooing," so often applied to lovers, is taken from its love-making methods. In the old countries of Asia the pigeon was held to be a sacred bird. In Greece it was the bird of Venus and was kept in great flocks around the temples of this goddess. From Greece it spread to Rome and thence to all Europe, and in time became the Christian symbol of immortal life, the white dove being looked upon as the bearer of souls to heaven. This idea still survives and less than two weeks ago I saw a beautiful white pigeon set free over a grave and fly upward as one on a heavenly errand. In the city of Venice the pigeon is a favorite bird that has won the affection of the people. Clouds of them circle around the cupola of St. Mark's church and the roof of the Doge's palace, and the man who sought to catch or harm them would do so at peril of death from the people. Birds build all sorts of nests, some good, some bad, some very bad. Those of the wild pigeon belong among the very bad, and there is a reason for this, if we can believe a story that is told about our feathered friend. This story says that the father of all the pigeons tried his best to make a good nest but kept making bad ones. In the end he asked the magpie, who made fine nests, to show him how it was done. He agreed to give the magpie a cow in return for a lesson. After watching the magpie for a few minutes he said that he knew all he wanted to and would not give the cow. A judge was called to settle this case, the verdict being that the pigeon had broken his contract and could not claim any further lessons. So ever since that time the pigeon has built the worst kind of nests. The pigeon nest-builder is here spoken of as "he," for it is the male bird that builds the nest, the duty of the female being to supply the eggs. And he also takes part in sitting on the two eggs with which the female begins her brood. The young pigeon is a blind and helpless bird when it comes from the egg. It is at first fed with a sort of broth made in the crop of its parents, and all through its bird babyhood it needs close care, both from its father and mother and from its owners. A dainty and pretty bird it grows to be, one that charms us by its fine shape and its rich colors,--blue, gray, red, yellow, white or brown,--also by its swift and graceful flight. It needs to trust to its wings to escape its enemies, for neither its claws nor its beak are made for fighting. But its eyes are sharp and its great swiftness saves it from harm. So keen is its sight that it can see a morsel of food, such as a pea or seed, at a long distance. A quick swoop, and it has the food in its beak. Much might be said about the care of the dove-cot or pigeon-house, but it is too long a story to be given here. We can only say that much needs to be done in keeping the house clean and fit for its purpose and in caring for the birds. Its diet is made up of peas, beans, corn, oats, barley and potato, with hemp seed for a special delicacy, while it picks up many other bits of food in its daily flights. It is wonderful how many kinds of tame pigeons have come from their wild ancestor, the rock-pigeon. Of no other animal except the dog are there so many and it is hard to believe that they all came from one source. A few of them may be named, for the whole list is far too large for our space. Among the various kinds may first be named the Tumbler pigeon. This bird flies to a great height, then sinks and soars in circles and curves, turning somersaults in the air. All at once it drops down in nearly a straight line; then stops short, hovers on its spread wings, and flies upward to begin the play again. A flock of these tumblers will keep in the air for hours at a time, enjoying themselves and pleasing their friends below. Of these tumblers there are many varieties, different in color, shape and size. A very odd kind of pigeon is the Pouter, in which the breast stands out until it is like a great food chest, for the swelling is due to the great size of the upper stomach. As a result the head is thrown back almost out of sight behind this swollen chest. This gives the bird a sulky, pouting air, from which comes its name of pouter. Of the other kinds we may speak of the Frilled pigeons, with the breast feathers frizzed like a shirt frill; the Fan-tails, the tails of which spread out in the fashion of those of the peacock; the Russian Drum-pigeons, which do not coo, but make a sound like the roll of a drum; the Capuchin, with a white hood and tail and a dark tuft on its forehead; and the Lark, Magpie, Swallow, and Starling-necked pigeons, all with something to suggest these titles. So far we have said nothing of the Carrier pigeon, for that claims a place for itself. It is a bird of noble bearing, with no show of fine feathers, since it looks more like a wild than a tame bird, but with a splendid power of flight, one which no other pigeon can match. Its great value is that when taken to a long distance it has a wonderful power of finding its way home. This makes it of much use as a messenger bird, a kind of natural telegraph which was used centuries before any other telegraph was thought of. [Illustration: Pigeon Types. Carrier and Short Faced Tumbler] No one knows how the carrier pigeon finds its way home. Most likely its keen power of sight has much to do with this. When set free, it flies upward into the air in widening circles to a great height, as if trying to see something known to it in the far distance. In the end it darts off in a straight line, which ends only when it has reached its mate in the home dove-cot. Of course it needs to be trained to this by shorter flights, but a well-trained pigeon will find its home when a hundred miles or more away. The message is written on a piece of very thin, light paper, tied under the bird's wing or to its leg. The history of the carrier pigeon goes far back in time. In the days of ancient Greece winners in the public games sent word of their victory to their friends by pigeon post. A real pigeon postal-system was founded in the Arabian empire by the Sultan Noureddin, who died in 1174, and this was kept up until 1258, when Bagdad, the capital, was taken and destroyed by the Mongols. In later years, during the wars of Napoleon, large gains are said to have been made by the Rothschilds, the famous bankers, who received news of great events by pigeon post and used those news for stock buying and selling. The newspaper press has also made much use of messenger pigeons. The greatest case of this was in 1870, when the city of Paris was besieged by the German army and all the telegraph wires were down. News was sent out from Paris, in microscopical writing so fine that a single bird could carry thousands of messages at once. Military pigeons are still trained for use in case any war should arise. In the German city of Cologne there is a station with five or six hundred pigeons, trained to fly to the fortified places of the empire. THE OSTRICH AND ITS SPLENDID PLUMES After our talk about the pigeon, with its swift powers of flight, we now come to a bird which has no power of flight at all, yet which is of much value to us from the splendid feathers of its wings. It would take strong wings indeed to lift from the ground the ostrich, the largest of all birds, standing six to eight feet high. But what it lacks in wings it makes up in legs, for it is a wonderful runner, being able to outrun the fastest horse. As it runs it spreads its wings, which seem to act as sails. The ostrich has often been tamed and thus it may be classed with birds of the home, though much too large for the poultry yard. It grows quite friendly to those who have it in charge, but does not like strangers and is apt to attack them in a violent manner. As these birds are plentiful in the great Sahara desert, they were often kept by the Romans and used in their public shows. They were also used as food, and a glutton among the Roman emperors is said to have had the brains of a large number of ostriches served up to him in a single dish. The people of Africa are very fond of ostrich eggs and travellers in that land also speak well of them. Each egg weighs about three pounds, so that one of them is equal to about two dozen hen's eggs. The egg is cooked by being set on end in a fire and its contents stirred about with a stick thrust into a hole in the upper end. The shell is so thick and strong that it is used in Africa as a water vessel. It is not for its brain or its eggs that the ostrich is kept in our days, but for its fine plumes. These bring such high prices that the birds are tamed and kept on what are called ostrich farms in order to get a good supply of those rare feathers. The first farms were started in South Africa in 1869, and they have since spread to other countries. The birds need warm regions, the only states fitted for them in this country being California and Florida. [Illustration: On a California Ostrich Farm] The long, white, beautiful ostrich plumes so highly prized by ladies all over the world grow in the ends of the wings of the male birds. A good bird, in the prime of its life, will yield from twenty to forty of these, and also a few black feathers from the wings. The tail feathers are of much less beauty and value. In the early days of the industry the feathers were worth $500 a pound and the plumes of one bird would sometimes bring $125. But they have now become so plentiful that the price has gone down to less than one-tenth of these figures. To pluck the feathers, the bird is put in a box of such small size that it cannot kick. It does not enjoy the plucking, and a kick from its great leg is enough to break a man's bones. We can understand its feelings, for the feathers used to be cruelly pulled out by the roots. Now they are cut, leaving the roots of the quills, which can be pulled out easily in a month or two. As for the use and beauty of these superb plumes we need only to view the hat of a lady which is adorned by one or more of them. The whole bird kingdom yields nothing more beautiful. [Illustration] VI WINGED AND TUNEFUL HOME PETS If you look back over the earlier pages of this book, you will find that it deals with animals in some way of use to man, creatures that guard his houses, help him in his sports, serve him as food, carry him on their backs, haul his carts and wagons, and in other ways help him to live and thrive. But our home friends are not all of this useful kind. There are some that we keep just because we like to have them with us, and make friends of for their sweet songs, their beauty of form or color, and the love they give us for the love we give them. These are the song birds of the home, the pretty little winged warblers which we keep in cages to save them from the prowling cat and to hinder them from flying away, but which we do all we can to make happy and joyous, and which pay us back in their own charming way. There are many of these cage-pets. The one that we see most of is the canary, but there are many others for which we find room in our homes and are as glad to keep as they seem glad to be kept. Among these birds of the cage and the aviary are the linnet and the bullfinch, admired for their beauty of color; the mocking bird, with its wonderful power of imitating the songs of all the feathered brood; the thrush, a singer of fine powers; the finch, with its cheerful whistle, especially the bullfinch, splendid in color and varied in song; the bunting, the lark, the wagtail, and various others admired for beauty or sweetness of song; and to these we must add the strange and amusing bird talkers, such as the parrot, which has wonderful powers of learning words and fitting them into the right place, a bird that fairly makes us jump at times by the neat way in which it says the right thing at the right time. Then there are the magpie, the jackdaw, and the starling, ready talkers and good company for the lonely. THE CANARY AND ITS SONG Of the home birds the gold-hued Canary comes first, as the chief favorite among them all. From its native home on the Canary Islands it has been taken to Europe and America and kept so long in cages that it has quite forgotten its old-time liberty, so that a canary-bird escaped from its cage is the most helpless creature in the feathered flock, and is likely to become the prey of the cat if not captured and brought back to its cage-home. The wild canary is not noted for its beauty and not greatly for its song. It is found in large numbers in the Canary, Madeira, and Cape Verde Islands, and is of a greenish-yellow color, with gray tail and wings. It is the art of man which has made the home bird what it is and has given it its color and its fine vocal powers. When the Canary Islands were occupied by the Spaniard in 1478 these birds were taken in large numbers to Spain, from which they spread over Europe, becoming the pets of many a cottage and castle home. In many of the old pictures we see their little forms, now perched in a corner, now sitting on a lady's finger. The canary belongs to the family of finches, its place being between the linnet and the goldfinch. In its native islands it dwells near man, building its nest--of moss, feathers, hair, etc.--in thick, bushy places. The hen-bird lays an egg every day until from four to six are in the nest, on which she begins to sit. In thirteen days the young birds appear and in thirteen more they are able to fly, but their parents feed them for some time longer, on grass seeds or other plant food. We must say that this bird enjoys cage-life, for it seems very happy in its narrow home. It becomes quite tame and fearless, grows to love its mistress, and sings with a freedom that speaks of a joyful heart. In its wild state it is fond of bathing, and it is needful to give it a frequent bath in its cage, if it is to be kept well and tuneful. The cage-canary is a home bird, unlike the bird of the free air. It has been made over by man and fitted for its new life. Early in its cage career the country people around Innsbruck, in the Tyrol, became active in raising these little vocalists, and from there they spread to Germany and the Netherlands. To-day they are raised in large numbers in the Hartz Mountain region of Germany, where great care is taken in teaching them to sing. They are also raised and taught in other countries. The canary is very ready to take on new songs and its trainer is careful to keep it from falling into bad habits. If a bird happens to hear a bad note it is apt to take it up and it is hard to break it of the fault. So the good singers are kept where they cannot hear those of poor voice, and a number of the finest singers are kept as models to teach the young birds how to sing. Bird lovers have their tastes. Some like a loud song, with high notes and long trills. Others prefer a soft, warbling, flute-like note, with clear flourishes of song, and no one likes these to be broken by a sharp "Chap-chap" or "tsi-tsi" or other vocal fault. It takes nearly a year for a canary to gain its education. In that time it will learn several airs. Some of these may be forgotten, and then the model songster is brought near so that they may be learned again. It is said that some canaries have even been taught to speak a few words. Sometimes a bird that has a shrill or too sharp note is kept in the shade until this is corrected. And the canary often sings better in the little cages of the dealers than in the large, fine cages of its final home. Thus singing birds as well as singing people have their own fancies. Rape and hemp seeds are the principal food of these birds. A little flax-seed is also good for them, as it helps to fatten them. They are fond of flowering groundsel and chickweed and a very small supply of these is good for their health. They also have a sweet tooth and are very fond of sugar. Shall we say something about the different breeds of canaries? There are numbers of them and each country has its own. We can tell the breeds apart by their shape and song. Thus the English canaries are very tall, with a tuft or top-knot on the head. The French breed is noted for its slender form. In Germany more heed is paid to song than to shape. Holland was long known for a fine, strong race which is still called the Dutch canary, though it is no longer to be found in that country. In the United States shape and color are the points looked after, birds of elegant form being preferred. The Belgian canaries have been called the "nobles" of the canary race. They are large, with narrow, flattish head and very gentle eyes. The neck is flexible, the head is carried straight forward and the back and tail bend almost straight downward, this giving the bird an odd appearance. Its little form and the way it carries its head, with the mild look in its eyes, are notable points. The Scotch Fancy canary, now common in England and the United States, is like the Belgian but has a much flatter head. THE MARVELLOUS MOCKING BIRD We have said much about the canary because it is far the most common of cage-birds, but we have at home a bird of our own, not so often kept in cages, but in its way one of the most marvellous of birds. This is the Mocking-bird, a native American with so rich and tender a voice that in the West Indies, where it is very common, it is called the nightingale. This is due both to the melody of its song and its habit of singing at night. It is not quiet in the day-time, but then shows its powers in a different way. It is this that gives it the name of mocking bird, for it has a wonderful power of taking up the songs of other birds, imitating them so exactly as to cheat the ears of all that listen. Now it takes up the song of one bird, now of another, and fills the air with its fine mockery. By night, when other birds are apt to be still, it keeps to its sweet native song, but by day takes delight in its strange faculty of imitation. Not only does it repeat musical tones, but also the harshest tones it hears, making of it all a strange medley. [Illustration: The Mocking Bird. No other Bird has such Versatile Vocal Powers] This is seen in a striking way when the mocking bird is caged. Then it mocks the many sounds around it. It will bark like a dog, mew like a cat, crow like a cock, cackle like a hen, creak like a wheelbarrow, and take up a host of varied sounds. And while doing this it spreads its wings, expands its tail, and throws itself about the cage as if it was having the best time of its life. It can be easily taught to whistle a tune of some length, but never seems to imitate the voice of man. It rarely, however, sings as well in the cage as in its free state. The wild bird seems to like to be near man and often builds its nest in a tree or bush close to a house. While the female bird is sitting the male is very wide-awake and shows the greatest courage in driving enemies away from the nest. In the brooding season they will often gather in flocks and fight off birds of prey of much larger size. A snake that comes too near is killed by a quick series of blows on the head, and the cat soon finds that it is best to keep away from the mocking bird's nest. There is another bird of the same family that dwells much farther north, being common as far north as Massachusetts. It has powers of imitation like those of the mocking bird and a sweet song of its own, but when disturbed gives vent to a sharp, mew-like cry from which it has got the name of Cat-bird. Like the Mocking bird, it builds its nest near man and makes no attempt to hide it, but fights off enemies with a like boldness. No one thinks of caging this bird, for its cat-call is not at all pleasant and has given it a bad name, but its song is pleasing to our ears. OTHER CAGED SONGSTERS The smaller birds are often so bright and beautiful and have such musical voices, that many of them are made tenants of the cage. Here they do not seem sad or mournful, but are likely to make themselves much at home. There is the Bullfinch, a nervous, uneasy fellow, always in a flutter, yet easy to keep in cage life and ready to raise a family in captivity. These birds are at once beautiful and tuneful. In color they are as handsome as many of the birds of the tropics, while they can be taught a variety of bird airs. They need to be coaxed, and their tutor must use the same coaxing words and gestures and even wear the same coat when he gives his bird its lessons. But a well-taught bird brings a high price and it pays the poor folks of parts of Europe to spend much time in teaching them. It takes time and trouble to teach a bullfinch to whistle a tune, but it pays for the labor. A young bird must be taken from the nest before it has begun to twitter and kept where it can hear no sounds except those made by its teacher. In this way it fails to learn its native tones and may be taught to do wonderful things, whistling a whole tune as well as any boy could do it. I can prove this best by telling a little story. There was a flute-player at a London theatre who had an ebony flute with silver keys. But he did not often use it, for one of its upper notes was not good. He lived with a tailor and the two were great friends. One night, while he was at the theatre, some one stole his silver flute. He could not think who had done it, except it was an old woman who did the work of the house. But nothing could be found out and in time the loss was forgotten. A few months later the tailor moved to a town some miles away, but the two were still friends and at times paid each other visits. Once, after a year had gone by, the flute-player went to see the tailor, and was pleased to find that his friend had a splendid bullfinch, which could whistle three tunes. But there was something curious about these tunes. Whenever the bird came to a certain high note it would skip this and go on to the next. The musician was quick to notice that this missing note was the very one that was wanting in his flute. He sharply questioned the tailor, who was forced to admit that he had stolen the flute and had used it in teaching the bird its tunes. There are many other birds that can be taught to whistle tunes. The English blackbird is one of these. A writer tells us a pretty story of this bird. He says:-- "I once knew a bird that could whistle 'Polly Hopkins' with wonderful accuracy. His owner sold him, at the same time making the purchaser acquainted with the bird's favorite tune. As soon as the gentleman got home he at once hung up the blackbird, and, going to the piano, struck up 'Polly Hopkins.' But he introduced parts into the tune that the bird had never heard before; so, after listening awhile, the little critic began hissing, fluttering his wings and thus showing his distaste. Much surprised, the gentleman left off playing, and then the blackbird opened his throat and favored his new master with _his_ version of 'Polly Hopkins,' nor would he ever listen with any patience to any other version." I must also tell the story of the wood-chopper's ghost. Once there was a lively wood-chopper who was always whistling and singing while at work. But in spite of his jolly temper something went wrong and one day he hung himself in his shop. Some days later other men at work in the wood-shed were dreadfully scared by hearing the dead man's favorite tune, "William at the Garden Gate," whistled in his old way. There was a rush from the shop, which they thought haunted, and as the tune was kept up day after day, no one would go near the place. Finally the mystery was made clear. A thrush was seen to fly from a near by grove to the roof of the wood-shed and pipe up the ghostly tune. It had learned it from the wood-chopper's lips and came back every day to the same spot to whistle the tune. The Skylark, a very common bird of Britain and Europe, is so famous for the charm of its song that many of the poets have sung its praises in rare verse. It does not, like many birds, sing when sitting, but pours out its voice when on the wing and when far up in the sky. From this it gets its name. From the upper air its sweet notes come tumbling down in pearly music, "the notes nearly all alike and in the same key, but rapid, swarming, prodigal, showering down as thick and fast as drops of rain in a summer shower." This is a favorite cage-bird, one that lives many years in its narrow home. It sings in the cage as sweetly as when in the air, pouring forth its song many times in an hour and for weeks and months together. It is also a loving little pet and grows very fond of those who care for it. Of course all of you have read of the Nightingale, the Bulbul of the Persian poets, a bird whose very name seems to sing. This little songster has for ages been famous for its loud, rich and varied tones, its song being full of long, plaintive, quivering strains. Singing all night long, when most of the birds are still, it has been a favorite among bird lovers and poets in all lands, the Persian poets making the loves of the bulbul and the rose a theme of many of their verses. Its song has a mournful tone, but as it is sung to its mate in the nesting season, the sadness in its voice must keep company with gladness in its heart. The nightingale is often kept as a cage-bird, and if taken before the nesting season soon grows to like its prison life, but if taken after it has joined its mate it will pine away and die. It is best to take it from the nest when young and bring it up by hand. In its wild state its song ends with the end of the nesting season, but in the cage it is kept up for a much longer time and is very pleasing. For an American nightingale we have the mocking-bird, a sweet night singer which, as I have said, is given that name in the West Indies. Another is a variety of the Grosbeak, called the Cardinal Bird from its red color. This is called the Virginia Nightingale in England and is one of the finest American song-birds. Its loud, clear, sweet song is heard chiefly in the mornings and evenings and the beauty of its plumage adds to its attraction. The thrushes are also fine cage-birds, the black thrush having a lively whistle and the art of taking up the songs of other birds. In this it is far from equal to the mocking bird, but with care can be taught to sing a number of bird airs. The Song-thrush or Mavis of England is well-known through Europe as a singer of fine powers, one of the best of the songful train and a rival of the nightingale in its power of song. Another of the same tribe is the Missel-thrush, with a good voice but not the equal of that of the Mavis. One of the sweetest of American bird singers is the Wood-thrush or Hermit-thrush, not as a cage-bird but as a haunter of secret places, from which its voice comes rich and full, sweet and placid, like the notes of a flute sounded in the morning air. So far I have spoken only of the singing and whistling of birds, but there are other things they can be taught. Many have seen trick birds--the goldfinch, the canary, and other birds--that could do wonderful feats. They have been taught to fire little cannons, to pretend to be dead, to climb a ladder, to stand unmoved when fireworks were set off, and many other things of strange kind. But if those who have seen these tricks knew how the birds were taught they would never go again to see them, for it is said to be done by cruelty. But there are bird tricks in which no cruelty is needed. Thus a bird may be taught to draw up water to his cage by means of a tiny chain and pail, pulling at the chain with his beak and holding every link drawn up with his feet. He may also be taught to ring for his food. A little bell is hung in a corner of his cage and he is kept a few hours without seed. Then, by a thread fastened to the bell, it is rung and at once a few seeds are put in the bird's seed cup. The little chap soon learns that he is fed when the bell rings and it will not be long before he will pull the thread and ring the bell himself. THE PARROT AS A TALKER Chief among the talking birds are the parrots. These quaint and curious winged chatterers have long been kept in the home of man, for we have tales of them more than two thousand years old. It was 1504 when the first parrot reached England, but now they are to be seen in all parts of the world, some kept for their brilliant colors, some for their wonderful power of speech. Best known among them as a cage-bird is the Gray-parrot, the ablest talker of the family, the amusing Poll-parrot seen in so many homes. Though a cage is provided, they become such home-bodies as to be given all the liberty they want, being often free to go about the house, though they look upon the cage as their special dwelling place. [Illustration: The White Faced Parrot] Poll-parrot has a great deal of human nature in his little body. He thinks, he remembers, he imitates, he enjoys a joke, loves his friends and hates his enemies, and when he learns words he often knows just what they mean and when and how to use them. When our parrot says "Polly wants a cracker!" it may not be a cracker that she expects but it is something to eat, and she is apt to keep up the call until she gets it. There is no end to the tales about parrots and their odd speeches, often strangely fitted to the time and place. They can be taught to say a great many things, and often know just how to bring them in. Here is one told by Mr. Romanes, showing a parrot's wit in a tricky way no man could surpass. "One day the cat and parrot had a quarrel. I think the cat had upset polly's food, or something of the kind; however, they seemed all right again. An hour or so after polly was standing on the edge of the table; she called out in a tone of extreme affection, "'Puss, puss, come then--come then, pussy.' "Pussy went and looked up innocently enough. Polly with her beak seized a basin of milk standing by and tipped the basin and all its contents over the cat; then chuckled diabolically, of course broke the basin, and half drowned the cat." Here is another story of parrot wit. The bird was making a variety of squeals and cries. One of the men who heard began to imitate her. This roused the parrot to try new cries, and at last she made one so odd that he could not repeat it, try as he would. Proud of her triumph, the parrot gave a loud "Ha! ha! ha!" swung on her perch with her head downward, sprang about the cage, tossed a piece of wood over her head, and kept repeating the cry, followed by peals of "Ha! ha! ha!" till everybody joined in her wild laugh. The parrot has a good memory and will pick up a good many words and phrases, even the verses of a song taught to her. Many she gets by listening to words often said and at times will come out with a new bit of apt language to the surprise of every one who hears it. If a word she has once learned comes into her head, she often follows this word with all the other words and sayings learned at the same time. Here is a parrot story going back as far as 1672, one which was much talked of at the time. It is of an old parrot of Brazil when Prince Maurice was governor there. The Prince was told of the strange talking powers of this bird and sent for it. When it was brought into the room, where were many men with the Prince, it began, "What a company of white men are here." "What is this man?" asked one, pointing to the Prince. "Some general or other," said the parrot. "Where did you come from?" asked the Prince. "From Marinnan." "To whom do you belong?" "To a Portuguese." "What do you do here?" asked the Prince. "I look after the chickens." "You look after the chickens," said the Prince, with a laugh. "Yes, and I know well enough how to do it," and the parrot began to cluck like a hen calling chickens. It is hard to believe that a parrot could keep up a conversation in this correct way, but the story comes from Sir William Temple, who is very good authority, and who was told it by the Prince himself. We are told of a French parrot which could laugh like a man, and would break out into a hearty chuckle when some one said (of course in French), "Laugh, parrot, laugh." The odd thing was that it would follow the laugh with the words, "Oh, what a fool to make me laugh!" and repeat this two or three times. A lady had a gray parrot four years old which was very quick in taking up new words and very correct in using them. When he did some bit of mischief his mistress would scold him, to which he would reply angrily, "Not a naughty Poll!" "Not a bold, bad bird!" and would stamp his foot, crying "I am not--I am not." If she praised him he would tell her she was a darling and that he loved her. He was jealous when children were present and were made much of, and would cry, "Go away, bold boy!" "Go away, bold girl," never mistaking between boy and girl. When a visitor took off coat or shawl the bird would act as if trying to take off his wings, and laugh heartily at his performance if any one else laughed. He would play with the cats till he was tired of them and then whistle for the dog to chase them away. [Illustration: A Gray Parrot on His Perch. Waiting to Speak His Piece] We might go on and on with parrot stories, for they are endless. Very likely many of you could tell me as good ones as I can tell you. One thing of note about these birds is their love of a joke. Here is a tale of one of these jokers that loved to make fun of Carlo, the dog. Carlo would be snoozing in a corner of the room when polly would cry out in a voice exactly like his master's, "Hi, Carlo! Cats!" Up would jump the dog, rush into the garden, look fiercely round, then, hearing a fresh cry of "Cats! Cats! Seize them, Carlo!" would bound over the wall into the next garden. The next moment the bird, with a wonderful change of tone, would call out in the master's sternest tones, "Come back, Carlo! Come back, you naughty dog!" Back would come Carlo in a slinking way, as if expecting to feel his master's cane. Another bird was fond of playing jokes of a different kind on the house dog. It would whistle and call out in a soft tone, "Gyp, poor old Gyp! Does Gyp want to go out?" The dog, delighted at the prospect of a run with its master, would begin to frisk and dance about, looking around to see where he was. This got to be a common trick with the bird, for the dog never found out that it was being tricked by the parrot. OTHER TALKING BIRDS Many of my readers must know that there are other birds that can talk, some of them as well as the parrot. Those who may have read the novel of "Barnaby Rudge," by Charles Dickens, are likely to remember the Raven of that story, with its "Never say die." A very famous bird of this kind is Poe's raven, told of in the poem of that name, whose one word was "Nevermore." These are birds of fiction and poetry but there are talking ravens in the annals of fact. There was one, some years ago, at home in a tavern at Stoke Newington, England, who could not bear gray or white horses, though it did not mind any other color. No sooner would a horse of the hated color come up to the water-trough for a drink than Peg would perch on the edge of the trough and swear lustily at the poor animal. Or else it would start it off with a loud "Gee, whoa," in the exact tones of a carter. One day Peg saw a sailor take some tobacco from a box at his elbow, put it in his mouth, and begin to chew. The bird watched him closely and seemed to fancy that this must be something good to eat, for the instant the man's back was turned she hopped up and took a mouthful of the weed. For the rest of that day Peg was a very sick bird, and even the next day was far from well. She had learned a lesson which she did not forget. Some days later a white horse, drawing a hay cart, was driven up to the trough for a drink. Peg at once hopped up and began her abuse, but the horse had met the bird before and paid no attention to her impudence. At this she flew into the house where some men were smoking, caught up a paper of tobacco from the table, and flew back with it, dropping it into the horse's nose bag. If a strange dog happened to stray up to the inn Peg was at once wide awake. Up she would skip, and when close to the dog's ear would shout in her loud, harsh voice, "Halloa, whose dog are you?" Before the cur could turn she would break out in a great show of rage and loud cries of "Hi! ho! go home!" which usually sent the intruder off up the street at a frantic rate. The raven belongs to the family of the crows, in which are some other birds, as the Jackdaw and the Magpie, that can be taught to speak. They are not to be compared with the parrot, yet they must be classed with the talking birds. The magpie has the tendency of picking up words here and there of a sort not suited to polite society, and is not well fitted for a house pet. He is quite ready to try his sharp beak on his master and is like the crow in stealing every bright thing he sees. The Magpie has a cousin, the Jackdaw, who is not quite his equal as a thief, but is not as honest as a parson. He also has the gift of speech and at times can use it with fine effect. The bird is easily tamed and taught to talk and there are some good stories told of him. One or two of these you may enjoy reading. There is a small shell-fish called the cockle which is often pickled in England, and in a house where the folks were fond of pickled cockles was a jackdaw, who was quite as fond of them. The cook had pickled some of these and put them in a jar, covering it with parchment. But the next morning she found the cover partly ripped off and some of the cockles missing. At a loss to know who had done this mischief, she tied on the cover again and went about her work. At midday, when she was busy over the stove, basting a roast joint, she heard a sound of tearing parchment and looked round to see the jackdaw with his head hidden in the jar, feasting away greedily. The cook at that moment had a ladle full of hot fat in her hand, and in a rage threw it over the thief, crying out "You rogue! you go to the cockles, do you!" All the feathers were scalded off of Jack's head and he went about the house, bald and ashamed. Some days later his master gave a party, among his guests being one who was quite bald. In the afternoon the bird was brought up stairs to amuse the party, and he did so very neatly. Flying to the mantel, he saw the man with the bald head. At once he flew to his shoulder, and cocking his eye at the bare poll in a funny fashion, cried out, "You rogue! you go to the cockles, do you!" Another jackdaw belonged to a retired innkeeper, who, while in business, had taught the bird to say, "Mind the reckoning," and also to call out "No trust." His cage hung in the public room, where, no doubt, he helped his master in making a fortune on which to retire. Long after he had gone out of business some burglars broke into the house to rob him, getting in through the window of the room where the jackdaw was kept. As the thieves talked in low tones about the job before them and what part of the house they should visit first, the words, "Mind the reckoning," came in loud tones to their guilty ears. "Good Lord!" cried one of the scared thieves, "I trust we----" "No trust! no trust!" came in the same hoarse voice, "Mind the reckoning! Mind the reckoning!" Away went the scared thieves, through the window and over the garden wall, leaving their tools behind them, while the daw roused the house with its screams of delight over their flight. The fashion of stealing of the crow tribe makes a pet crow not very safe to keep about. Any bright or shining thing, like a pair of scissors, a silver spoon, or a gold stud, is sure to take his fancy and when once in his beak the chance is that it will never be seen again, for he is a cute chap at hiding his spoils. The crow indeed is a sharp fellow in more ways than one. He is an expert at tricks. Here is one told of the Indian crow. A dog--a fox-terrier of good training--was one day gnawing a chicken bone on the veranda when two crows saw him at his meal and lighted on the veranda railing, where they began to croak. The very sight of a crow is usually enough to make a dog forget his breakfast and fly at the bird; but this time Jack merely growled and kept on gnawing. As this did not work, one of the birds dropped down to the veranda floor and croaked again. Again Jack growled, but he went on gnawing. The crow now strolled round the veranda for a minute till the dog was intent on his bone, then hopped up and gave his tail a sharp nip. This was too much for the fox-terrier. With a howl of pain he turned upon the bird, when the other crow, which had been quietly waiting its chance, swooped down, snatched up the bone, and flew away, its comrade in mischief quickly joining it. Jack's look of disgust, when he found how neatly he had been fooled by a pair of crows, was a sight worth seeing. Have you ever seen a Starling and heard one talk? If not you have missed a treat, for this bird has fine powers of speech. He can whistle, croak and talk and is one of the choice delights of many a cottage home in Europe. He has lately been imported into this country. The common starling is a very pretty creature, clad in brown, with purple and green hues, and a buff-colored tip to each feather which gives the bird a fine speckled appearance. In its wild state it has a soft and sweet song, and in a cage is a pert and friendly house pet, one that mocks the songs of others, learns to whistle tunes, and can talk as clearly as many of its keepers. I must tell the story of a pair of very cute and lively starlings, as it is told us by the gentleman in whose house these birds were born and brought up. Dick and his wife lived in a large cage, with all the things needed to make than enjoy life. Once a day the cage door was opened and they took a bath on the kitchen floor, Dick first and his wife afterwards, for he was a little household tyrant, cuffing his mate soundly when she tried to be first in anything. [Illustration: The Starling. One of the Talking Birds] Dick's first lesson was in imitating the rumble of carts in the street. Of this he was very proud and soon learned to speak his own name, always with the prefix "Pretty." He was always "Pretty Dick." As for his wife, he gave her the strange name of "Hezekiah." How he learned this no one knew, but he always used it. Thus if his wife tried to join him in a song, he would stop and call out angrily, "Hezekiah! Hezekiah!" Then he would start again, and if she forgot his scolding and joined in again he was apt to chase her around the cage and give her a sound thrashing. At their meals Dick showed the same spirit. His wife was not allowed to touch a morsel till his lordship was done. If she dared to hop down and snatch a meal while he was singing it was a sad time for her if he caught her at it. But though Dick was a tyrant to his wife, to those who cared for him he was a loving little pet. He was very quick at learning new words, and soon knew a large number, which he never grew tired of using. He grew so tame that he was given full freedom of the house and garden, and would spend hours in the grounds, catching flies, singing, and talking to himself as if repeating his lessons. He and the cat and kittens were the warmest friends, but he would play with the dogs also and often went to sleep on their backs. "Doctor" was his name for his teacher, and if in singing an air he forgot part of it he would cry "Doctor, doctor," and repeat the last note once or twice, as if to say, "What comes next?" In this way he learned to pipe the tunes of--_Duncan Grey_ and _The Sprig of Shillelah_, without a single wrong note. When a tune was played on the fiddle, he would listen with close attention, and when it was done would say "Bravo" in three distinct tones, thus: "Bravo! doctor; br-r-ravo! bravo!" He got somehow into the fashion of starting a sentence with the verb "Is," spoken loudly. "Is?" he would say. "Is what, Dick?" "Is the darling starling a pretty pet?" "No doubt about that." He had the habit of combining his words in various ways, and one day asked: "Is the darling doctor a rascal?" "Just as you think," was the reply. "Tse! tse! tse! Whew! whew! whew!" sang Dick, finishing with _Duncan Grey_ and part of _The Sprig of Shillelah_. He had been taught to say, "Love is the soul of a nate Irishman," but was often heard to vary it in such ways as "Love is the soul of a nate Irish starling," or "Is love the soul of a darling pretty Dick," and so on. Here is a sample of a chat between Dick and his master. "Doctor," the bird would begin, "_is_ it, _is_ it a nate Irish pet?" "Silence and go to sleep. I want to write," said the doctor. "Eh?" Dick would say; "_What_ is it? _What_ d'ye say?" If no answer came the bird would break out: "_Is_ it sugar,--snails--sugar, snails, and brandy?" Then, "Doctor, doctor!" "Well, Dickie, what is it now?" "Doctor--whew." That meant the doctor was to whistle. "I shant." "Tse! tse! tse!" Dick would chirp, and then say, "Doctor, will you go a clinking?" To Dick a fly was always a clink, and clinking meant fly-hunting. Perched on his master's finger he would be carried around the room and held up to every resting fly. He never missed one. As Dick grew older he became more of a tyrant to his wife. She could do nothing to please him, he attacked her every morning and the last thing at night and half-starved her besides. Sometimes she used to peck him back, driven to it by his ill temper, and this led Dick's master to play him a trick. One day when Dick had bullied her worse than ever, he took Hezekiah out of the cage and fastened a small pin to her bill, the point sticking out a little. When she was put back Dick accused her of "going on shore without leave," and pecked her so viciously that she gave him a sharp peck in return. That Dick jumped when he felt the pin may well be said, and his look was comical as he cried out, "Eh! _What_ d'ye say? Hezekiah! Hezekiah!" Hezekiah, pleased with her success, now chased him round and round the cage, punishing him until the doctor opened the door and let the victim out. But the bird could not spend her life with a pin tied to her bill, and in the end, to stop the family quarrels, the doctor gave her away to a friend and Dick was left alone. For this strange story of a talking starling we are indebted to Robert Cochrane, who gives it in his book "Four Hundred Animal Stories." That any bird could talk with so much sense and reason seems hard to believe, though the writer is good authority. Here is his wind up of Dick's story: "Poor Dickie! One day he was shelling peas to himself in the garden, when some boys startled him and he flew away. I suppose he lost himself and could not find his way back. At all events I only saw him once again. I was going down through an avenue of trees about a mile from the house, when a voice in a tree above hailed me: 'Doctor! doctor! What _is_ it?' That was Dick; but a crow flew past and scared him again, and away he flew--for ever." [Illustration] VII OUR COUSIN THE MONKEY The organ-grinder and his monkey are two animals well known to us all, and we may have looked at them now and then and asked ourselves which of the two had the best brain. The one spends his time turning a crank and grinding out something that passes for music. His little brother dances about on his nimble legs, holds out his hat for pennies, and chatters away in a language of his own. We do not understand what he has to say; but neither do we understand a Chinaman or a Frenchman. We say to ourselves that he has been taught his tricks; but so has his master been taught how to use his music-box. No doubt the master learns his art more quickly than the monkey, but then he understands what is told him while his poor little comrade does not, but has to be shown everything he is to do, so this gives the man a great advantage. Now do not think that I am trying to say that the monkey has as good a brain as the man. All I want to say is that he has a brain that acts in the same way. But it gets to its upper level of thought before it reaches what is a low level in man. The monkey can think as we can, and often shows that he is thinking. So can many other animals, such as the dog and the parrot; but while the monkey looks more like a man than these animals, it also seems to think more like a man. Have you ever been to the zoo and seen a cage full of monkeys, or seen a cage of them in a travelling menagerie? Lively, cunning, jolly little fellows they are, playing tricks on one another, leaping and climbing, never still for two minutes together, and the most curious of all the animals we know. What does this curiosity mean? Does it not mean that the monkey wants to know, just as we want to know when we show curiosity? And wanting to know is the first step towards getting to know. THE MONKEY AS A PET Among the many pets kept by man the monkey must be included. We take a fancy to it as if it were a far-off cousin of our own. With its power of walking on its hind legs and using its front legs as arms and its paws as hands, and also often in the shape of its face, it has something very human about it, and there is no animal in which young folks take more delight--and many older folks also. What many enjoy in it is its love of mischief. There is no trick that it is not up to. At any rate when we hear of boys playing "monkey tricks" they seem to us, in this way, on the same level as the monkey. They would likely play more of them if they had the monkey's nimble ways, for the monkey has the best of the boy in getting out of reach. Many of them can even use their tails to swing on, leaving all their legs free for acts of mischief. All this is very well in its way, but it stands in the way of keeping the monkey as a pet, for it is apt in the end to become a nuisance. No one knows what it is going to do next. It is as full of tricks as a watermelon is of seeds. As we do not enjoy a boy who is too fond of mischief, so we do not enjoy a monkey. He makes too much trouble. And then he is of no use except as a pet. We can not often put him to work, except in such ways as taking up pennies for an organ-grinder. It is said that some people in the South are talking of using the monkey to pick cotton. This sounds very nice. No doubt the monkey can be taught to pick cotton, as it has been taught to do many other things. But it is not to be trusted. Any fancy, a bird flying over, a mouse stealing through the cotton field, will be likely to draw it from its task, and if any one tries to punish it for not keeping to its work he cannot be sure but that the little rascal will have revenge in some costly way. HOW MONKEYS TAKE REVENGE Many stories might be told of monkeys that take revenge on those who treat them badly. One or two of these may be worth telling. There is one story of a gentleman who kept a pet monkey and lived next door to a widow lady who had three boys, all fond of mischief. These boys were at home from school for the holidays and spent much of their time in teasing the monkey, in such ways as throwing lighted fire-crackers at him and giving him nuts filled with pepper and mustard. The little sufferer did not forget. When the boys set out on their return to school the monkey watched them from a hiding place till they were well out of the way. Then he crept slyly along the balcony till he came to a window of the widow's house, looked in to see that there was no one about, then went in, found a bottle of ink on the table, and sprinkled the ink widely over the carpet and furniture. He was caught at the trick, handed over to his master, and soundly whipped. But he had his revenge for the nuts and crackers. Here is a tale of a jealous monkey. His master, who made a great pet of him, belonged to a yacht club and used to take him along when out on a cruise. Every one on board petted him and he felt that he was folks like all the rest and a gentleman of importance. But the time came when the monkey found his nose out of joint. This time there was a pretty girl on board and the attention that had been given to Master Pug was given to her. She said that she did not like monkeys, so our little friend had to keep in the background, a thing which he did not like at all. Master Pug waited his chance for revenge on the girl who did not like monkeys. The party on the yacht went ashore to see some caves and he managed to slip into the boat unseen and go with them. Keeping his eye open for chances, he spied a large crab, which he picked up and put against the young lady's heel. In an instant it gripped her with its strong claw and she gave a loud scream of pain. The monkey got a whipping, for some one had seen him in the act, but very likely he felt that he had got even. Monkeys do not forget easily and will often bear malice for a long time. A lady named Mrs. Lee, when at the zoölogical garden in Paris, saw a big ape in a cage ill treating one of his fellows. To stop him she tapped him smartly on the hands. This the savage creature did not forget nor forgive. Whenever he saw her at later times in the monkey house, or even heard her voice, he would fly into a passion, roll about his cage in rage, and once when she came within reach he seized her gown through the bars of his cage and tore out a piece of it, though it was of strong material. Shall we tell the story of one that acted in a cruel manner? He was kept tied to a stake in the grounds and the crows of the neighborhood often robbed him of his food. He got the best of the robbers in a way very artful, even for a monkey. [Illustration: Feeding Monkeys at the Zoölogical Garden] One day he lay on the ground quite still, as if he was dead. The birds came near and picked at his food but the cunning little rascal never stirred. Growing bolder, the crows approached until one of them was within reach. In an instant the monkey made a quick grab and caught the culprit. Holding his prisoner firmly, he pulled out its feathers until not one was left in its naked body. Then he flung it towards its companions, who were screaming with rage and fear. At once, for reasons best known to the crow community, they made a fierce attack on their featherless comrade and pecked it to death. Those who saw this affair say that the delight on the monkey's face, as he saw this, was too great to be described. IMITATION A MONKEY TRAIT The monkey is an animal easy to teach, for it is very ready to do what it sees those around it do. It thus has two qualities very useful in teaching, curiosity and imitation. When it sees anything being done it is apt to watch closely and then try to do the same thing. These qualities we all have. Many of us are curious to see and prompt to do what our teacher does, and in this way the monkey is like man in his thinking powers. It does not wait to be told to do things, but will try to do them itself. This faculty has led to some comical results, as you will think when you read the following stories. We are told of a retired admiral and his wife who had a monkey as one of their home pets. The admiral had a habit of reading the paper aloud to his wife and would strike it in a testy way when he read something that made him angry. One day his wife, hearing a strange noise in the dining-room, looked in to see what caused it. What she saw was very amusing. In the arm chair sat master monkey, with the admiral's smoking-cap on his head and the admiral's spectacles on his nose. In his hand was an open newspaper, and this he shook and patted, just as he had seen his master do, jabbering away in a very funny manner to the cat that lay blinking on the hearth. So close was the imitation to the tone and manner of the testy old sea-dog that the lady broke up the performance with a shout of laughter. A Mrs. Loudan tells us of a case of the same kind, but with a different audience from the cat. It is told of Father Casaubon, a priest, who had a favorite Barbary ape that grew very fond of him and tried to follow him wherever he went. One day, when he set out for church, the ape in some way got loose and followed him unseen. When the church was reached the ape slipped in and climbed up to the sounding-board, where he lay quiet till the sermon began. While the reverend father spoke, the ape perched itself just above his head and watched his actions, and soon began to imitate the gestures made by him. The congregation could not help smiling and tittering at this. Casaubon scolded them severely for their behavior, suiting his actions to his words, while the monkey imitated all his movements in a very amusing manner. At this the congregation could not keep still, but broke into a roar of laughter, in which the angry priest joined when its cause was pointed out to him. He took good care that his ape should not attend church again. These are perhaps enough of this sort of stories, though there are one or two others which you may care to read. One is of a painter who, on going into his studio, saw his pet monkey seated before his nearly finished picture, with brush and painting implements in hand, laying on the colors with a free touch that made bad work of the artist's masterpiece. A second has to do with an English vicar and his family, who came home to dinner one Sunday after the morning service. On entering the dining room they saw the table-cloth, which had been laid for dinner, spread out smoothly on the floor, with all the plates and dishes, knives and forks, laid upon it in a way that showed how well the lesson had been learned. Beside it sat the pet monkey, with a look of satisfaction that showed it was very proud of its work. A monkey, in fact, knows very well when it has done a thing as it should be done, and likes to be praised for it. I cannot say that they always get praise, certainly not for jobs like those just told, in which the element of mischief is mixed with that of good work. But when we talk of the intelligence of animals we must admit that the monkey goes ahead of the dog, cat, or other household pet. Certainly none of these would think of a piece of work like that, laying the table-cloth on the floor and properly placing on it all the table ware. Many monkeys have such a grave and quiet way of doing things, and look at us with such bright and meaning eyes, that we are brought to think that if they could talk they would have something to say worth hearing. In fact, there are people who think they could talk if they chose. There is the story of the Southern slaves who thought they showed their wit in not talking, since if they did they would have a hoe put in their hands and be set at hoeing. A traveller, writing about Java, tells us something of the same sort. He speaks of a sultan who had a well trained corps of monkeys and apes. "The orang-outangs and long-armed apes," he says, "had been trained to go through a variety of military exercises; and when one of us expressed surprise at their seeming intelligence the Sultan said gravely: 'They are as really _men_ as you and I, and have the power of speech if they chose to use it. They do not talk because they do not wish to work and be made slaves of.'" The Malays in all the islands believe this and in their language orang-outang means "man of the woods." Certainly monkeys can be trained to act very much like men. Mrs. Lee tells us of one that has been taught by a Frenchman to act in a very polite fashion. One day she met this monkey as he was on his way up stairs. He made way for her very politely and stood on one side to let her pass. "Good morning," she said, and he took off his cap and made a low bow. "Are you going away? Where is your passport?" At this question he took a square piece of paper out of his cap and showed it to her. His master, who was following Mrs. Lee, now told him that the lady's dress was dusty. He at once went to the man, took a brush out of his pocket, and raising the hem of Mrs. Lee's dress, brushed it and did the same with her shoes. But while monkeys can be trained to do some surprising things, they are not all alike. Some can be taught easily and some not at all. Darwin tells us of a man whose work it was to train monkeys to act, and who bought them from the Zoölogical Society for twenty dollars apiece. He offered double the price if he might keep them for three or four days so as to pick out a good one. When asked how he could tell this in so short a time he said that what he wanted was a monkey that would pay attention. If when he was talking to one he could not keep its attention, but it turned aside to look at a fly on the wall or other trifle, it was of no use. To force such a monkey to act by whipping would only make it sulky. But a monkey that gave him close attention when he was talking or showing it something could always be trained. [Illustration: A Pair of Midget Donkeys Driven by a Baboon and Groomed by a Monkey] Any one who pays attention can be taught, whether boy, monkey, or dog. As long ago as 1753 this was shown in London in the case of the monkey and the dog. In that year everybody in London was going to see and was talking about "Mrs. Midnight's Animal Comedians." This was a troupe of trained dogs and monkeys who were taught to dance a ballet, dressed as ladies and gentlemen. This they did very neatly and cleverly. But their great act was when, dressed as soldiers, they took part in a mock battle. A fort was built on the stage which was defended by the monkeys and attacked by the dogs. Everything was done as in regular battle. The dogs carried ladders and tried to climb them and capture the fort. The monkeys, armed with muskets, fired on them and the air was full of smoke and the smell of powder. After a hard fight the dogs took the fort. Then the monkeys dropped their muskets, the smoke cleared away, and both parties were seen drawn up side by side, waving their hats, while the band played "God save the king." THE KINDS OF MONKEYS The stories we have given about monkeys are only a few of the many that might be told, and it is well to give some more to show that monkeys think and act, up to a certain limit, very much as we do ourselves. But you must bear in mind that there are many kinds of monkeys, some with good and some with bad tempers and some with much better brains than others. When we talk of the house dog and cat, the horse and cow, it must be remembered that each of these is a single species of animal. But when we talk of the monkey we have to do with a whole family of animals, of a great many different species. Thus there are New World monkeys and Old World monkeys which differ so that we can always tell them apart. One curious thing about the New World monkeys is that they all live in trees and have long tails, which they can use in such a way that they seem to have five legs. They twist their tails firmly around the limbs of trees and swing about, leaving their legs, or arms, free to help them in other ways. There is nothing like this in the Old World monkeys. Some of these have no tails. Others have long tails, but none of them have learned how to use these as ropes to swing on from tree limbs. All monkeys have thinking powers, which they show in various ways, but the best thinkers among them are those known as man-like monkeys. This is the meaning of the name we give them, that of Anthropoid Apes. They are the highest members of the monkey family, and are like men in a good many ways. They have no tails, are of large size, and can stand and walk upright if they want to--though they do not often want to. Their arms are longer and their legs shorter than ours are, and they live much in trees, where they have to use both feet and hands in getting about. So, when they come down to the ground they also use their arms to help them get about. They do not walk on four legs in the way of most other animals, nor on two legs in the way of men, but move in a jumping fashion, putting their hands to the ground and jumping through them. This looks like an awkward way of travelling, but they can get over the ground pretty fast, for all that. A fact of much interest is that the bones, the muscles, and the blood-vessels of these animals are exactly like those of man, except in size. And the same may be said of their brains. These are smaller than a man's brain, but they are very much like it in all other ways. The weak point of these brains lies in their small size. They seem to think in the same way as we do, but they come to the end of their thinking powers when we are just past the beginning. There are four different kinds of man-like apes, known as the Gorilla, the Orang Outang, the Chimpanzee, and the Gibbon. Of these the first two are large animals, the gorilla being larger and stronger than a man. It is a savage brute, too wild and fierce to be tamed, but this is not the case with the orang, which can easily be tamed and is very teachable. These two are solitary creatures, living by themselves, but the chimpanzee, which is smaller, is very fond of company, and lives with its fellows in the woods, leaping about among the trees in a very sportive fashion. The gibbons are much smaller than the others, but have very long arms. When they stand erect their hands nearly reach the ground and they may be seen at times walking in the same way as we do, but holding their arms above their heads. If disturbed in any way down come their arms and they run away in the same manner as the other apes. The gibbons are gentle and easily tamed and have often been kept as pets. They are less intelligent than the others, and it is the chimpanzee and the orang which can best be taught man's ways when kept as man's companions. Many tales could be told of the smart doings of those tamed apes and it will be well to give a few of them. Buffon, a famous French naturalist, tells us of a tame chimpanzee which always walked on its hind-legs, even when it had a heavy weight to carry. The chimpanzee does not do this in the woods, but this one was in company with man and learned to walk in the same way as man. Buffon goes on to say: "I have seen this animal present its hand to conduct the company to the door or walk about with them through the room; I have seen it sit at table, unfold its napkin, wipe its lips, make use of a spoon or fork to carry its victuals to its mouth, pour out its drink into a glass, touch glasses when invited, go for its cup and saucer, carry them to the table, pour out its tea, sweeten and leave it to cool, and all this without any other instigation than the signs or commands of its keeper and sometimes even of its own accord. It was gentle and inoffensive; it even approached you with a kind of respect and as if only seeking for caresses." Captain Brown, the writer of a book on the habits of animals, tells us this interesting story of a trained chimpanzee: "Madame Grandpré saw on board a vessel a female chimpanzee which showed wonderful proofs of intelligence. She had learned to heat the oven; she took great care not to let any of the coals fall out, which might have done mischief in the ship; and she was very accurate in observing when the oven was heated to the proper degree, of which she apprised the baker. With perfect confidence in her information, he carried his dough to the oven as soon as the chimpanzee came to fetch him. "The animal performed all the duties of a sailor, spliced ropes, handled the sails, and assisted at unfurling them, and she was, in fact, looked upon by the sailors as one of themselves." In the end of her life this animal showed what seemed a human feeling and sense of injustice. The first mate beat her cruelly for something in which she was not in fault and the ill-treatment seemed to break her tender heart. She bore the blows with patience, merely holding up her hands as if praying for mercy, but from that moment she refused to take any food and on the fifth day she died from grief and hunger. The sailors would have liked, if they dared, to treat the mate in the same way he had treated the monkey. WHAT MONKEYS TEACH THEMSELVES It may be said that much of what has been told is the result of training and only shows that the monkey is easily taught. It does things, it is true, which no dog could be taught to do, but it has the advantage of having fingers and thumbs in place of the dog's paws, and also of having learned how to use these in its forest life in much the same way as we use them. A monkey, for instance, can use a stone as a hammer and some of them can throw stones with a very good aim. They can use other tools, as we shall show. But there is one great difference between the monkeys and the other animals we have spoken of. Many of these can be taught to do things we would not expect of them, but they do not often teach themselves. Now the monkey does not wait to be taught but is constantly trying new tricks and working them out for itself. It is the most curious of animals, always wanting to know how things should be done, and thinking out for itself the right way to do them. We look with wonder on a dog when it does something that it has been taught. Should we not look with more wonder on the monkey when it does things which it has taught itself? I am sure you will enjoy reading some stories in this line. [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museums The Orang Outang in the Hands of His Keeper] Here is one of a tame orang outang told by the French scientist Cuvier. This animal, he says, when it wanted to open the door of a room, used to draw a chair from one end of the room to the other, and stand on it to lift the latch. Another writer speaks of a monkey which, when it wanted to lift the lid of a chest too heavy for it, used a stick as a lever to raise it. That monkeys use stones to break open oyster-shells has often been seen. Mr. Romanes tells the following story. A large monkey was kept in a wide cage, in the centre of which was a kind of hut in which he slept. Near this hut was an artificial tree, with a branch leading away from the hut. If he wanted to get on this branch he could do so by climbing to the top edge of the hut door. But this door had a bad fashion of swinging shut whenever he pushed it open to climb up. He was seen to try this two or three times, and then to pick up a thick blanket which lay in his cage and throw it over the top of the door so that it could not swing to. In all these cases the animal thought out for itself the best way of gaining its end. These things were done by chimpanzees and orangs, apes of high class, but Mr. Romanes, in his book on "Animal Intelligence," tells of quite as strange things done by a South American monkey of which such doings could not be expected. This he kept as a pet and watched for many days. One thing his monkey never liked; that was to be laughed at; any one that did so would be apt to be repaid for his mirth. Mr. Romanes gave him a hammer to break his nuts with, and from the start he knew just how to use it. "To-day," says Romanes, "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 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." Every day this little fellow did something new and unlooked for, something worked out in his own little brain. When a nut or anything he wanted lay too far away for him to reach it, he being fastened by a chain, he would try to draw it to him with a stick. If he failed in this, he would take his shawl by the two corners, throwing it back over his head and then flinging it forward with all his strength, but not letting go the corners. If it reached far enough to cover the nut, he would draw this in by pulling back the shawl. This is like the story of the elephant that used its trunk to make a wind beyond anything out of its reach, and thus blow it back. His chain was a constant trouble to him and he tried in every way he could to get rid of it. When it was tied to a ring sunk into the floor, he spent a whole day passing the chain back and forward through the ring, and hammering it with all his strength. He went at it again the next day and this time got the chain so tangled up that he could not loosen it. When his master came to his aid he watched him very closely, sometimes taking hold of his fingers and pulling them to one side that he might see better. He would also look up into his master's face in an intelligent way as if to ask him how he did it. After the chain was loosened he worked at it again for hours, but took care not to twist it into the ring a second time. Among the many things done by this comical little creature there were two which showed so much monkey wisdom as to be worth telling. His nuts were kept in a trunk which he looked upon as his own property. There were other things kept in the trunk, but if any person opened it to get anything out he grew very angry. It was not on account of the nuts, for he always had plenty of these, but for meddling with his property. One day, when his chain was broken, he got to the trunk and began picking at the lock with his fingers. His master then gave him the key and for two full hours he tried to unlock the trunk. It was a hard lock to open, being a little out of order, but he found the right way to put the key in and turn it in the lock, every time trying the lid to see if it would come up. Of course, he had seen others use the key and knew how it should be used. The most remarkable thing done by our smart little friend was the following: One day he got hold of a hearth-brush, one of the kind which has the handle screwed into the brush. In his usual fondness for experiment he at once began on the handle, and soon had it unscrewed and out of the brush. Then he began to try and find the way to screw it in again. At first he put the wrong end of the handle into the hole and turned it round and round, always the _right way for screwing_. Then he tried the other end, still always turning only the right way. How he knew the way the screw should turn is a mystery. The work was a hard one, for he had to use both hands on the handle, and the brush, with its bristles, would not lie still. Next he tried holding it with his foot, and even then it was not easy to get the first turn of the screw to take hold. When this was done he turned the handle round and round until it was fully screwed in. The strange thing was that, in all his efforts, he never tried to turn the handle the wrong way; he always screwed from right to left. The work done, he unscrewed it and screwed it in again, this time more easily. He kept on until he could do it without trouble and then threw it aside for some other amusement. Here is a case where the animal tried for himself a thing he had never seen done, not for anything to be gained, but simply to find out how to do it. He knew somehow the right from the wrong way, and when he had finished he had no further use for the brush. He had learned that lesson, solved that riddle, and was ready to try something else. ANECDOTES OF THE APE While men like to have the monkey for a pet, the monkey imitates them by having pets of its own. It has a fancy for this and likes to have something or some animal under its care. It may be a doll, a guinea pig, a white rat, or anything to which it takes a fancy. This was the case with a monkey we are told of, which was very fond of nursing. His fancy in this way brought him to a sad end. Seeing a litter of young pigs, he grew eager to have one of these for a pet. Watching till the mother pig was at the other end of the pen he popped down and seized one of the little grunters. With his prize he leaped to the door of the pig-stye, but it gave way under his weight and he fell back into the jaws of the furious sow, who with one crunch put an end to the pet-lover's career. Here is another story told by the same party: "A female baboon which I brought up in my family got hold of a kitten with the intention of making a pet of it and mothering it, but was scratched by the scared fondling. The monkey then made a close study of the kitten's paws, pressed the claws forward, looked at them from above, from beneath, and from the side, and then bit them off to save itself from further scratches." This love of pets on one occasion led to a serious scene. It was in the case of a large baboon kept on a ship on which was a lady passenger with a baby. Not noticing that the baboon had its eye on the little one, the mother laid it down on a bench to look at something which the captain wanted to show her. In a moment the big monkey had the child in its arms and was running for the rigging, hastened by the mother's scream on seeing the fate of her little one. Clasping the baby with one arm, the nimble creature ran up to the mast head with the aid of the other, and when the sailors started after it ran to the head of the top mast. By this time the poor mother was being carried to the cabin in a dead faint. What to do the captain did not know. He called the sailors down, fearing that if they chased the brute it might throw the child into the sea. But when it saw that they had given up the pursuit it set itself to quiet the screaming child, fondling and talking to it in a very motherly way. The baby by this time was in a terrible state, and the captain, at his wits' end, at length ordered everybody on deck to go below, thinking the monkey might come down if the coast were clear. The plan proved a good one. On seeing that there was no one on deck, the animal descended with its prize and laid it on the bench from which it had been taken. It was soon in its mother's arms and the pet-loving baboon found itself locked up as a punishment for its trick. Monkeys are often kept on ship board and they are not to be trusted if there is anything they can steal. There were two of them on a British naval ship in the West Indies, a big and a little one, both great favorites. Dressed in uniform, they would march up and down the deck, salute the captain, and imitate the movements of the officer of the watch. But both were thieves, the big one stealing, the little one hiding, and they needed watching. One day the captain's gold snuff-box was missing. It was known that the monkeys had stolen it, for both of them were taken with a severe fit of sneezing. But no one could find it, until the little one was seen peeping into a middy's chest. Searching this, the box was found below the clothing. Another theft was made while the ship was at anchor in Kingston harbor, Jamaica. This time it was a bottle of wine, which the big one emptied without leaving a drop for his pal, who sat and looked at him as if he had been very badly treated. In a few minutes the big thief was reeling about the deck very drunk. He jumped on the bulwarks, and seeing a shark swimming around the ship began a great jabbering and at last jumped overboard, perhaps with some idea of making a pet of the big fish. One snap of the huge jaws and the drunken monkey was no more. The little one saw this with screams of agony. He could not be consoled for the loss of his mate, and the next day he, too, jumped overboard and was soon in the same place as his dead friend. FEELING AND FRIENDLINESS IN THE MONKEY What has been said above goes to show that the monkey can think and that it comes next to man in doing its own thinking. It goes to school, no doubt, as boys and girls go to school, but it teaches itself also, as may be seen in the story of the monkey and the brush-handle. But the monkey can not only think, it can also feel, and when we tell of some of its shows of feeling it almost seems as if we were talking about people like ourselves. Here is a story that has been often told, but is worth telling again. A man in India had shot a female monkey and carried it to his tent. A crowd of friends of the dead animal, forty or fifty of them, soon gathered round the tent, making a great noise and acting as if they were about to make an attack on the sportsman. Only when he came out gun in hand did they run away, as if they well knew the powers of that dreadful weapon. But the leader of the band stood his ground, chattering away in monkey language. When he found that his fury and his threats did no good, he came to the tent door and began to moan in a sorrowful manner and to make signs as if to beg for the dead body. When it was given to him he took it in his arms and carried it away to his waiting friends. All those who saw this sad scene vowed that they would never again fire at one of the monkey race. This interesting story is only one among many. One of them has to do with an instance where the horses of a party of travellers were frightened by monkeys in the trees, some of the horses breaking loose. To stop this one of the party fired at the monkeys with a load of small shot to drive them away. One of the monkeys ran down to the lowest branch of the tree, then stopped, put his paw to the part wounded, and held it out covered with blood for the man to see. The sportsman says: "I was so much hurt at the time that it left an impression never to be effaced and I have never since fired a gun at any of the tribe." A few minutes later a native came in and said that the monkey was dead. They told him to bring it in, but when he went back he found that the other monkeys had carried off their dead comrade and none of them were to be seen. Here is a case of the same kind, told by Sir William Hoste, an officer in India. It is of a still more affecting kind. We give it as told by a Mr. Jesse. "One of his officers, coming home after a long day's shooting, saw a female monkey running along the rocks, with her young one in her arms. He immediately fired and the animal fell. On his coming up, she grasped her little one close to her breast, and with her other hand pointed to the wound which the ball had made, and which had entered above her breast. Dipping her finger in the blood, and then holding it up, she seemed to reproach him with being the cause of her death, and in consequence that of the young one, to which she frequently pointed." When Sir William was told this affecting story he, as in the other cases cited, resolved never to shoot one of these animals as long as he lived. Is not all this very human-like? The poor things, knowing that men are stronger than they and carry death-dealing weapons, do all they can to make them sorry for their cruelty and accuse them of murder. If they could talk they could not say more than these monkeys did in dumb show. Monkeys are very fond of and tender to their young. One writer saw an American monkey driving away the flies that troubled her infant, and another saw a mother monkey washing the faces of her young ones in a stream. When their young die the mothers are very apt to die of grief. This we are told by Darwin, who further says: "Orphan monkeys are always adopted and carefully guarded by the other monkeys, both male and female." [Illustration: An afternoon chat. Observe the close attention of the monkey and its care of its young] They also take care of those that are hurt. One writer tells us that he kept a number of Gibbons in his garden, living in the trees and coming down to be fed. One of them fell from a tree and sadly hurt its wrist. The others at once paid it great attention, and an old female, who was no relation to the crippled animal, fed it every day before eating any food herself. The writer goes on to say: "I have frequently noticed that a cry of fright, pain, or distress from one would bring all the others at once to the complainer, and they would then condole with him and fold him in their arms." Captain Hugh Crow, in his "Narrative of my Life," tells a story of this kind which goes to show how tender the monkeys are to one another. On board his ship were a number of monkeys, of different kinds and sizes, among them a beautiful little one, only about ten inches long and no larger in body than a common drinking glass. It was a playful little thing and a great favorite with the other monkeys, who looked on it as the pet of the family, treating it with a kindly feeling which they did not often show for one another. It became sick at length, of a disease that prevailed in the ship, and then their kindness and tenderness were doubled. He says: "It was truly affecting and interesting to see with what anxiety and tenderness they tended and nursed the little creature. A struggle often ensued among them for priority in these offices of affection, and some would steal one thing and some another which they would carry to it untasted, however tempting it might be to their own palates. Then they would take it up gently in their fore-paws, hug it to their breasts, and cry over it as a fond mother would over her suffering child. "The little creature seemed sensible of their kind attention, but it was sadly overcome by sickness. It would sometimes come to me and look me pitifully in the face and moan and cry like an infant, as if it besought me to give it relief; and we did everything we could think of to restore it to health; but in spite of the united attention of its kindred tribes and ourselves the interesting little creature did not survive long." Sir James Malcolm tells us of two monkeys on shipboard, one older and larger than the other. They were not related, but merely friends, but were very fond of each other. One day the small monkey fell overboard. The older one was in a great excitement. It ran to the part of the ship which is called "the bend," held on to the side of the vessel with one hand, and dropped down to the other the end of a cord with which it had been tied up and which was fastened round its waist. Every one looked on with surprise at this display of monkey wit, but the cord was too short and the little one swept by. It is pleasant, however, to be able to say that it was saved by a sailor, who threw it a longer rope, which it seized and was drawn on board. The monkey becomes as fond of its human friends as it is of those of its own race. Often it does not like certain people, and has its own way of showing this, but there are others whom it seems to love warmly. This faculty does not belong only to monkeys, but may be seen in dogs and other animals. But it is often strongly shown by the monkey. Darwin tells of a keeper in the London Zoölogical Garden, who one day was attacked by a savage baboon. In the cage was a little American monkey, a great friend of the keeper, but very much afraid of the great baboon. But when the poor little thing saw its friend in peril it sprang at once to the rescue and by screams and bites so distracted the baboon that the keeper was able to escape. The little monkey quite forgot its fear of the fierce beast when it saw its friend in danger. We rarely think what depth of feeling such an animal as the monkey may have. There are cases in which none of ourselves could show greater feeling. Here is a case in point. On board a war-vessel that was going to Persia was a pet monkey of the captain, a gentle, kindly little creature that was made much of by every one on the ship. But like all of its kind it was not free from love of mischief. There was a goat kept on board to supply milk for the use of a government official on the ship. One morning it was found that the monkey had tied the goat to the tackle of a gun and milked it into the stiff hat of a marine. The little culprit was caught in the act and taken to the captain, who to punish it gave orders that no one on board should take notice of it for a week. The loving little thing did not know what to make of this. It went about from friend to friend, looking up to them wistfully, but not getting a word or a kind look from any of them. It put on its most coaxing airs, but all in vain. For two days it bore this, but on the morning of the third, finding that it was still in disgrace, its tender heart was quite broken. It sprang on the bulwarks, put its hands over its head, gave one pitiful cry and leaped into the sea. It was seen no more. To be fond of mischief and of playing jokes is a common trait in monkeys as it is in boys. This likeness is shown by the tricks of boys being called "Monkey tricks." Perhaps they would not play them if they knew that they were putting themselves on the level of the monkey. Stories of this tendency are common enough. Here is one told of a young chimpanzee who bore the familiar name of Tommy, and who lived in a cage in the Zoölogical Garden of London. Master Tommy did not at all approve of tricks that were played upon himself, though he was very fond of playing them on others. Thus one day when a carpenter had to enter his cage to make some changes the little joker was in his element. He played all kinds of tricks on the workman, such as pulling his hair, snatching off his paper cap, stealing his tools, and even trying to trip him up. All the time he put on an air of innocence and only came up when he thought he was not seen. The moment the joke was played he retreated to the other end of the cage, where he seemed very much interested in something else. In the end, when the carpenter had his back to him, Master Tommy could not resist the temptation, but sprang on the man's shoulders and gave him such a sound box on the ears that the keeper, who had been enjoying the fun, had to interfere and make the little rascal behave himself. On another occasion Tommy in some way got a small dog into his cage, and had the time of his life with the little victim. He pulled its ears and tail till the dog lost its temper and began to show its teeth. At this Master Tommy pretended to be very indignant, and lifted his hand in a threatening way, as if to chastise doggie for his impudence. He would do the same with children if he got a chance, pulling their hair or clothes or scratching them. In fact, he was a little imp of mischief, yet had been taught to be very neat and nice in his habits, to pick his teeth, clean his nails, and do other acts supposed to belong to the human race. Like man also he could walk erect, jump on his hind feet and dance in the stamping fashion of a child a few years old, though with greater force. We must close our stories of monkey wit and wisdom with one that comes from South Africa, of a monkey that acted as signal man on a railroad. This is the story, as told in _Chambers' Journal_. "We had a remarkably intelligent baboon here a few years ago. He was a giant of his species. His master and trainer had the misfortune to have both his legs cut off in a railway accident, and on his leaving the hospital the Cape government gave him a berth as signal man. He taught this baboon not only to work the signals, but to place the wheels of a little trolley on the line, and then the bed on the wheels. His master would then seat himself on the trolley and Jocko would push him along to his house, about two hundred yards down the line. He would then detach the pieces of the trolley and clear them off the line. He would also lock the door of the signal-box and take the key to his master." [Illustration] VIII OTHER ANIMALS USED AS PETS We have now gone far and near among the animals kept by man, have seen them at work and at play, on farm and on road, in doors and out of doors, some helping him, some amusing him, some supplying him with food and clothes. But so far we have kept among the animals of common use. There are others not so often kept and at some of these we must take a passing glance before we finish our journey. Man, you know, is only one among many thousands of kinds of animals which dwell upon the earth. These are found everywhere, from the hot equator almost to the frozen poles. The most of them, of course, live in warm regions, but away up in the seas of ice may be seen creatures clad in thick wool and fur and finding food under the snows. So there is hardly any part of the earth without its living beings. Some of these animals are so savage that man rarely tries to tame them. The fierce lion and tiger, the ferocious grizzly bear, the huge and stupid rhinoceros, and many others of the same wild sort are shown us at times in menageries. But we look at them through the iron bars of their cages. If any of them should get out of the cage we would hasten to get out of the show. Even these fierce animals at times grow tame enough for men and women to go into their cages and teach them some simple tricks. But they are never safe to deal with, and we are always glad to see the tamers of lions and other wild beasts come out of the cages alive. It is not such creatures as these that man makes use of. He has picked out those of gentle nature, the grass eaters, not the flesh eaters. The dog and cat, it is true, are flesh eaters, but the dog is an animal that is easily tamed and becomes one of man's best friends. As for the cat, it rarely becomes quite tame. Its wildwood ways cling to it still. Animals fitted for man's use are found in all parts of the earth, but the tame ones mostly came from Europe and Asia, the countries in which civilization first began. Here are the native places of the horse and the cow, the sheep, goat and pig, the hen, duck and goose, and nearly all the other animals found about our homes. There is no continent with a greater variety of animals than Africa, but few of these have been tamed, and this mostly in the civilized north, for the people of that continent have long been in a savage or barbarian state, and have been hunters instead of tamers of animals. It has been the same in America. When white men came here they brought their home animals with them and there was no need to tame those found in this new continent. The only ones tamed by the Indians were the dog and the Peruvian llama, and nearly the only one added by the white man has been the turkey. The rest of our animals, like our forefathers themselves, came from abroad. Though we have dealt with the chief animals kept by man, for use or as pets, there are many others which have been at times tamed and made into friends and comrades, and it may be well to speak of such of these as seem of most interest. Men and women have a natural love for pets and sometimes pick out very odd ones. You know what the flea is--or if you do not know it is all the better, for the flea's way of making itself known is by biting. Yet even these small pests have been taught to do things, such as being harnessed to little carriages, which they drag about in a way to please those who are near enough to see them. A strong little insect is the flea. It can leap, we are told, two hundred times its length, while few of us can jump twice our length. And it can pull a heavy weight for a creature of its size. But it is not tamed nor taught. It is simply tied fast and pulls to get loose, and in this way draws its carriage. So to talk about learned fleas is to talk nonsense and most of us would be satisfied if there were no such thing as a flea. There are other insects which man has at times taken under his care, the ant, for instance, and some others. But these also are not tamed, they are simply studied and made use of in various ways. When we talk of taming animals we must come to those of a higher order, such as the birds and the four-footed creatures. We speak at times of the fish being tamed, but this is only from its losing its fear of man and taking food from his hands. It has not brain power enough for much more than this. Yet man at times makes a pet of the fish, which he keeps in the little table pond called the aquarium as he keeps his bird pets in the cage, and of these fish pets a few words may be said. PETS OF THE AQUARIUM The aquarium is a very pretty piece of furniture for the lovers of animal life, for a variety of water-living things can be kept in it alike for study and pleasure. Plants are needed of various kinds, to give beauty to the collection and keep the water in a fit state for the fish, for animal life and plant life need to go together. The plant gives off oxygen for the fish to breathe. There are a number of other small animals kept in the aquarium, such as the tadpole, the water-beetle and several kinds of fresh-water snails. But it is the fish that gives life and action to the parlor pond. Swimming in its little lake, now up, now down, darting nimbly about, with its bright scales glistening in the sun, it is always a pretty and attractive object. [Illustration: From D. M. Smith's Japanese Gold Fish The Fantail. The Japanese have had wonderful success in changing the form of the gold fish] A favorite among all cage-fish, if I may so call the pets of the aquarium, is the gold fish, with its bright golden scales, flashing as it darts about. This fish is of Chinese origin and belongs to the carp family. It is apt to vary, not only in color but in its fins and tail, the fins being sometimes double and the tails at times triple. Some of them change till they look very odd, and have long, wide, lace-like tails, strange but pretty. Some of the gold fish lose their color and grow white and are then known as silver fish. The common carp is not as handsome as its cousin, the gold fish, and is apt to grow too large for the aquarium. Those who choose to keep it may have it all their lives and leave it to those who follow, for it is said to live from one hundred to two hundred years. There are many other fish well fitted for the aquarium, such as the gudgeon, the roach, the tench, and the perch. But the perch can be kept only while young and small, as it is a fish eater and has an appetite that will soon leave it few of the other fish for company. One must not forget the minnow among the dwellers in the glass house. This little, lively fellow is well fitted to live in close quarters and no fish does better in the home fish-pond. It is a pretty little thing, with olive back and silvery belly, which sometimes becomes bright red. After a little time the minnow will grow very bold and tame enough to come to the edge of the tank at the sound of a familiar voice and take its morsel of food from between the thumb and finger. Among the fish kept in the aquarium must be named the stickleback, the nest-builder of the fish tribe. This little fish resembles the bird in building a nest, laying its eggs in it, and watching them with great care until they are hatched out. The stickleback is a pretty little fellow, but, like the perch, not safe to keep among other small fish, as he has the bad habit of feeding on them, so that he soon has the aquarium to himself. Dr. Lankaster says of him: "He has all the ways of other fishes and many others besides. Look into your tank; see, there is one larger than the rest; he is clothed in a coat of mail like a knight of old, and it is resplendent with purple and gold. He is a male fish and the king of your little shoal. He has important offices to perform. In the course of a few days, if you watch him and are fortunate, you will see this wonderful little fish engaged, in the most useful manner, in building a nest. "He seizes hold of one little bit of weed, then of another, and carries them all to some safe corner, till at last his nest is built. Having done this, he gently allures his mate to their new-made home. Here she deposits her eggs, and having done this resigns the care of them to our hero of the purple and gold, who watches over them with an anxiety that no male in creation but the male stickleback seems to know. He fans and freshens the water with his fins, and at last, when the young are hatched, watches over their attempts at swimming with the greatest anxiety." SNAKE CHARMERS From the fish let us turn to the snake, a gliding creature without limbs and without joints. It is much like one of the fishes, the eel, in shape, but not in anything else, while no other animal is so much feared and hated by man. We hate this creeping reptile from the fact that a few species of snakes carry a deadly poison in their teeth, and the strongest of men, bitten by one of these, has often only a few minutes to live. It is this that makes man a bitter foe of the snake and quick to kill any one he sees, whether it has a poisoned tooth or not. He fears it and hates it and has made up his mind that he and the snake are not fit to live together on the same earth. This is not fair to the snakes, for only a few of them are poison bearers. Most of them are as harmless as rabbits and can be handled as safely. But the cry of "a snake" is almost as bad as the cry of "a mad dog," and even so gentle a little thing as the garter snake has usually a short lease of life if seen by man or boy. Not quite everybody has this foolish fear of all snakes, the good and the bad alike, for there are some who make pets of them. And snakes thus petted become very tame and grow fond of those who take care of them. This is the case even with the huge python and the boa-constrictor, the greatest of all snakes. They are not poisonous, but when they wind their body in strong coils around an animal, even one of good size, they can soon crush the life out of it. Many stories might be given of tame snakes and it may be well to quote one of these as told by Mr. Romanes in his "Animal Intelligence." He had it from Mr. Severn, an artist, who tells of a call he made on a Mr. and Mrs. Mann, two snake-lovers who were much blamed by their neighbors for keeping these crawling creatures. When Mr. Severn called he was asked by Mr. Mann if he was afraid of snakes. He said, in a timid way, "No, not very," and his host took out of a cupboard a large boa-constrictor, a python, and a number of small snakes, which at once made themselves at home on the writing table among pens, ink and books. Mr. Severn's eyes opened very wide when he saw the two big snakes looking at him with their bright eyes and thrusting out their forked tongues, and they opened wider still when he saw the great serpents coil round and round the body of his friend. But when he found that they were very tame and would do no harm he lost his sense of fright. After some time Mr. Mann went out to call his wife, leaving the boa on an arm chair. The other snakes were put away. The visitor now began to feel rather queer, the more so when he saw the great serpent creeping slowly towards him. He was glad enough when Mr. and Mrs. Mann came in, bringing their two children. The lady and the children went at once to the boa, called it by loving names, and let it twine itself around them. We give the rest in Mr. Severn's own words: "I sat talking for a long time, lost in wonder at the picture before me. Two beautiful little girls with their charming mother sat before me with a boa-constrictor (as thick round as a small tree) twining playfully round the lady's waist and neck and forming a kind of turban round her head, expecting to be petted and made much of like a kitten. The children over and over again took its head in their hands and kissed its mouth, pushing aside its forked tongue in doing so. "The animal seemed much pleased, but kept turning its head towards me with a curious gaze, until I allowed it to nestle its head for a moment up my sleeve. Nothing could be prettier than to see this splendid serpent coiled all around Mrs. Mann while she moved about the room and when she stood to pour out our coffee. He seemed to adjust his weight so nicely, and every coil with its beautiful marking was relieved by the black velvet dress of the lady.... The snakes seemed very obedient, and remained in the cupboard when told to do so. "About a year ago Mr. and Mrs. Mann were away for six weeks and left the boa in charge of a keeper at the Zoo. The poor reptile moped, slept, and refused to be comforted, but when his master and mistress appeared he sprang upon them with delight, coiling himself around them, and showing every symptom of intense delight." Is not this a pretty story of snake taming! Others might be told, for these animals, like others, learn to know and love those who care for them and treat them well. Would you like to know something more about these great snakes? Many stories are told of them, but the trouble is that these are not all true. Thus we are told of pythons forty feet long and able to kill and swallow a goat or antelope, horns and all. The fact is, that they are never seen more than twenty feet long, usually little more than ten. And though they can kill a goat or antelope, they cannot swallow any animal larger than a small dog. The python and the boa-constrictor are much alike, but they do not live in the same countries, the python dwelling in the Old World and the boa in the New World. They lurk near water, hiding in the bushes or in the trees, where they are ready to seize small animals that come to drink. These they slowly swallow. Winding their tails around the limb of a tree, they can hang down and seize any animal passing beneath. But it was not these big snakes, but the doings of the snake charmers, I set out to talk about and to this I must return. We hear of snakes being charmed as we hear of forty foot pythons, but the fact is that there seems to be no charming of the snake at all. When the snake goes through what is called "dancing" one would suppose it had been trained. We know that this is not the case from the fact that the moment a snake has been captured a snake-charmer is able to make it "dance." [Illustration: Reproduced by Permission of the Philadelphia Museum Hindu Snake Charmers with the Deadly Cobras] What is called the snake dance is a natural habit of the cobra, which raises its head and one-third of its body above the ground and sways about in the air while the charmer is playing on his pipe. The cobra has poor sight and poor hearing and certainly no ear for music. What it lifts itself in this way for is a chance to strike its enemy. It can strike only with the part of its body that is lifted up and this the charmer knows and can easily keep out of reach. The cobra is a very deadly serpent. It kills thousands of persons every year in India with its fatal bite. Yet it can be tamed and taught to make itself at home. It can even be made to take the part of a house dog. At any rate Major Skinner, an English officer in India, tells us this snake tale: "In one family near Negombo cobras are kept as protectors in the place of dogs, by a wealthy man who has always large sums of money in his house, and this is not a solitary case of the kind.... The snakes glide about the house, a terror to the thieves, but never attempting to harm the inmates." So it seems that even the deadly cobra is not as black as it is painted, but can be tamed and made a friend of by man. When the snake-charmer wants a new snake he plays on his pipe near places in which serpents are apt to hide, and the cobra and other snakes come out and are caught. Sometimes the poison fangs are drawn out of the snake's jaws, but often they are not, the charmers knowing how to avoid being bitten. If bitten, they know how to take care of a bite. Here is a story told by a Mr. Reyne, who tried to learn the truth about the snake charmers. He made one of these men go with him into the jungle, after finding that he had no snakes hidden under his clothes. As these Hindus wear very little clothing, this was easy to do. In the jungle was a tall ant-hill in which Mr. Reyne knew that a large cobra made its home. Here the man played his pipe, and soon the cobra came gliding out, as if charmed by the music. Mr. Reyne goes on to say: "On seeing the man it tried to escape, but he caught it by the tail and kept swinging it around until we reached the bungalow. He then made it dance, but before long it bit him above the knee. He at once bandaged the leg above the bite and applied a snake-stone to the wound to draw out the poison. He was in great pain for a few minutes but after that it gradually went away, the stone falling off just before he was relieved." Thus it may be seen that a snake can be made to dance the instant it is caught and before it can have any lessons in dancing. The dancing is only a movement made by the serpent when it is alarmed and rises to defend itself. As for the taming of snakes, it is not very hard to do. The snakes must get used to the sight of man by seeing them often, as when kept in a cage where people pass or stop to look in. And when thus used to see man, they may be handled freely at all times except just after a meal. But those who handle them must be careful not to touch their necks or tails, for these are tender parts of the snake. Thus treated, they soon grow tame. Of course, some are much more savage than others, and any one who wants to own a tame snake had better leave the poisonous kinds alone. THE MONGOOSE AND OTHER SMALL ANIMALS As I have now told the story of the snake, it is well to give a little time to one of the snake's chief enemies, the little weasel-like animal known in Egypt as the Ichneumon and in India as the Mongoose. Larger than a cat, but with a long, slender body, and very quick in its movements, the ichneumon is death to snakes. I cannot say that it is proof against the snake's bite, but it jumps about in so lively a way that the snake gets no chance to bite it, and when it once gets its teeth in the snake's hide it soon puts an end to his career. This little animal is also death to crocodiles. But you must not think that it deals with the crocodile as it does with the snake. The fact is that it is very fond of the crocodile's eggs, and by digging these out of the sand and eating them it is of much use in cutting down the crocodile crop. It is easily tamed and becomes a house pet, doing much to keep the house free from rats and mice. Its worst fault is that it loves poultry and is hard to keep out of the chicken coop. The ichneumon has a pretty fashion of squatting down and eating out of its fore-paws like a squirrel. When it sleeps it coils up into a round ball, with its head and tail under its belly. [Illustration: The Mongoose. The Deadly Foe of Snakes and Rats] The mongoose is a little smaller than the ichneumon, but it is like it in other ways. Not many years ago some of these animals were brought to the island of Jamaica, where rats in the sugar-cane fields were giving the planters a great deal of trouble by gnawing the cane. For a time all went well. The mongoose went for the rats and soon these gnawers grew very few. The planters thought they had done a good thing in the way of saving their sugar-cane. In time the mongoose was to be seen everywhere and hardly any rats were left. Then the hungry little strangers had to look for food elsewhere and found it in the poultry-yard. The chickens began to follow the rats. Nowadays the planters look on the mongoose as a worse pest even than the rat and would like very much to get rid of their late friend, who makes it very hard to keep chickens and any kind of poultry. They would be glad to find some animal that would serve the mongoose as the mongoose served the rat. A very tamable little creature is the mongoose, and a very active one also, for it is never still for a minute except when asleep. It is not always hungry, like some other tame animals, but soon gets enough food. But when it does want something to eat it wants it badly and will walk around on its hind legs in man-like fashion after its keeper, and climb up his body till he gives it the food and drink it needs. The mongoose always wants to know. He must have his nose in everything he sees. He is all the time looking for something new. He would make a good scholar if sent to school. We are told of one that had his doll, his pet rabbit, his toy monkey, all stuffed, and these he played with till the stuffing all came out. If they were stuffed again he would go back to his play. One day he was given a Japanese paper snake and he went for that snake as if it was a live one. First he bit it in two. Then he bit the halves into quarters. Before he let the snake go there was not a piece left big enough for a bite. The little chap knew somehow that he was a born snake killer. When he could find nothing else to do he would climb into the window and view with delight all that went on outside, the cat, the dog, the horse, the milkman, everything. A game of tennis would hold him quiet for hours, for he was fond of ball play himself and very good at it. When he could find nothing to do or to see he would wander about like a lost lamb, and as a last resort would coil up in his master's lap and go to sleep. He had no fancy for being locked up in a cage, as had to be done at times, and he let people know this. If a friend of his came into the room where he was caged he would begin to cry like a cat, his voice growing loud and shrill if no notice was taken of him. In a minute more he would be flying around the cage in a fury, tearing up his bedding and flinging it to all quarters. If this had no effect his voice would sink into a wail of despair which it was hard to resist. But the instant he was taken out all his rage and grief were at an end. He would cuddle up in his master's arms, lay his head lovingly on his cheek and coo and crow away in deep delight. Leaving the mongoose, we may take a look in upon some other four-footed creatures that make good pets. Among these are such as the chameleon, the odd lizard that has the power to take on a new color whenever it gets tired of the old one; the armadillo, which wears a coat of mail and can roll itself up into a ball that no teeth can bite into; the hedgehog, another little creature that rolls up into a ball with sharp spines sticking out on all sides; the porcupine, that does the same thing and has much longer spines; in fact, almost all kinds of small animals, even those we call house vermin, the rat and the mouse. We might fancy that pet-lovers would draw a line at rats and mice, but these have often been tamed, at least the white rat and mouse, which some people like for their color. The rat makes a better pet than the mouse, for it is very quick-witted, while the mouse is apt to be dull. Among animal stories there is one we are told about a white rat that seems worth telling. The owner of this rat found it to be clean, loving and very lively. Like all rats it had the habit of laying up a store of food for future use, and when it found a supply would never stop till it had carried it all away. It was funny to watch it. If a plate of biscuits was put upon the table with no one near by, it would carry them away, one at a time, till not a biscuit was left. They would all be taken to its nesting place, across the room, and laid away for future use. If it got hold of a hunk of bread too heavy to carry up to its elevated nest, this did not stop its work. It would sit on the floor and gnaw the bread into small bits, carrying those up one at a time. It was fond of warming itself before a coal fire, and seemed to take the fancy that coal was a good thing to have, for it carried it off a piece at a time till it had a store of this hard stuff a foot wide and five or six inches deep. Very likely many of you have read about how rats will carry off eggs, even taking them down stairs without an egg being broken. It takes two rats to do this, one passing the egg down to the other on the step below. They have even been seen to take eggs up stairs. One rat catches the egg between its fore-paws and its head, and gets up on its hind legs, passing it up to the other, who catches it in its fore-paws. Then they go up another step and keep at this till the top is reached. They are very fond of oil, and when they find bottles of oil have a cute way of their own to get it. First gnawing off the cover, the rat sticks its tail down into the oil, pulls it up well covered, and licks off the oil. Sometimes they take turns, each handing down its tail for another rat to lick. You may see from this that the rat is a very wide-awake little nuisance. The tame rat we have been speaking of died in good time and a hedgehog became his master's next pet. Have you ever seen a hedgehog? Some of you have, no doubt; but for those who have not I would say that it is a little creature that lives in a hole in the ground or in trees or rocks and comes out at night to feed on mice, frogs, insects and such like prey. The hedgehog is about a foot long and six inches high, with small black eyes and sharp-pointed head. The odd thing about it is the fact that where most animals are covered with hair this one is covered with spines, hard and sharp, like little thorns. These grow to be about an inch long and there are muscles in the back that cause them to stand up and stick out in all directions. [Illustration: The Common Hedgehog with his Battery of Spines] When a dog gets busy about a hedgehog, it does not try to run away. All it does is to roll itself up into a ball, its head and tail meeting over its lower parts and its spines sticking up all around. When the dog gets these into his nose a few times he is apt to lose his taste for hedgehog meat. He may roll the animal about with his paws, but that does no good, and he soon goes away with sore head and paws, leaving the hedgehog to unroll and make its way back to its burrow. When taken home and fed it soon becomes very tame and friendly. It can be handled with safety, for when it is not rolled up its spines lie flat along its back, so that its friends can stroke its back and scratch its nose without harm. These it likes to have done. When it is put on a table it does not a bit mind taking a dive to the floor, for it rolls up so to fall on its spines and thus is not hurt. A tame hedgehog is a good thing to keep in a garden or kitchen, for it helps to clear the one of worms and the other of roaches and sometimes will catch and kill a rat. It is not afraid to attack snakes, even poisonous ones like the viper. The poison does not seem to do it any harm. I have spoken of the armadillo as a pet and as an animal that rolls itself into a ball like the hedgehog. Instead of spines, it has a covering of hard, bony plates, which cover the whole body, even the tail. When it rolls itself up it is like a hard stone and can laugh within its coat of mail at the enemies which roll it about but cannot get in. The armadillo is an American animal, and is found in our country in the state of Texas. It goes south from there through Mexico and on to South America, where it is found everywhere. It lives in large numbers in the woods and on the great grass plains. In its food and habits it is much like the hedgehog, and like it burrows in the ground. To do this it has very strong claws, and these it can use to defend itself when it takes a fancy to fight. The same person who kept the white rat I have spoken of also had a pet armadillo, though the two were not very good friends. The armadillo was very quick in its motions and the first time it saw the rat it went for it like a lightning flash. The rat was one of the kind of vermin it fed on in its natural state and it thought here was a good chance for a feast. In a minute it had the rat driven into a corner where there was no hole or hiding place and where it stood up as if praying with its paws in the air. In a minute more the armadillo would have made mince meat of the rat with its sharp claws, but its master just then came to the rescue, and saved his pet rat. [Illustration: The Three-banded Armadillo. An Animal in a Coat of Mail] In the end he punished the armadillo by making a little wagon in which he made it draw the rat about as a passenger. His armadillo, he tells us, was a famous sleeper, lying asleep about twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four. But in its wakeful hour it was very active and lively. It loved to lie before the fire, but if turned over on its back and scratched it grew furious. It could not turn itself back again much easier than a turtle. The one thing that threw it into a panic was a sudden noise. If, for instance, the poker was thrown down, the scared animal would make a bee-line for its home, and if it missed the mark would tumble around in a fright till it found the entrance to its cage. When it got used to the noise of the poker any other noise would set it off in the same way, and it never got over its panic at a strange and sudden noise. So many kinds of animals have been tamed at times that I cannot speak of them all. But I must not forget our familiar little friend, the squirrel, one of the prettiest and liveliest of tree-dwellers. To see him seated, with bushy tail curled up over his back, and gnawing away at a nut held between his fore-paws, is to see one of nature's most charming sights. And he is a tameable little creature, easy to keep and to feed, and very pleasing in his ways. There are many kinds of squirrels, but all of them may be tamed. They need a cage of good size, and a usual feature of the cage is a revolving wheel or cylinder of zinc wire, a sort of tread-mill in which the active little fellow may take all the exercise he wants, making it spin round at a great speed. He needs a snug little ante-room, to which he may retire when tired of his wheel. Any kind of nut will be welcome as food, and even a stale crust of bread or a bit of boiled potato, all of which he will gnaw in his funny way. [Illustration: A Friendly Gray Squirrel] Many stories of tame squirrels could be told. Here is one which we owe to a Captain Brown. I give it both for its neatness and its odd ending. It is of a tame squirrel that used to run up its master's leg and pop into his pocket whenever it saw him getting ready to go out. As he went through the streets it would keep in his pocket, sticking its head out in a saucy way to took at people passing. As soon as the outskirts of the town were reached and trees and bushes became common, out of the pocket it would pop, down the leg it would scramble, and up the trees it would climb, nibbling away at the bark and leaves. If its master started on, down it would come and climb back to his pocket. If a cart or carriage came by it would hide till they had passed, for it was timid with any one but its master. It was not a good friend with the house dog and this seems to have been bunny's fault, for he had a fashion of his own of teasing the dog. If it lay down and went off into a snooze, down would come the squirrel, scamper over its body, and dart off to its cage again before the dog had time to growl or snap. This squirrel--or it may have been another squirrel which had the same fancy of hiding in its master's pocket--had one night an adventure in which it served its master as well as any watch-dog could have done. The gentleman who kept it used, when he came home at night, to hang his coat behind one of the downstairs doors. This made a neat sleeping place for the squirrel, who would climb up to the pocket, taking some tow with him for bedding. One night, after the family and the squirrel alike had gone to bed, a burglar made his way into the house and began to peer around for plunder. Seeing the coat hanging on the door, he began with that, putting his hand into the pocket. In an instant he drew it out again with a cry of pain. He had got a sudden bite from the squirrel's sharp teeth. At the noise the man of the house sprang up, seized a poker and ran down stairs. He was in time to capture the burglar, who was just climbing out of the window. HAWKING OR FALCONRY Perhaps you have read enough about tame animals of the four-footed kind. At any rate it will be well to turn now to the two-footed kind, the birds, and talk about a kind of sport in which birds have been used for many centuries. Nowadays, when one of us goes hunting, we take our shot-gun or rifle, with the dog for companion, and bring down the game with a bullet or load of shot. But long ago, before the gun was known, there was another way of catching game, and of this I wish to speak. It is called Hawking or Falconry, and is a very old sport in which the falcon or the hawk was used to take game. It is still in use in some countries, but in old times falconry was the favorite sport of kings and nobles, many of whom spent much of their time in the field, hunting smaller or weaker birds by aid of the strong and swift falcon or hawk. This kind of sport began very long ago, no one can say how long, it being common in Asia long before it was known in Europe. And it is common in some parts of Asia still. [Illustration: A Hooded Peregrine Falcon. Its eyes are covered by the hood until the game is in sight] Bishop Stanley says: "About two thousand years ago ancient writers speak of hawking as a common sport. People used to go out into the marshy grounds and beat among the reeds and bushes for small birds, and as these flew away hawks were let loose in pursuit, and when the game fell to the ground, either through fright or struck by the hawks, men ran up and secured them. "In China it is a favorite sport with some of the mandarins to hawk for butterflies and other large insects with birds trained for that particular pastime. In India the Goshawk and two other species are taught to keep hovering over the hunters' heads and when deer and other game start up, they dart down and fix their claws upon its head and thus bewilder it until it is secured. A certain sultan kept a corps of seven thousand falconers." The Arabians used the falcon to hunt the goat. When a rock goat was seen on a mountain the falcon would be let loose and would fly like an arrow straight for the animal, lighting on its back and fixing its talons in its throat. It held fast until the huntsman came up to the weakened animal and cut its throat, the falcon being paid for its service by drinking the blood. Falconry is still common in Persia and is much spoken of in the poetry and stories of the Persians. One of these stories is worth telling, both from its being a very pretty one and from its being like a famous story of ancient Wales. In the Welsh story, which we have in a fine ballad, Prince Llewellyn had a faithful dog named Gellert which he left in charge of his infant child. During the absence of the prince a wolf entered the house and was attacked and killed by the dog. When he came home he saw the cradle upset and blood all over the floor, and thinking that the dog had killed his child he plunged his sword into its side. A minute later he saw the child safe under the cradle and the wolf lying dead. He was sorry enough when he saw this, but all he could do was to build a monument over his faithful dog. Stories like this were common in the past, with other animals than the dog and the wolf. In old Persia it was the hawk and the snake. We are told of a Persian king who went out hunting with his favorite falcon on his wrist. After a time a deer started up and was pursued by the falcon, and was in time brought down and killed. In chasing it, the king had left all his people in the rear and now found himself alone. He was also hot and thirsty and finding some water trickling down a mountain side, he filled his cup with it, but very slowly, as the water came down only in drops. He was about to drink it when the falcon struck the cup with its wings and spilt the water. Vexed at this, the king filled the cup again and once more raised it to his lips. Again the falcon flapped its wings and the water was spilled. This made the king so angry that he flung the bird to the ground and killed it on the spot. At this moment one of his attendants came up and the king, who was too thirsty to wait again until the cup was filled drop by drop, gave it to the man and told him to climb up and fill it at the spring. The man did so, but as he came down he saw a large serpent lying dead with its head in the water, into which a poisonous foam flowed from its lips. When he came down and told of what he had seen the king was deeply grieved, for he had killed the faithful bird which was seeking to save him from death or danger. Coming now to later times we find that hawking made its way from Asia into Europe very long ago. Denmark was a famous place for this sport in the far past and it was common in France and England at least as early as the 10th century. The kings of those countries grew very fond of it. When Edward III. of England went to fight in France he took with him thirty falconers and hunted or hawked every day, and Henry VIII. at one time nearly lost his life when out hawking. In recent times it has died away in great part, but is still practiced in some countries. Such is the history of hawking. Now a few words may be said about the practice. The birds used belong to two classes, the long-winged, dark-eyed falcons and the short-winged, yellow-eyed hawks. The falcons used are the Gerfalcon, Peregrine, Hobby, Merlin, and some others. The hawks used are the Goshawk and the Sparrowhawk. The falcons take their prey by rising above it in the air and darting down upon it. The hawks fly in a straight line and take it by their great speed. The taming of these birds is a slow process. It was of old the custom to fasten jesses or soft leather straps round their legs and hoods over their heads. A line fastened to the strap kept them from flying away. They were taught to rest and feed on the gloved hand of the trainer and also to make short flights to a "lure," a piece of wood on which food was placed. They were drawn back by the cord tied to the jesses. In this and other ways the birds were taught, and in time could be trusted to fly free and come back to the huntsman's hand. [Illustration: Leg and Foot of Falcon Showing the Method of Attaching the Fastening] When the hawkers went abroad on a hunt, gay was the show and lively the sport. On horseback, carrying the hawks on their wrists, the gallant company rode briskly away, all of them dressed in fine robes and the hawks also richly "dressed." The bird might have around its neck a collar of gold filagree and over its head a hood of the finest silk, with a plume of colored feathers on top. Little tinkling bells, those of finest sound, hung from the leather leg rings, and the glove on which the bird sat was often spangled with gold, and sometimes adorned with jewels. While the hood was on the bird would not move, but when the hood was taken off and it saw the prey it was eager to fly. Here is the story of a hawking party as late as 1825. This party set out in the afternoon, riding towards a place frequented by herons--a large, strong bird with which only the strongest falcons could deal. There were four couples of birds, all of the kind known as Peregrine falcons. Each bird had a small bell on one leg and a leather hood, with pieces of red cloth in it to cover each eye. After some time a heron was seen near at hand. At once the hoods were taken from the heads of two of the falcons and as soon as they had seen the bird they were let loose. Away they flew after the heron, but a crow chanced to cross their track and one of the birds started to chase this, while the other kept on. When it came near the heron it flew in circles until it was far above it and at length came pouncing down and struck its prey on the back. Down came the two birds, tumbling from a high point to the ground. By this time the crow had escaped and the second falcon came flying up, just in time to see the other falcon and the heron falling. At this instant a rook flew across and the second bird struck at him, bringing him to the ground not far away from the other game. Up now dashed the falconers, held out the lure, on which was a live pigeon, and secured the game while the birds were making a meal upon the pigeon. Two other herons were taken by the other falcons and the day's sport closed. Such was a scene of hawking in the 19th century. In olden times the game was often much more exciting than this. [Illustration] IX WILD ANIMALS IN MAN'S SERVICE You must by this time think that there is hardly any kind of animal upon the earth that man has not at some time kept as a friend or a captive. Of course, we mean the larger animals, the quadrupeds, reptiles, birds, and fishes, not the vast hordes of insects and the still lower animals. Of these there is only one, the honey-seeking bee, that has been made to work for man, but of the large animals many more than those spoken of have served him in some way or have been captured and caged for his pleasure. All the large cities have their Zoölogical gardens, where wild beasts of many kinds are kept on show, and in villages and small towns and cities the travelling menagerie carries such wild creatures around where everyone may see them. Here, in strong cages, we may look at the lordly lion, with its splendid mane, and its gaping jaws, filled with cruel teeth, and the tiger, fierce and sly, pacing round and round its narrow cage on silent feet, and at times stopping to glare with savage eyes at the lookers outside. It may have seen and made a meal on such beings in its native wilds. Then there are the snarling hyena, the spotted leopard, the wild-eyed wolf, the American panther and wild-cat, the growling bear, and many others. Greatest among these are the huge and savage rhinoceros, the ugly river-horse, or hippopotamus, and the noble elephant. These are only a few of the animals that are kept for show, among them many of the tameable ones, as the playful monkey, the slender deer or antelope, the large elk and moose, the wolf, raccoon, opossum, kangaroo and many others of the smaller animals. Man is able to make friends of the most of these. In fact there are daring men and women who are ready to go into the cages of the fiercest of these beasts and make them go through the tricks they have been taught. They have been even found bold enough to put their heads into the lion's mouth. This is always a foolish thing to do, and sometimes it has ended in the lion's closing his great jaws and smashing the man's head as one would smash an egg-shell. With all this we are not here concerned. It is only the animals that serve us as friends and helpers that we are dealing with. But man at times makes use of certain creatures that usually are only seen in a wild state, so it is well to say something of the wild animals that at times are made to serve us in some way. THE DANCING BEAR You have seen, no doubt, the dancing bears, clumsy, ugly brutes that men lead around the country, visiting the summer resorts, and making the animals go through some awkward movements on their hind legs, which they call dancing. This is not a sign of any great sense in the bear. To get up on his hind legs is a common habit of this lumbering fellow. Many hunters who have made the bear angry have found this to be the case. When it wants to fight up comes the bear on its hind feet. It is not like a prize fighter, using its fore-legs to spar with; though it can strike a blow that will hurl the strongest man to the ground. But what it tries to do is to get its fore-legs round the man and give him a hug. When a bear hugs, he means business. It is not a tender embrace, but a bone-cracker that few men can stand. The bear is an easy animal to tame. The common brown bear I mean, not the savage grizzly bear, which no one would think of trying to tame, except when young. When a bear is tamed it shows itself a docile animal that will not hurt any one who treats it well. As for the learned bears, their learning does not amount to much. It takes no special teaching to get them on their hind legs or to prance around in a clumsy fashion. Yet the bear is not wanting in brain powers. It is really an animal of much intelligence and very teachable. [Illustration: Grizzly Bear Cub. The Young of all Animals, Even of the Fierce Grizzly, can be Tamed by Kindness] It shows this in various ways. I have told you how the elephant gets hold of a piece of food by blowing back of it with his trunk, and how the monkey does the same thing by throwing his shawl over it and drawing it in. The bear has a way of his own of doing the same thing, as the following anecdote will show: It is the story of a bear at the Zoo, to which some one threw a bun. The bun fell into the bear's bathing pool, out of his reach. The animal could have got it easily by going into the water, but did not just then want to wet his feet and in his wise head thought out another plan. He put his paw into the water and began stirring it up till he had a sort of current going round the pond. When one leg was tired he put in the other, moving it in the same direction, and kept this up till the bun came swimming round within reach. There are other stories of the same kind and they go to show that the bear has good thinking powers. He certainly knew that by making a current in the water he could cause the bun to float up within reach of his paws. It is not likely that this bear had ever done the thing before or seen it done, so he had to think it out for himself. There is a very interesting thing to say about wild animals which will fit in well at this point. As a rule they only want to be let alone, and if man would quit hunting them many of them would become as tame as the cows and sheep in our fields. There is much proof of this, some of it very late proof. After the Yellowstone National Park was set aside as a national pleasure ground orders were given that none of the wild animals of the park should be shot. You may think that these wild creatures could not find this out, but they soon did. Thus we are told that the elks, the great deer of the mountains, are very alert and timid outside the park boundary, but when they have crossed this and come into the park they grow very bold and independent. They have learned that the crack of the gun which means death on one side of the border is not heard on the other, and have taken in this lesson. As for the bears, they are fearless of man when inside the park, and come up close to the hotels and other buildings as if they looked upon these as part of their lunch route. It is the same with the other wild animals. They seem to know. We hear of the same thing from East Africa. No one can shoot at game within a certain distance on each side of the East African Railway. That is the law and the wild beasts have come to know it. Travellers on that road tell us that crowds of wild animals can be seen on both sides of the road, antelopes, zebras, ostriches, deer, and the like, looking with curious eyes as the train goes by but not trying to get away. This was not the case in the past, when people could shoot at them from the train. No one has posted up a bulletin in beast language telling that a treaty of peace had been signed between man and beast. But there stands the fact. These innocent creatures have lost all their old fear of the railway train. They seem to have told one another. This is not the case with such dangerous brutes as the lion, the leopard, the hyena and the rhinoceros. These do not come within the terms of the treaty of peace. Travellers are free to shoot at them. As a result you do not see them among the animals that welcome the train. THE SEAL AND THE ALLIGATOR So far we have been talking of land animals, those that live, eat and breathe on solid ground. If we turn to the sea, we find it the native abode of the fish and of many animals lower than fish in nature's great family. And it is of interest to find that some land animals have gone back to the great world of waters, part of them to live there all the time, part to share their time between land and sea. Among the first of these is the mighty whale, much the largest of living beings; also the porpoise, the dolphin, and other air-breathers that live in the ocean. Chief among those that spend their lives in part on the land are the seals. And these are the only animals of the land-sea kind that have ever been tamed, so we must say a few words about the seal. There are many kinds of seals, some of them, like the sea-elephant of the southern seas, being very large. Others are small. All are splendid swimmers, their arms and hands acting as fins or oars, with which they can make their way very swiftly through the water. The ocean is their dining hall, in which a great dish of fish is ever ready for them, but their home is on island shores, where their young are born and brought up till they are able to swim. [Illustration: The Harp-seal Afloat on the Ice] The kind of seal to be talked of here is that known as the Common Seal. This is the easiest to tame. It is found in the Arctic seas and comes down the coasts of Europe as far south as the Mediterranean and the coasts of America as far south as New Jersey. This little fellow, along with some other species, is very intelligent. Where they are not hunted they will come very close to boats and to men on shore. They have a fondness for music and will follow a boat for miles if a flute or some other instrument is played. The ringing of the churchbell of the little town of Hoy, in the Orkney Islands, has often brought a great many seals into the bay, drawn there by the bell tones. Seals that have been taken and tamed are very gentle and docile, and will live long if they have water to bathe and swim in, and fish to eat. They like to be taken notice of and caressed, come like dogs when their names are called, and can be easily taught many little tricks, so that learned seals are often put on exhibition. When taken young and brought up in a household the seal acts as if it felt itself to be one of the family, and likes much to lie and warm itself in front of the fire. It grows very fond of those who care for it, showing a tender and loving nature. We are told of one that would follow its master about like a dog, eating from his hand and lying by his side when he sat before the kitchen fire. It would also nestle close to the dog, with which it had made friends. When anyone came into the room, up would go its head to see who the newcomer was. But it never tried to bite dog or stranger. The winter after this young seal was taken was cold and stormy, so that it was not easy to catch fish enough to feed the family and the seal. They tried giving it milk, but it took so much of this that in the end the family could not afford to keep it and decided to set it free and let it fish for itself. Taking the little thing--it was very young--into a boat, they rowed out to sea, and when far enough from land tossed it overboard. But they were not going to get rid of their pet seal so easily as this. It swam after the boat, crying in so pitiful a way that they could not bear the tone and in the end took it on board again. Thus it was brought back to the house and lived there several months more before it took sick and died. [Illustration: The Savage Florida Alligator] There is a story very like this of another seal that its owners tried several times to get rid of. They failed to do so, the knowing creature always finding its way back. At one time it even crept into the room through an open window and made its way up to bask by the fireside. While it is not strange that the seal can be easily tamed, we should not look for such a thing in so savage an animal as the alligator, the most feared and hated of the animals found in the waters of our Southern States. Yet even this ferocious reptile can be tamed, as the following story will show. The alligator in question was taken when very young, before its wild nature had shown itself, and was fed and attended to by its master, of whom it became very fond. It grew so tame that it would follow him about the house like a dog, even scrambling up and down stairs after him. But the funny thing about this comical pet was that its chief friend was the cat, and that pussy returned its friendship. When the cat lay drowsing before the fire, the alligator would crawl up, lay its head on her back, and go to sleep in this position. It seemed happy whenever the cat was near, but grew very restless if its furry friend was away. Raw flesh was fed to it and sometimes milk, which it liked very much. At night, in cold weather, it slept in a box, with wool for it to nestle in. But one night there came a sharp frost and the little guest was forgotten. The next morning the native of warm climates was found frozen to death. THE STORK, CORMORANT AND ALBATROSS It would take many pages to tell about all the wild animals that have at times been tamed by man or made to serve him in various ways. As it is, we must confine ourselves to a few, and have selected the three water-birds named above all of which have been of service to man in some way. The Stork is not a tame bird in the sense of being kept about the household, but it has so long been taken care of and laws made to protect it, that it has grown very familiar and may be seen walking about the streets of Holland, even among crowds of people, without a show of fear. No one wants it for food, for its flesh is not good, and it does so much service by eating frogs, snakes and other troublesome animals, that every one feels friendly towards it. It also struts about in the market places and keeps them clean and fresh by eating all the offal. Thus it plays the part of the turkey-buzzard of our Southern cities, which is taken care of for the same reason. The Common Stork of the Old World countries is a large bird, long-legged and long-necked. It is pure white in color, except that the wings are partly black and the bill and legs are red. It sleeps standing on one leg, with the neck folded and the head turned back on the shoulders. If alarmed, as when a dog comes near, it makes a loud snapping noise with its bill. The stork spends the winter in Africa and flies back in the summer to Europe, where it is very common in Holland and North Germany. Its feeding place is in the marshes, where it wades about, eating the frogs and other small animals to be found there. It is very fond of eels and will follow people about the streets who feed it on this favorite morsel. It has a way of asking for food by nodding its head, flapping its wings, and blowing the air from its lungs. [Illustration: The Stork in its Feeding Grounds] Of a mild and peaceful disposition, the stork has long been much cared for and a halo of romance clings round it, coming down from ancient times. This arises from its devotion to its young, which brings it into esteem in various countries. It builds its nest on the roofs or chimneys of houses or the steeples of churches, the nest being a bunch of sticks, reeds and other debris. In the ruined cities of Asia a stork's nest may be seen on the top of nearly every standing pillar. In Holland and many other parts of Europe it is common to put a box on the roof for the stork, and when the inmates find that a stork has built in their box they are glad, for they think it will bring good luck to the family. When a new baby comes to the household, children are told that the stork has brought it out of the well, and thus the young grow to like the stork. Four or five eggs are laid in the stork's nest, of white color tinged with buff, and the birds are apt to come back to the same nest year after year. The stork not only shows great fondness for its young, but is also thought to take much care of its aged parents. Whether this is true or not, it adds to the affection people have for this bird. When the summer is over and it is time to fly south, the birds gather in large flocks as if to talk the matter over. The stork, indeed, has no voice, but it makes a great clatter with its bill. The meeting over, the flock flies off for the far-away tropics, the birds rising very high and making a loud rushing noise with their wings. They are gone, to be seen no more until the next summer is at hand. Now let us take up the story of the Cormorant, one of the web-footed swimming and fishing birds, of which so many kinds dwell about the waters of the world. They belong to the same family as the pelicans, but while the pelican has a great net, or fish basket, under its lower bill, the cormorant has only a small one, not big enough to hold many fish. [Illustration: The Cormorant, the Fishing Bird of China] The cormorants are great fish-eaters, so much so that it is common to call any large eater a cormorant. There are many species, some small, some large, living on the shores of islands and in some cases along rivers. The way in which this bird is of service to man is in its being tamed and trained to catch fish for him. This used to be done in England and is still done in China. How it is done may be told in a few words. The bird is easily tamed by the Chinese fishermen and is trained by them for its new duty. While being trained a string is tied to its leg so as to control its movements. Then small fish are thrown out and it springs after them. In time it learns to go into the water when a whistle is given and to come back when it hears a different whistle. After three or four weeks of this training the bird is ready for duty and no longer needs a string to hold it. The birds become in time as docile as dogs and obey every order of their masters. When put regularly to work a small ring of hemp is tied around their throats, so that they cannot swallow large fish. When the fisherman rows out into the water the birds sit quietly on the side of the boat until they get his orders. Then into the water they dash and usually come up with a fish, which they bring to him. If one comes up with a fish too large to handle, another bird, sometimes several birds, will come to his aid and help him to land the prize. Sometimes one of them takes a lazy fit and swims about the water, paying no heed to business. Then the fisherman shouts at the idle bird and strikes the water with his oar, keeping this up till it dives for prey. At the end of the day's work the ring on the bird's neck is loosened or taken off and some of the fish are given it or it is allowed to fish for itself. Like the stork, the cormorant is very fond of eels, and when one of them comes up with an eel there is often a fight between two or three of them for the prize. There is another bird on our list, the Albatross. It has never been tamed and cannot be said to be of service to man. At least I can name only one instance. In this case the bird is said to have been used to carry a message from shipwrecked sailors, telling where they could be found and asking for help. I cannot say whether this story is true or not, but it leads us to say something about this famous bird of the waves. [Illustration: The Albatross swooping over the ocean waves] The albatross is a wonderful flyer. It is the largest of the web-footed birds, being four feet long and with a wing spread of from ten to seventeen feet. It seems to float or glide on the air rather than fly, hardly moving its long wings except when rising from the water. It often follows ships for a long time; day after day, some people say, but this is doubtful. No ship can outsail it and it is said to be able to fly as much as eight hundred miles in a day. Sailors often fish for it with a baited hook, but find it hard to haul in, as it often draws out the hook or breaks the line. But a bait of blubber is very attractive and in a few minutes the same bird will take the hook again. Only by catching a fish in some such way as this could a message tied to its legs by shipwrecked sailors be found. Sailors have long had a superstition about shooting the albatross, fearing that it would bring ill luck to the ship and its crew. All who can do so would do well to read Coleridge's famous poem of the "Ancient Mariner," in which the men who "shot the albatross" brought terrible misfortune to the ship and all on board. THE HONEY-GIVING BEE There is only one other animal of which I shall speak as a servant or aid of man, this time an insect, the well-known hive bee, which every one of you must have seen, and like enough many of you may have felt, for this little fellow has a very "hot foot." The bee cannot be called a _tame_ animal. Although it lives with man and under his care, it does not know this but fancies that it is working for itself alone. And the honey which man gets from it is laid up by the busy bee for its own use. It has no notion of working for man, but is robbed by him of its sweet stores. Among all the wild animals that are of service to man this little humming insect stands first. Nimble, active, always at work, always singing over its work, the happiest of the working class, it keeps itself busy through all the season of flowers in gathering honey from their cups and carrying it to store away in its neat cells of wax. It is a winter store of food it is laying up. By good fortune the bees are able to collect more than they need for their own use, so their keepers can take part of it and still leave the little workers enough to live on the winter through. The bee has been working in this way for man during long ages. Go far back in time and you will find writers telling about the bees and their ways. The Greek and Roman writers tell us much about them,--some of it fancy, some of it fact,--and within later times these useful insects have been much studied and written about. I do not propose to tell the story of the bee, for it is much too long a one to be given in this place. All I need speak of here is the service it renders to man. There are many varieties of bees but only one, the hive bee, is of interest to us in this story, for it is the only one that works for us. What we do for the bee is to supply it a home to live in, a cage or hive in which it may dwell, take care of its young, and lay up a store of its sweet food. How all this is done is very interesting. There is nothing in nature more neatly built than the waxen comb of the bee, and no prettier dish for our tables than a comb full of the golden honey. And there is nothing which most of us like better to eat. So it is the comb of the bee that I shall speak of here, rather than the bee itself. [Illustration: An Opened Bee Hive Showing the Clustering Bees] The bee goes abroad for honey, but the wax which it uses for the comb is formed in its own body. It comes out from a sort of wax-pocket in the lower part of the body, is scraped up by the legs and carried to the mouth. Here it is well chewed and then laid on the floor for the use of the comb-builders. From this wax the bees build a series of six-sided cells, laid side by side, some of them to hold honey, others as cradles for the young. They are fastened to the walls and hang downward. It is well to say here that there is only one egg-layer in the hive. This is called the queen bee. The others are workers and drones. The workers store up food, the drones (the male bees) do nothing but eat it. This the workers let them do while the summer lasts and food is plenty, but they do not let them spend the winter in the hive, eating the food which they have not helped to gather. When the summer season is over they drive the drones from the hive and sting them to death. Is there a lesson for us in this habit of the bees? They have no room in the hives for those who do no work, and kill them on the spot rather than let them starve or freeze. While we could not do a thing like this, it might be well if everybody was made to work for the food they eat, as the bees do. Now let us come back to the waxen cells, built so neatly and packed into the hive so closely that no man could do it better. Some of these, as I have said, are cradles for the young; some are store-houses for food. The queen bee is a wonderful egg layer. For every egg laid by the hen she will lay several hundred, each in a cell of its own. From the egg comes a little maggot, which feeds on the honey and pollen given it till it swells into a fat little worm. Then it builds around itself a cocoon of fine silk, in which it lies hid while it is going through the process of changing from a worm into a bee. In the end it comes out a winged insect, ready to take its part in the business of the hive. Egg-laying is the work of the queen; food gathering is that of the workers. As soon as warm weather comes and blossoms open on bushes and trees, the bees may be seen at work, visiting flower after flower and sucking up by aid of the tongue the sweet juice to be found in so many flower cups. This is partly used for food, but much of it is stored in the honey bag of the bee to be carried to the hive and laid away in the honey cells. As the season goes on new plants bear blossoms, so that all through the blossom season the busy bees find plenty of their sweet food. Another thing they collect is the pollen of the flowers. This clings to the hairs of the body while they are at work in the blossoms, and is cleaned off by the jaws and feet, a little honey being mixed with it. In this way little pellets are formed which are used as food for the young. On this rich food the little ones soon grow fat. Another thing gathered by the bee is a sticky substance called _propolis_. It is used as a cement, to varnish the combs and stop up all holes. The bees carry this home on their legs and the workers in the hive clean it off and use it while it is soft to cover up all weak spots. I have said that the wax is formed in the body of the bee. The same may be said of the poison. This flows into the sting, and by its aid the bee is able to defend itself, not only against its natural enemies, but against artificial ones, like meddlesome boys. But the sting is barbed, so that the bee often fails to draw it back after using it. Thus the sting is pulled from the body and the bee dies from the wound. For long ages men have kept bees, making hives for them. Every season new swarms come from the old hives and are brought in various ways to start fresh colonies in new ones. Hives have been made of many things, often of straw, which was long used in England. To get the honey from these the bees were first killed by the fumes of sulphur. It seems a cruel thing to kill them in order to rob them, and it is not now done. In our country the straw hive has never been used. The hives now in use have frames on which combs may be built and filled with honey and then drawn out, leaving the lower combs for the bees' own use. There is a process by which the honey can be drawn from the combs without breaking them in any way, so that they may be filled again by the bees. As in this case they do not have to make new combs the active insects can soon fill the old ones again. Little more remains to be said. There are certain flowers which yield honey of fine flavor, such as those of the heather, the white clover, the buckwheat, the rosemary and the orange-flower. In ancient times the most famous honey was that of Mount Hybla in Sicily and Mount Hymettus in Greece. In our own days the countries in which bee-farming is carried on most largely are the United States and Canada, and of this country, Southern California is the paradise of the beekeeper. On some bee farms are from two thousand to three thousand hives and it is said that as much as seven hundred pounds of honey have been taken from one hive. Thus this little buzzing insect is one of the most active and able of the animals that help to feed and serve us, and with the busy bee we may close our list of man's Animal Friends and Helpers. INDEX [Illustration] A Albatross, the, 333, 334 Alderney cattle, 139 Alligator, the, 326; story of a tame one, 327 Alpaca, the, 111, 113 Anecdotes of the dog, 29-39; of the cat, 49-51; of the horse, 82-85; of the mule, 85; of the elephant, 121-132; of the pig, 174; of song-birds, 225, 226; of the parrot, 232-236; of the raven, 236, 237; of the jackdaw, 238-240; of the crow, 240, 241; of the starling, 241-246; of the monkey, 250, 255, 257, 259, 262, 263, 266, 267-282; of snakes, 291; of the squirrel, 307-309; of the bear, 321; of the seal, 325, 326 Angora cat, the, 48 Angora goat, the, 165 Angora rabbit, 52 Animals of the household, 13-15; of the earth, 283-285; of the aquarium, 286 Animals, varied uses of, 133 Apes, man-like, 260-262 Aquarium, pets of the, 286 Arab horse, the, 66, 79-81 Arabia, falconry in, 311 Arabian camel, 104, 109 Armadillo, the, 300, 304; as a pet, 305, 306 Ass, the wild, 87-88 Astrakhan fur, 155 Aylesbury duck, 189 Ayrshire cows, 139 B Bactrian camel, 104, 109 Bantam fowls, 183 Bear, the, 319; intelligence of, 321; in Yellowstone Park, 322 Bee, the, 334; habits of, 335; combs and honey, 336; cell building, 337; labors of, 338; hives and swarming, 339; the honey harvest, 340 Beef, American, 141 Big-horn sheep, 152 Bird of Juno, 206; bird of Venus, 208 Birds, trick, 229, 230 Bison, the, 97 Blackbird, the English, 226; anecdotes of, 226, 227 Boa-constrictor, the, 290-293 Brahma fowls, 179 Buffalo, the, 96; as a worker, 98-99; habits of, 99-100 Bulbul, the, 228 Bull, the, 134 Bull-fighting, 145-149 Bullfinch, the, 224; anecdote of, 225 Burro, the, 89 Butter, 137; making of, 140 C Cage-birds, 217, 218 Camel, the, 103; its fitness for desert life, 105, 106; as a worker, 107; intellect of, 109; uses of, 110 Canary, the, 218; habits of, 219; song of, 220; breeds of, 221 Carabao, the, 98, 99 Caribou, the, 101, 102 Carrier pigeon, the, 211-213 Cashmere goat, the, 164 Cat, habits of the, 42, 45, 46; ancient, 23; treatment of, 43, 44; origin of, 44; cat and mouse, 45; cat and dog, 46; varieties of, 47-48; anecdotes of, 49-51 Cat-bird, the, 224 Cattle, 134; wild, 135; colors of, 136; uses of, 136-141, 145; in United States, 143; in other countries, 144 Chameleon, the, 300 Chamois, the, 159 Chariot races, ancient, 70-71 Cheese, 138, 141; from sheep, 155; from goat, 160 Chicken, uses of the, 176, 180 Chimpanzee, anecdote of the, 263 China, hawking in, 311 Chinese pig, the, 172 Christmas goose, the, 192 Christmas turkey, the, 195 Cloven-hoofed animals, 92-132 Cobra, the, 293; as a house guard, 295; charming of, 296 Cochin-china fowls, 179 Cock, morning call of the, 176, 177; its fighting habits, 182 Collie, the, 22 Cormorant, the, 331; fishing with, 332 Cow, the, 134; uses of, 135; milk-giving, 136, 138, 139; in United States, 142 Creameries, 140 Crow, thefts of the, 240; anecdote of, 241 Crows, the monkey and the, 252, 253 D Deserts of Asia and Africa, 102, 103 Dick Turpin's horse, 65 Dog, man's friend, 15; anecdotes of the, 29-39; eulogy on the, 39-41 Dog wit and wisdom, 29 Dogs, ancient, 16; origin of, 17; kinds of, 19; hunting, 20; working, 21; sheep, 22; cur, 23; watch, 24; pet, 24-29 Domestic animals, origin of, 284; in America, 285 Donkey, the, 86, 88 Dove, the, 207 Dromedary, the, 108 Duck, habits of the, 186; food of, 187; the young, 188; where kept, 189 Dutch rabbit, 53 E Egg-harvest, the world's, 181, 182 Elephant, the, 117; taming of, 178; as a worker, 119, 120; caution of, 121; mental powers of, 124, 131; anecdotes of, 124-132 Eskimo dogs, 21, 113-117 Eulogy on the dog, Senator Vest's, 39-41 F Falcon, the, 309; legend of, 312; varieties of, 313; taming of, 314 Falconry, 309; in ancient times, 310; in Asia, 311; legend of, 312; mediæval, 313; method of, 314; a modern instance, 315 Famous men, pets of, 60 Fat-tailed sheep, the, 153 Ferret, the, 56, 57 Fishes, aquarium, 286-289 Flea, the learned, 285 Foes of animals, 92-94 Foot of the horse, 63 G Game-cock, the, 182-183; cock-fighting, 184-186 Gellert, the faithful, 311 Gerfalcon, the, 313 Giant goose, the, 191 Giant rabbit, 54 Gibbon, training of the, 262 Goat, the, 158; its climbing habits, 159; where kept, 160; grazing habits of, 161; its mental powers, 161; its uses, 162-165; hunt of, 131 Goat-skins, uses of, 163 Gold-fish, the, 287 Goose, food of the, 189; egg-laying of, 190; strength of, 191; anecdote of, 191; uses of, 192 Goshawk, the, 313 Great Dane, the, 25 Grosbeak, the Virginia nightingale, 228 Guinea-fowl, the, 198; its habits, 199 Guinea-pig, the, 57 H Hawk, the, 309; kinds of, 313; taming of, 314 Hawking, 309-316 Hedgehog, the, 58, 300, 302; as a house pet, 303 Hen, vocal powers of the, 178 Hermit-thrush, 229 Holstein cows, 139 Home comrades, 13-15 Hoof, the horse's, 63 Horse, the, 61-82; anecdotes of the, 82-85 Horseback riding, 71 Horse-breaking, 78 Horse tamer, the, 77, 78 Horses of the steppes, 64, 65; of Persia, Arabia and Russia, 66; of Western Europe, 67; of America, 69; anecdotes of, 82-85 Hounds, varieties of, 20 Hunting horses, 73 I Ibex, the, 159 J Jackal, the, 18 Jackdaw, talking powers of the, 238; anecdotes of, 238-240 K Kangaroo, the, 59 L Lapland reindeer, the, 101 Llama, the, 111-113 M Magpie, talking powers of the, 238 Malay cat, the, 48 Manx cat, the, 47 Mastiff, the, 24 Mavis, the, 229 Merino sheep, the, 154 Milk, 137, 141, 162 Minnow, the, 288 Missel-thrush, the, 229 Mocking-bird, the, 222; imitative powers of, 223, 228 Mohair wool, 165 Mongoose, the, 297; in Jamaica, 298; as a house pet, 299, 300 Monkey, organ-grinder and, 247; as a pet, 248; fondness of, for mischief, 249, 280; revengeful spirit of, 250-253; powers of imitation, 253; anecdotes of, 254, 255, 270-282; intelligence of, 256, 260; varieties of, 259; self-teaching of, 264-270; feeling and friendliness of, 273 Mule, the, 85, 90, 91 N Newfoundland dog, the, 25 Night, noises of the, 176 Nightingale, the, 228 O Orang-outang, intelligence of the, 266 Organ-grinder's monkey, the, 247 Ostrich, the, 214; farms of, 215; feathers of, 216 Otter, the, 58, 59 Ox, the, 94 P Parrot, the, 230; intelligence of, 231; talking powers, 231; anecdotes of, 232-236 Peacock, the, 204, 205; habits of, 206 Peary and his dogs, 115-117 Pekin duck, the, 189 Peregrine falcons, 313, 315 Persian cat, the, 48 Philippine cock-fight, a, 185 Pig, character of the, 165-168; food of the, 168; how kept, 169; flesh of, 170; uses of, 172; mental powers of, 173 Pigeon, the, 209; bird of Venus, 208; nest building of, 209; habits of, 210; kinds of, 211-213 Plymouth Rock fowls, 180 Ponies, Shetland, 67; Scandinavian, 68; Greek, 69 Poodles, the, 28 Porcupine, the, 300 Pork as food, 170; fondness of the Romans for, 171; where now eaten, 171; American yield of, 172 Pouter pigeon, the, 211 Prairie dog, the, 60 Pug, the, 24 Python, the, 290, 291, 293 Q Quagga, the, 90 R Rabbit, the, 52-56; varieties of, 53; care of, 55 Race-courses, 71 Racing horse, the, 70-73 Ram, fighting powers of the, 150 Rat, the Jamaican, 298; as a pet, 301, 302; egg and oil stealing, 302; armadillo attack on, 304 Raven, talking powers of the, 236; anecdote of, 237 Reindeer, the, 100-102 Rouen ducks, the, 188 S Seal, the, 323; taming of, 325; anecdotes of, 325, 326 Sheep, the, 149, 150; uses of, 151, 154-156; habits of, 152, 153; where kept, 153, 154 Sheep dog, the, 22 Shepherd's dog, story of the, 36 Shetland pony, the, 67 Single-hoofed animals, 61-90 Skylark, the, 227 Snake-charmer, the, 293, 296 Snake-dance, the, 293 Snakes, 289; poisonous kinds, 290; taming of, 291, 296; charming of, 293-296 Song-thrush, the, 229 Southdown sheep, the, 154 Spain, bull-fights in, 145-149 Spaniel, the, 27 Sparrowhawk, the, 313 Squirrel, the, 306; anecdotes of, 307-309 Starling, whistling and talking powers of the, 241; anecdote of the, 242-246 St. Bernard dog, the, 25 Stickleback, the, 288, 289 Stork, the, 328; habits of, 329; nest building of, 330; popular affection for, 330 Swan, beauty of the, 199; varieties of, 200; American species of, 200; habits of, 201; eggs and nests of, 202; anecdote of, 203 T Terriers, 26, 29 Trotting-horse, the, 72 Tumbler pigeon, the, 211 Turkey, species of the, 194; its habits, 194; where kept, 195; a Christmas dainty, 195; in France, 196 Turnspit, the, 38 W War-horse, the, 74-75 Weasel, the, 58 White rat, a tame, 301, 302, 304 Wild animals in captivity, 317, 318; treaty of peace with, 322 Wild-hog, the, 165, 166 Wild-horse, the, 62 Wild-turkey, habits of the, 193 Wolf, the, 17 Wood-thrush, the, 229 Wool, origin and use of, 151; shearing of, 156; uses of, 157, 158 Working-horse, the, 75-76 Wyandotte fowls, 180 Y Yak, the, 95 Yellowstone Park, wild animals in, 322 Z Zebra, the, 89 Zebu, the, 96 Transcriber's Note: Spelling and punctuation errors have been silently corrected. 
28897	----	Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they are listed at the end of the text. The Errata on page viii, which were in the original book, have been applied to this e-text. Page numbers within curly brackets (such as {iii} and {27} have been included so that the reader might use the index. THE VARIATION OF ANIMALS AND PLANTS UNDER DOMESTICATION. by CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S., &c. IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II. With Illustrations. LONDON: John Murray, Albemarle Street. 1868. The right of Translation is reserved. London: Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street, and Charing Cross. {iii} CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. CHAPTER XII. INHERITANCE. WONDERFUL NATURE OF INHERITANCE--PEDIGREES OF OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS--INHERITANCE NOT DUE TO CHANCE--TRIFLING CHARACTERS INHERITED--DISEASES INHERITED--PECULIARITIES IN THE EYE INHERITED--DISEASES IN THE HORSE--LONGEVITY AND VIGOUR--ASYMMETRICAL DEVIATIONS OF STRUCTURE--POLYDACTYLISM AND REGROWTH OF SUPERNUMERARY DIGITS AFTER AMPUTATION--CASES OF SEVERAL CHILDREN SIMILARLY AFFECTED FROM NON-AFFECTED PARENTS--WEAK AND FLUCTUATING INHERITANCE: IN WEEPING TREES, IN DWARFNESS, COLOUR OF FRUIT AND FLOWERS, COLOUR OF HORSES--NON-INHERITANCE IN CERTAIN CASES--INHERITANCE OF STRUCTURE AND HABITS OVERBORNE BY HOSTILE CONDITIONS OF LIFE, BY INCESSANTLY RECURRING VARIABILITY, AND BY REVERSION--CONCLUSION ... Page 1 CHAPTER XIII. INHERITANCE _continued_--REVERSION OR ATAVISM. DIFFERENT FORMS OF REVERSION--IN PURE OR UNCROSSED BREEDS, AS IN PIGEONS, FOWLS, HORNLESS CATTLE AND SHEEP, IN CULTIVATED PLANTS--REVERSION IN FERAL ANIMALS AND PLANTS--REVERSION IN CROSSED VARIETIES AND SPECIES--REVERSION THROUGH BUD-PROPAGATION, AND BY SEGMENTS IN THE SAME FLOWER OR FRUIT--IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE BODY IN THE SAME ANIMAL--THE ACT OF CROSSING A DIRECT CAUSE OF REVERSION, VARIOUS CASES OF, WITH INSTINCTS--OTHER PROXIMATE CAUSES OF REVERSION--LATENT CHARACTERS--SECONDARY SEXUAL CHARACTERS--UNEQUAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE TWO SIDES OF THE BODY--APPEARANCE WITH ADVANCING AGE OF CHARACTERS DERIVED FROM A CROSS--THE GERM WITH ALL ITS LATENT CHARACTERS A WONDERFUL OBJECT--MONSTROSITIES--PELORIC FLOWERS DUE IN SOME CASES TO REVERSION ... Page 28 CHAPTER XIV. INHERITANCE _continued_--FIXEDNESS OF CHARACTER--PREPOTENCY--SEXUAL LIMITATION--CORRESPONDENCE OF AGE. FIXEDNESS OF CHARACTER APPARENTLY NOT DUE TO ANTIQUITY OF INHERITANCE--PREPOTENCY OF TRANSMISSION IN INDIVIDUALS OF THE SAME FAMILY, IN CROSSED BREEDS AND SPECIES; OFTEN STRONGER IN ONE SEX THAN THE OTHER; SOMETIMES DUE TO THE SAME CHARACTER BEING PRESENT AND VISIBLE IN ONE BREED AND LATENT IN THE OTHER--INHERITANCE AS LIMITED BY SEX--NEWLY-ACQUIRED CHARACTERS IN OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS OFTEN TRANSMITTED BY ONE SEX ALONE, SOMETIMES LOST BY ONE SEX ALONE--INHERITANCE AT CORRESPONDING PERIODS OF LIFE--THE IMPORTANCE OF THE PRINCIPLE WITH RESPECT TO EMBRYOLOGY; AS EXHIBITED IN DOMESTICATED ANIMALS; AS EXHIBITED IN THE APPEARANCE AND DISAPPEARANCE OF INHERITED DISEASES; SOMETIMES SUPERVENING EARLIER IN THE CHILD THAN IN THE PARENT--SUMMARY OF THE THREE PRECEDING CHAPTERS ... Page 62 {iv} CHAPTER XV. ON CROSSING. FREE INTERCROSSING OBLITERATES THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ALLIED BREEDS--WHEN THE NUMBERS OF TWO COMMINGLING BREEDS ARE UNEQUAL, ONE ABSORBS THE OTHER--THE RATE OF ABSORPTION DETERMINED BY PREPOTENCY OF TRANSMISSION, BY THE CONDITIONS OF LIFE, AND BY NATURAL SELECTION--ALL ORGANIC BEINGS OCCASIONALLY INTERCROSS; APPARENT EXCEPTIONS--ON CERTAIN CHARACTERS INCAPABLE OF FUSION; CHIEFLY OR EXCLUSIVELY THOSE WHICH HAVE SUDDENLY APPEARED IN THE INDIVIDUAL--ON THE MODIFICATION OF OLD RACES, AND THE FORMATION OF NEW RACES, BY CROSSING--SOME CROSSED RACES HAVE BRED TRUE FROM THEIR FIRST PRODUCTION--ON THE CROSSING OF DISTINCT SPECIES IN RELATION TO THE FORMATION OF DOMESTIC RACES ... Page 85 CHAPTER XVI. CAUSES WHICH INTERFERE WITH THE FREE CROSSING OF VARIETIES--INFLUENCE OF DOMESTICATION ON FERTILITY. DIFFICULTIES IN JUDGING OF THE FERTILITY OF VARIETIES WHEN CROSSED--VARIOUS CAUSES WHICH KEEP VARIETIES DISTINCT, AS THE PERIOD OF BREEDING AND SEXUAL PREFERENCE--VARIETIES OF WHEAT SAID TO BE STERILE WHEN CROSSED--VARIETIES OF MAIZE, VERBASCUM, HOLLYHOCK, GOURDS, MELONS, AND TOBACCO, RENDERED IN SOME DEGREE MUTUALLY STERILE--DOMESTICATION ELIMINATES THE TENDENCY TO STERILITY NATURAL TO SPECIES WHEN CROSSED--ON THE INCREASED FERTILITY OF UNCROSSED ANIMALS AND PLANTS FROM DOMESTICATION AND CULTIVATION ... Page 100 CHAPTER XVII. ON THE GOOD EFFECTS OF CROSSING, AND ON THE EVIL EFFECTS OF CLOSE INTERBREEDING. DEFINITION OF CLOSE INTERBREEDING--AUGMENTATION OF MORBID TENDENCIES--GENERAL EVIDENCE ON THE GOOD EFFECTS DERIVED FROM CROSSING, AND ON THE EVIL EFFECTS FROM CLOSE INTERBREEDING--CATTLE, CLOSELY INTERBRED; HALF-WILD CATTLE LONG KEPT IN THE SAME PARKS--SHEEP--FALLOW-DEER--DOGS--RABBITS--PIGS--MAN, ORIGIN OF HIS ABHORRENCE OF INCESTUOUS MARRIAGES--FOWLS--PIGEONS--HIVE-BEES--PLANTS, GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE BENEFITS DERIVED FROM CROSSING--MELONS, FRUIT-TREES, PEAS, CABBAGES, WHEAT, AND FOREST-TREES--ON THE INCREASED SIZE OF HYBRID PLANTS, NOT EXCLUSIVELY DUE TO THEIR STERILITY--ON CERTAIN PLANTS WHICH EITHER NORMALLY OR ABNORMALLY ARE SELF-IMPOTENT, BUT ARE FERTILE, BOTH ON THE MALE AND FEMALE SIDE, WHEN CROSSED WITH DISTINCT INDIVIDUALS EITHER OF THE SAME OR ANOTHER SPECIES--CONCLUSION ... Page 114 {v} CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE: STERILITY FROM VARIOUS CAUSES. ON THE GOOD DERIVED FROM SLIGHT CHANGES IN THE CONDITIONS OF LIFE--STERILITY FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS, IN ANIMALS, IN THEIR NATIVE COUNTRY AND IN MENAGERIES--MAMMALS, BIRDS, AND INSECTS--LOSS OF SECONDARY SEXUAL CHARACTERS AND OF INSTINCTS--CAUSES OF STERILITY--STERILITY OF DOMESTICATED ANIMALS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS--SEXUAL INCOMPATIBILITY OF INDIVIDUAL ANIMALS--STERILITY OF PLANTS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--CONTABESCENCE OF THE ANTHERS--MONSTROSITIES AS A CAUSE OF STERILITY--DOUBLE FLOWERS--SEEDLESS FRUIT--STERILITY FROM THE EXCESSIVE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGANS OF VEGETATION--FROM LONG-CONTINUED PROPAGATION BY BUDS--INCIPIENT STERILITY THE PRIMARY CAUSE OF DOUBLE FLOWERS AND SEEDLESS FRUIT ... Page 145 CHAPTER XIX. SUMMARY OF THE FOUR LAST CHAPTERS, WITH REMARKS ON HYBRIDISM. ON THE EFFECTS OF CROSSING--THE INFLUENCE OF DOMESTICATION ON FERTILITY--CLOSE INTERBREEDING--GOOD AND EVIL RESULTS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--VARIETIES WHEN CROSSED NOT INVARIABLY FERTILE--ON THE DIFFERENCE IN FERTILITY BETWEEN CROSSED SPECIES AND VARIETIES--CONCLUSIONS WITH RESPECT TO HYBRIDISM--LIGHT THROWN ON HYBRIDISM BY THE ILLEGITIMATE PROGENY OF DIMORPHIC AND TRIMORPHIC PLANTS--STERILITY OF CROSSED SPECIES DUE TO DIFFERENCES CONFINED TO THE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM--NOT ACCUMULATED THROUGH NATURAL SELECTION--REASONS WHY DOMESTIC VARIETIES ARE NOT MUTUALLY STERILE--TOO MUCH STRESS HAS BEEN LAID ON THE DIFFERENCE IN FERTILITY BETWEEN CROSSED SPECIES AND CROSSED VARIETIES--CONCLUSION ... Page 173 CHAPTER XX. SELECTION BY MAN. SELECTION A DIFFICULT ART--METHODICAL, UNCONSCIOUS, AND NATURAL SELECTION--RESULTS OF METHODICAL SELECTION--CARE TAKEN IN SELECTION--SELECTION WITH PLANTS--SELECTION CARRIED ON BY THE ANCIENTS, AND BY SEMI-CIVILISED PEOPLE--UNIMPORTANT CHARACTERS OFTEN ATTENDED TO--UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--AS CIRCUMSTANCES SLOWLY CHANGE, SO HAVE OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS CHANGED THROUGH THE ACTION OF UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--INFLUENCE OF DIFFERENT BREEDERS ON THE SAME SUB-VARIETY--PLANTS AS AFFECTED BY UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--EFFECTS OF SELECTION AS SHOWN BY THE GREAT AMOUNT OF DIFFERENCE IN THE PARTS MOST VALUED BY MAN ... Page 192 {vi} CHAPTER XXI. SELECTION--_continued._ NATURAL SELECTION AS AFFECTING DOMESTIC PRODUCTIONS--CHARACTERS WHICH APPEAR OF TRIFLING VALUE OFTEN OF REAL IMPORTANCE--CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOURABLE TO SELECTION BY MAN--FACILITY IN PREVENTING CROSSES, AND THE NATURE OF THE CONDITIONS--CLOSE ATTENTION AND PERSEVERANCE INDISPENSABLE--THE PRODUCTION OF A LARGE NUMBER OF INDIVIDUALS ESPECIALLY FAVOURABLE--WHEN NO SELECTION IS APPLIED, DISTINCT RACES ARE NOT FORMED--HIGHLY-BRED ANIMALS LIABLE TO DEGENERATION--TENDENCY IN MAN TO CARRY THE SELECTION OF EACH CHARACTER TO AN EXTREME POINT, LEADING TO DIVERGENCE OF CHARACTER, RARELY TO CONVERGENCE--CHARACTERS CONTINUING TO VARY IN THE SAME DIRECTION IN WHICH THEY HAVE ALREADY VARIED--DIVERGENCE OF CHARACTER, WITH THE EXTINCTION OF INTERMEDIATE VARIETIES, LEADS TO DISTINCTNESS IN OUR DOMESTIC RACES--LIMIT TO THE POWER OF SELECTION--LAPSE OF TIME IMPORTANT--MANNER IN WHICH DOMESTIC RACES HAVE ORIGINATED--SUMMARY ... Page 224 CHAPTER XXII. CAUSES OF VARIABILITY. VARIABILITY DOES NOT NECESSARILY ACCOMPANY REPRODUCTION--CAUSES ASSIGNED BY VARIOUS AUTHORS--INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES--VARIABILITY OF EVERY KIND DUE TO CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--ON THE NATURE OF SUCH CHANGES--CLIMATE, FOOD, EXCESS OF NUTRIMENT--SLIGHT CHANGES SUFFICIENT--EFFECTS OF GRAFTING ON THE VARIABILITY OF SEEDLING-TREES--DOMESTIC PRODUCTIONS BECOME HABITUATED TO CHANGED CONDITIONS--ON THE ACCUMULATIVE ACTION OF CHANGED CONDITIONS--CLOSE INTERBREEDING AND THE IMAGINATION OF THE MOTHER SUPPOSED TO CAUSE VARIABILITY--CROSSING AS A CAUSE OF THE APPEARANCE OF NEW CHARACTERS--VARIABILITY FROM THE COMMINGLING OF CHARACTERS AND FROM REVERSION--ON THE MANNER AND PERIOD OF ACTION OF THE CAUSES WHICH EITHER DIRECTLY, OR INDIRECTLY THROUGH THE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM, INDUCE VARIABILITY ... Page 250 CHAPTER XXIII. DIRECT AND DEFINITE ACTION OF THE EXTERNAL CONDITIONS OF LIFE. SLIGHT MODIFICATIONS IN PLANTS FROM THE DEFINITE ACTION OF CHANGED CONDITIONS, IN SIZE, COLOUR, CHEMICAL PROPERTIES, AND IN THE STATE OF THE TISSUES--LOCAL DISEASES--CONSPICUOUS MODIFICATIONS FROM CHANGED CLIMATE OR FOOD, ETC.--PLUMAGE OF BIRDS AFFECTED BY PECULIAR NUTRIMENT, AND BY THE INOCULATION OF POISON--LAND-SHELLS--MODIFICATIONS OF ORGANIC BEINGS IN A STATE OF NATURE THROUGH THE DEFINITE ACTION OF EXTERNAL CONDITIONS--COMPARISON OF AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN TREES--GALLS--EFFECTS OF PARASITIC FUNGI--CONSIDERATIONS OPPOSED TO THE BELIEF IN THE POTENT INFLUENCE OF CHANGED EXTERNAL CONDITIONS--PARALLEL SERIES OF VARIETIES--AMOUNT OF VARIATION DOES NOT CORRESPOND WITH THE DEGREE OF CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS--BUD-VARIATION--MONSTROSITIES PRODUCED BY UNNATURAL TREATMENT--SUMMARY ... Page 271 {vii} CHAPTER XXIV. LAWS OF VARIATION--USE AND DISUSE, ETC. NISUS FORMATIVUS, OR THE CO-ORDINATING POWER OF THE ORGANISATION--ON THE EFFECTS OF THE INCREASED USE AND DISUSE OF ORGANS--CHANGED HABITS OF LIFE--ACCLIMATISATION WITH ANIMALS AND PLANTS--VARIOUS METHODS BY WHICH THIS CAN BE EFFECTED--ARRESTS OF DEVELOPMENT--RUDIMENTARY ORGANS ... Page 293 CHAPTER XXV. LAWS OF VARIATION, _continued_--CORRELATED VARIABILITY. EXPLANATION OF TERM--CORRELATION AS CONNECTED WITH DEVELOPMENT--MODIFICATIONS CORRELATED WITH THE INCREASED OR DECREASED SIZE OF PARTS--CORRELATED VARIATION OF HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--FEATHERED FEET IN BIRDS ASSUMING THE STRUCTURE OF THE WINGS--CORRELATION BETWEEN THE HEAD AND THE EXTREMITIES--BETWEEN THE SKIN AND DERMAL APPENDAGES--BETWEEN THE ORGANS OF SIGHT AND HEARING--CORRELATED MODIFICATIONS IN THE ORGANS OF PLANTS--CORRELATED MONSTROSITIES--CORRELATION BETWEEN THE SKULL AND EARS--SKULL AND CREST OF FEATHERS--SKULL AND HORNS--CORRELATION OF GROWTH COMPLICATED BY THE ACCUMULATED EFFECTS OF NATURAL SELECTION--COLOUR AS CORRELATED WITH CONSTITUTIONAL PECULIARITIES ... Page 319 CHAPTER XXVI. LAWS OF VARIATION, _continued_--SUMMARY. ON THE AFFINITY AND COHESION OF HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--ON THE VARIABILITY OF MULTIPLE AND HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--COMPENSATION OF GROWTH--MECHANICAL PRESSURE--RELATIVE POSITION OF FLOWERS WITH RESPECT TO THE AXIS OF THE PLANT, AND OF SEEDS IN THE CAPSULE, AS INDUCING VARIATION--ANALOGOUS OR PARALLEL VARIETIES--SUMMARY OF THE THREE LAST CHAPTERS ... Page 339 CHAPTER XXVII. PROVISIONAL HYPOTHESIS OF PANGENESIS. PRELIMINARY REMARKS--FIRST PART:--THE FACTS TO BE CONNECTED UNDER A SINGLE POINT OF VIEW, NAMELY, THE VARIOUS KINDS OF REPRODUCTION--THE DIRECT ACTION OF THE MALE ELEMENT ON THE FEMALE--DEVELOPMENT--THE FUNCTIONAL INDEPENDENCE OF THE ELEMENTS OR UNITS OF THE BODY--VARIABILITY--INHERITANCE--REVERSION. SECOND PART:--STATEMENT OF THE HYPOTHESIS--HOW FAR THE NECESSARY ASSUMPTIONS ARE IMPROBABLE--EXPLANATION BY AID OF THE HYPOTHESIS OF THE SEVERAL CLASSES OF FACTS SPECIFIED IN THE FIRST PART--CONCLUSION ... Page 357 {viii} CHAPTER XXVIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS. DOMESTICATION--NATURE AND CAUSES OF VARIABILITY--SELECTION--DIVERGENCE AND DISTINCTNESS OF CHARACTER--EXTINCTION OF RACES--CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOURABLE TO SELECTION BY MAN--ANTIQUITY OF CERTAIN RACES--THE QUESTION WHETHER EACH PARTICULAR VARIATION HAS BEEN SPECIALLY PREORDAINED ... Page 405 INDEX ... Page 433 * * * * * ERRATA. Vol. II., pp. 18, 232, 258, for Cratægus oxycantha, read oxyacantha. ,, p. 98, 8 lines from top, for Dianthus armoria read armeria. ,, ,, 156, 15 lines from bottom, for Casuarinus read Casuarius. ,, ,, ,, 4 lines from bottom, for Grus cineria read cinerea. ,, ,, 168, 11 lines from top, for Oesculus read Æsculus. ,, ,, 300, 3 lines from top, for anastomising read anastomosing. ,, ,, ,, foot-note, for Birckell read Brickell. * * * * * {1} THE VARIATION OF ANIMALS AND PLANTS UNDER DOMESTICATION. * * * * * CHAPTER XII. INHERITANCE. WONDERFUL NATURE OF INHERITANCE--PEDIGREES OF OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS--INHERITANCE NOT DUE TO CHANCE--TRIFLING CHARACTERS INHERITED--DISEASES INHERITED--PECULIARITIES IN THE EYE INHERITED--DISEASES IN THE HORSE--LONGEVITY AND VIGOUR--ASYMMETRICAL DEVIATIONS OF STRUCTURE--POLYDACTYLISM AND REGROWTH OF SUPERNUMERARY DIGITS AFTER AMPUTATION--CASES OF SEVERAL CHILDREN SIMILARLY AFFECTED FROM NON-AFFECTED PARENTS--WEAK AND FLUCTUATING INHERITANCE: IN WEEPING TREES, IN DWARFNESS, COLOUR OF FRUIT AND FLOWERS, COLOUR OF HORSES--NON-INHERITANCE IN CERTAIN CASES--INHERITANCE OF STRUCTURE AND HABITS OVERBORNE BY HOSTILE CONDITIONS OF LIFE, BY INCESSANTLY RECURRING VARIABILITY, AND BY REVERSION--CONCLUSION. The subject of inheritance is an immense one, and has been treated by many authors. One work alone, 'De l'Hérédité Naturelle,' by Dr. Prosper Lucas, runs to the length of 1562 pages. We must confine ourselves to certain points which have an important bearing on the general subject of variation, both with domestic and natural productions. It is obvious that a variation which is not inherited throws no light on the derivation of species, nor is of any service to man, except in the case of perennial plants, which can be propagated by buds. If animals and plants had never been domesticated, and wild ones alone had been observed, we should probably never have heard the saying, that "like begets like." The proposition would have been as self-evident, as that all the buds on the same tree are alike, though neither proposition is strictly true. For, as has often been remarked, probably no two individuals are {2} identically the same. All wild animals recognise each other, which shows that there is some difference between them; and when the eye is well practised, the shepherd knows each sheep, and man can distinguish a fellow-man out of millions on millions of other men. Some authors have gone so far as to maintain that the production of slight differences is as much a necessary function of the powers of generation, as the production of offspring like their parents. This view, as we shall see in a future chapter, is not theoretically probable, though practically it holds good. The saying that "like begets like" has in fact arisen from the perfect confidence felt by breeders, that a superior or inferior animal will generally reproduce its kind; but this very superiority or inferiority shows that the individual in question has departed slightly from its type. The whole subject of inheritance is wonderful. When a new character arises, whatever its nature may be, it generally tends to be inherited, at least in a temporary and sometimes in a most persistent manner. What can be more wonderful than that some trifling peculiarity, not primordially attached to the species, should be transmitted through the male or female sexual cells, which are so minute as not to be visible to the naked eye, and afterwards through the incessant changes of a long course of development, undergone either in the womb or in the egg, and ultimately appear in the offspring when mature, or even when quite old, as in the case of certain diseases? Or again, what can be more wonderful than the well-ascertained fact that the minute ovule of a good milking cow will produce a male, from whom a cell, in union with an ovule, will produce a female, and she, when mature, will have large mammary glands, yielding an abundant supply of milk, and even milk of a particular quality? Nevertheless, the real subject of surprise is, as Sir H. Holland has well remarked,[1] not that a character should be inherited, but that any should ever fail to be inherited. In a future chapter, devoted to an hypothesis which I have termed pangenesis, an attempt will be made to show the means by which characters of all kinds are transmitted from generation to generation. {3} Some writers,[2] who have not attended to natural history, have attempted to show that the force of inheritance has been much exaggerated. The breeders of animals would smile at such simplicity; and if they condescended to make any answer, might ask what would be the chance of winning a prize if two inferior animals were paired together? They might ask whether the half-wild Arabs were led by theoretical notions to keep pedigrees of their horses? Why have pedigrees been scrupulously kept and published of the Shorthorn cattle, and more recently of the Hereford breed? Is it an illusion that these recently improved animals safely transmit their excellent qualities even when crossed with other breeds? have the Shorthorns, without good reason, been purchased at immense prices and exported to almost every quarter of the globe, a thousand guineas having been given for a bull? With greyhounds pedigrees have likewise been kept, and the names of such dogs, as Snowball, Major, &c., are as well known to coursers as those of Eclipse and Herod on the turf. Even with the Gamecock pedigrees of famous strains were formerly kept, and extended back for a century. With pigs, the Yorkshire and Cumberland breeders "preserve and print pedigrees;" and to show how such highly-bred animals are valued, I may mention that Mr. Brown, who won all the first prizes for small breeds at Birmingham in 1850, sold a young sow and boar of his breed to Lord Ducie for 43 guineas; the sow alone was afterwards sold to the Rev. F. Thursby for 65 guineas; who writes, "she paid me very well, having sold her produce for 300_l_., and having now four breeding sows from her."[3] Hard cash paid down, over and over again, is an excellent test of inherited superiority. In fact, the whole art of breeding, from which such great results have been attained during the present century, depends on the inheritance of each small {4} detail of structure. But inheritance is not certain; for if it were, the breeder's art[4] would be reduced to a certainty, and there would be little scope left for all that skill and perseverance shown by the men who have left an enduring monument of their success in the present state of our domesticated animals. It is hardly possible, within a moderate compass, to impress on the mind of those who have not attended to the subject, the full conviction of the force of inheritance which is slowly acquired by rearing animals, by studying the many treatises which have been published on the various domestic animals, and by conversing with breeders. I will select a few facts of the kind, which, as far as I can judge, have most influenced my own mind. With man and the domestic animals, certain peculiarities have appeared in an individual, at rare intervals, or only once or twice in the history of the world, but have reappeared in several of the children and grandchildren. Thus Lambert, "the porcupine-man," whose skin was thickly covered with warty projections, which were periodically moulted, had all his six children and two grandsons similarly affected.[5] The face and body being covered with long hair, accompanied by deficient teeth (to which I shall hereafter refer), occurred in three successive generations in a Siamese family; but this case is not unique, as a woman[6] with a completely hairy face was exhibited in London in 1663, and another instance has recently occurred. Colonel Hallam[7] has described a race of two-legged pigs, "the hinder extremities being entirely wanting;" and this deficiency was transmitted through three generations. In fact, all races presenting any remarkable peculiarity, such as solid-hoofed swine, Mauchamp sheep, niata cattle, &c., are instances of the long-continued inheritance of rare deviations of structure. When we reflect that certain extraordinary peculiarities have {5} thus appeared in a single individual out of many millions, all exposed in the same country to the same general conditions of life, and, again, that the same extraordinary peculiarity has sometimes appeared in individuals living under widely different conditions of life, we are driven to conclude that such peculiarities are not directly due to the action of the surrounding conditions, but to unknown laws acting on the organisation or constitution of the individual;--that their production stands in hardly closer relation to the conditions than does life itself. If this be so, and the occurrence of the same unusual character in the child and parent cannot be attributed to both having been exposed to the same unusual conditions, then the following problem is worth consideration, as showing that the result cannot be due, as some authors have supposed, to mere coincidence, but must be consequent on the members of the same family inheriting something in common in their constitution. Let it be assumed that, in a large population, a particular affection occurs on an average in one out of a million, so that the _à priori_ chance that an individual taken at random will be so affected is only one in a million. Let the population consist of sixty millions, composed, we will assume, of ten million families, each containing six members. On these data, Professor Stokes has calculated for me that the odds will be no less than 8333 millions to 1 that in the ten million families there will not be even a single family in which one parent and two children will be affected by the peculiarity in question. But numerous cases could be given, in which several children have been affected by the same rare peculiarity with one of their parents; and in this case, more especially if the grandchildren be included in the calculation, the odds against mere coincidence become something prodigious, almost beyond enumeration. In some respects the evidence of inheritance is more striking when we consider the reappearance of trifling peculiarities. Dr. Hodgkin formerly told me of an English family in which, for many generations, some members had a single lock differently coloured from the rest of the hair. I knew an Irish gentleman, who, on the right side of his head, had a small white lock in the midst of his dark hair: he assured me that his grandmother had {6} a similar lock on the same side, and his mother on the opposite side. But it is superfluous to give instances; every shade of expression, which may often be seen alike in parents and children, tells the same story. On what a curious combination of corporeal structure, mental character, and training, must handwriting depend! yet every one must have noted the occasional close similarity of the handwriting in father and son, although the father had not taught his son. A great collector of franks assured me that in his collection there were several franks of father and son hardly distinguishable except by their dates. Hofacker, in Germany, remarks on the inheritance of handwriting; and it has even been asserted that English boys when taught to write in France naturally cling to their English manner of writing.[8] Gait, gestures, voice, and general bearing are all inherited, as the illustrious Hunter and Sir A. Carlisle have insisted.[9] My father communicated to me two or three striking instances, in one of which a man died during the early infancy of his son, and my father, who did not see this son until grown up and out of health, declared that it seemed to him as if his old friend had risen from the grave, with all his highly peculiar habits and manners. Peculiar manners pass into tricks, and several instances could be given of their inheritance; as in the case, often quoted, of the father who generally slept on his back, with his right leg crossed over the left, and whose daughter, whilst an infant in the cradle, followed exactly the same habit, though an attempt was made to cure her.[10] I will give one instance which has fallen under my own observation, and which is curious from being a trick associated with a peculiar state of mind, namely, pleasurable emotion. A boy had the singular habit, when pleased, of rapidly moving his fingers parallel to each other, and, when much excited, of raising both hands, with the fingers still moving, to the sides of his face on a level with the eyes; this boy, when almost an old man, could still hardly resist this trick when much pleased, but from its absurdity concealed it. He had eight children. Of these, a girl, when {7} pleased, at the age of four and a half years, moved her fingers in exactly the same way, and what is still odder, when much excited, the raised both her hands, with her fingers still moving, to the sides of her face, in exactly the same manner as her father had done, and sometimes even still continued to do when alone. I never heard of any one excepting this one man and his little daughter who had this strange habit; and certainly imitation was in this instance out of the question. Some writers have doubted whether those complex mental attributes, on which genius and talent depend, are inherited, even when both parents are thus endowed. But he who will read Mr. Galton's able paper[11] on hereditary talent will have his doubts allayed. Unfortunately it matters not, as far as inheritance is concerned, how injurious a quality or structure may be if compatible with life. No one can read the many treatises[12] on hereditary disease and doubt this. The ancients were strongly of this opinion, or, as Ranchin expresses it, _Omnes Græci, Arabes, et Latini in eo consentiunt_. A long catalogue could be given of all sorts of inherited malformations and of predisposition to various diseases. With gout, fifty per cent. of the cases observed in hospital practice are, according to Dr. Garrod, inherited, and a greater percentage in private practice. Every one knows how often insanity runs in families, and some of the cases given by Mr. Sedgwick are awful,--as of a surgeon, whose brother, father, and four paternal uncles were all insane, the latter dying by suicide; of a Jew, whose father, mother, and six brothers and sisters were all mad; and in some other cases several members of the same family, during three or four successive generations, have committed suicide. Striking instances {8} have been recorded of epilepsy, consumption, asthma, stone in the bladder, cancer, profuse bleeding from the slightest injuries, of the mother not giving milk, and of bad parturition being inherited. In this latter respect I may mention an odd case given by a good observer,[13] in which the fault lay in the offspring, and not in the mother: in a part of Yorkshire the farmers continued to select cattle with large hind-quarters, until they made a strain called "Dutch-buttocked," and "the monstrous size of the buttocks of the calf was frequently fatal to the cow, and numbers of cows were annually lost in calving." Instead of giving numerous details on various inherited malformations and diseases, I will confine myself to one organ, that which is the most complex, delicate, and probably best-known in the human frame, namely, the eye, with its accessory parts. To begin with the latter: I have heard of a family in which parents and children were affected by drooping eyelids, in so peculiar a manner, that they could not see without throwing their heads backwards; and Sir A. Carlisle[14] specifies a pendulous fold to the eyelids as inherited. "In a family," says Sir H. Holland,[15] "where the father had a singular elongation of the upper eyelid, seven or eight children were born with the same deformity; two or three other children having it not." Many persons, as I year from Mr. Paget, have two or three of the hairs in their eyebrows (apparently corresponding with the vibrissæ of the lower animals) much longer than the others; and even so trifling a peculiarity as this certainly runs in families. With respect to the eye itself, the highest authority in England, Mr. Bowman, has been so kind as to give me the following remarks on certain inherited imperfections. First, hypermetropia, or morbidly long sight: in this affection, the organ, instead of being spherical, is too flat from front to back, and is often altogether too small, so that the retina is brought too forward for the focus of the humours; consequently a convex glass is required for clear vision of near objects, and frequently even of distant ones. This state occurs congenitally, or at a very early age, often in several children of the same family, where one of the parents has presented it.[16] Secondly, myopia, or short-sight, in which the eye is egg-shaped, and too long from front to back; the retina in this case lies behind the focus, and is therefore fitted to see distinctly only very near objects. This condition is not commonly congenital, but comes on in youth, the liability to it being well known to be transmissible from parent to child. The change from the spherical to the ovoidal shape seems the immediate {9} consequence of something like inflammation of the coats, under which they yield, and there is ground for believing that it may often originate in causes acting directly on the individual affected, and may thenceforward become transmissible. When both parents are myopic Mr. Bowman has observed the hereditary tendency in this direction to be heightened, and some of the children to be myopic at an earlier age or in a higher degree than their parents. Thirdly, squinting is a familiar example of hereditary transmission: it is frequently a result of such optical defects as have been above mentioned; but the more primary and uncomplicated forms of it are also sometimes in a marked degree transmitted in a family. Fourthly, _Cataract_, or opacity of the crystalline lens, is commonly observed in persons whose parents have been similarly affected, and often at an earlier age in the children than in the parents. Occasionally more than one child in a family is thus afflicted, one of whose parents or other relation presents the senile form of the complaint. When cataract affects several members of a family in the same generation, it is often seen to commence at about the same age in each; _e.g._, in one family several infants or young persons may suffer from it; in another, several persons of middle age. Mr. Bowman also informs me that he has occasionally seen, in several members of the same family, various defects in either the right or left eye; and Mr. White Cooper has often seen peculiarities of vision confined to one eye reappearing in the same eye in the offspring.[17] The following cases are taken from an able paper by Mr. W. Sedgwick, and from Dr. Prosper Lucas.[18] Amaurosis, either congenital or coming on late in life, and causing total blindness, is often inherited; it has been observed in three successive generations. Congenital absence of the iris has likewise been transmitted for three generations, a cleft-iris for four generations, being limited in this latter case to the males of the family. Opacity of the cornea and congenital smallness of the eyes have been inherited. Portal records a curious case, in which a father and two sons were rendered blind, whenever the head was bent downwards, apparently owing to the crystalline lens, with its capsule, slipping through an unusually large pupil into the anterior chamber of the eye. Day-blindness, or imperfect vision under a bright light, is inherited, as is night-blindness, or an incapacity to see except under a strong light: a case has been recorded, by M. Cunier, of this latter defect having affected eighty-five members of the same family during six generations. The singular incapacity of distinguishing colours, which has been called _Daltonism_, is notoriously hereditary, and has been traced through five generations, in which it was confined to the female sex. With respect to the colour of the iris: deficiency of colouring matter is well known to be hereditary in albinoes. The iris of one eye being of a different colour from that of the other, and the iris being spotted, are cases which have been inherited. Mr. Sedgwick gives, in addition, on the {10} authority of Dr. Osborne,[19] the following curious instance of strong inheritance: a family of sixteen sons and five daughters all had eyes "resembling in miniature the markings on the back of a tortoiseshell cat." The mother of this large family had three sisters and a brother all similarly marked, and they derived this peculiarity from their mother, who belonged to a family notorious for transmitting it to their posterity. Finally, Dr. Lucas emphatically remarks that there is not one single faculty of the eye which is not subject to anomalies; and not one which is not subjected to the principle of inheritance. Mr. Bowman agrees with the general truth of this proposition; which of course does not imply that all malformations are necessarily inherited; this would not even follow if both parents were affected by an anomaly which in most cases was transmissible. Even if no single fact had been known with respect to the inheritance of disease and malformations by man, the evidence would have been ample in the case of the horse. And this might have been expected, as horses breed much quicker than man, are matched with care, and are highly valued. I have consulted many works, and the unanimity of the belief by veterinaries of all nations in the transmission of various morbid tendencies is surprising. Authors, who have had wide experience, give in detail many singular cases, and assert that contracted feet, with the numerous contingent evils, of ring-bones, curbs, splints, spavin, founder and weakness of the front legs, roaring or broken and thick wind, melanosis, specific ophthalmia, and blindness (the great French veterinary Hazard going so far as to say that a blind race could soon be formed), crib-biting, jibbing, and ill-temper, are all plainly hereditary. Youatt sums up by saying "there is scarcely a malady to which the horse is subject which is not hereditary;" and M. Bernard adds that the doctrine "that there is scarcely a disease which does not run in the stock, is gaining new advocates every day."[20] So it {11} is in regard to cattle, with consumption, good and bad teeth, fine skin, &c. &c. But enough, and more than enough, has been said on disease. Andrew Knight, from his own experience, asserts that disease is hereditary with plants; and this assertion is endorsed by Lindley.[21] Seeing how hereditary evil qualities are, it is fortunate that good health, vigour, and longevity are equally inherited. It was formerly a well-known practice, when annuities were purchased to be received during the lifetime of a nominee, to search out a person belonging to a family of which many members had lived to extreme old age. As to the inheritance of vigour and endurance, the English race-horse offers an excellent instance. Eclipse begot 334, and King Herod 497 winners. A "cock-tail" is a horse not purely bred, but with only one-eighth or one-sixteenth impure blood in his veins, yet very few instances have ever occurred of such horses having won a great race. They are sometimes as fleet for short distances as thoroughbreds, but as Mr. Robson, the great trainer, asserts, they are deficient in wind, and cannot keep up the pace. Mr. Lawrence also remarks, "perhaps no instance has ever occurred of a three-part-bred horse saving his '_distance_' in running two miles with thoroughbred racers." It has been stated by Cecil, that when unknown horses, whose parents were not celebrated, have unexpectedly won great races, as in the case of Priam, they can always be proved to be descended on both sides, through many generations, from first-rate ancestors. On the Continent, Baron Cameronn challenges, in a German veterinary periodical, the opponents of the English race-horse, to name one good horse on the Continent which has not some English race-blood in his veins.[22] With respect to the transmission of the many slight, but {12} infinitely diversified characters, by which the domestic races of animals and plants are distinguished, nothing need be said; for the very existence of persistent races proclaims the power of inheritance. A few special cases, however, deserve some consideration. It might have been anticipated, that deviations from the law of symmetry would not have been inherited. But Anderson[23] states that a rabbit produced in a litter a young animal having only one ear; and from this animal a breed was formed which steadily produced one-eared rabbits. He also mentions a bitch, with a single leg deficient, and she produced several puppies with the same deficiency. From Hofacker's account[24] it appears that a one-horned stag was seen in 1781 in a forest in Germany, in 1788 two, and afterwards, from year to year, many were observed with only one horn on the right side of the head. A cow lost a horn by suppuration,[25] and she produced three calves which had on the same side of the head, instead of a horn, a small bony lump attached merely to the skin; but we here approach the doubtful subject of inherited mutilations. A man who is left-handed, and a shell in which the spire turns in the wrong direction, are departures from the normal though a symmetrical condition, and they are well known to be inherited. _Polydactylism._--Supernumerary fingers and toes are eminently liable, as various authors have insisted, to transmission, but they are noticed here chiefly on account of their occasional regrowth after amputation. Polydactylism graduates[26] by multifarious steps from a mere cutaneous appendage, not including any bone, to a double hand. But an additional digit, supported on a metacarpal bone, and furnished with all the proper muscles, nerves, and vessels, is sometimes so perfect, that it escapes detection, unless the fingers are actually counted. Occasionally there are several supernumerary digits; but usually only one, making the total number six. This one may represent either a thumb or finger, being attached to the inner or outer margin of the hand. Generally, through the law of correlation, both hands and feet are similarly affected. I have tabulated the cases recorded in various works or privately communicated {13} to me, of forty-six persons with extra digits on one or both hands and feet; if in each case all four extremities had been similarly affected, the table would have shown a total of ninety-two hands and ninety-two feet each with six digits. As it is, seventy-three hands and seventy-five feet were thus affected. This proves, in contradiction to the result arrived at by Dr. Struthers,[27] that the hands are not more frequently affected than the feet. The presence of more than five digits is a great anomaly, for this number is not normally exceeded by any mammal, bird, or existing reptile.[28] Nevertheless, supernumerary digits are strongly inherited; they have been transmitted through five generations; and in some cases, after disappearing for one, two, or even three generations, have reappeared through reversion. These facts are rendered, as Professor Huxley has observed, more remarkable from its being known in most cases that the affected person had not married one similarly affected. In such cases the child of the fifth generation would have only 1-32nd part of the blood of his first sedigitated ancestor. Other cases are rendered remarkable by the affection gathering force, as Dr. Struthers has shown, in each generation, though in each the affected person had married one not affected; moreover such additional digits are often amputated soon after birth, and can seldom have been strengthened by use. Dr. Struthers gives the following instance: in the first generation an additional digit appeared on one hand; in the second, on both hands; in the third, three brothers had both hands, and one of the brothers a foot affected; and in the fourth generation all four limbs were affected. Yet we must not over-estimate the force of inheritance. Dr. Struthers asserts that cases of non-inheritance and of the first appearance of additional digits in unaffected families are much more frequent than cases of inheritance. Many other deviations of structure, of a nature almost as anomalous as supernumerary digits, such as deficient phalanges, thickened joints, crooked fingers, &c., are in like manner strongly inherited, and are equally subject to intermission with reversion, though in such cases there is no reason to suppose that both parents had been similarly affected.[29] {14} Additional digits have been observed in negroes as well as in other races of man, and in several of the lower animals. Six toes have been described on the hind feet of the newt (_Salamandra cristata_), and, as it is said, of the frog. It deserves notice from what follows, that the six-toed newt, though adult, had preserved some of its larval characters; for part of the hyoidal apparatus, which is properly absorbed during the act of metamorphosis, was retained. In the dog, six toes on the hinder feet have been transmitted through three generations; and I have heard of a race of six-toed cats. In several breeds of the fowl the hinder toe is double, and is generally transmitted truly, as is well shown when Dorkings are crossed with common four-toed breeds.[30] With animals which have properly less than five digits, the number is sometimes increased to five, especially in the front legs, though rarely carried beyond that number; but this is due to the development of a digit already existing in a more or less rudimentary state. Thus the dog has properly four toes behind, but in the larger breeds a fifth toe is commonly, though not perfectly, developed. Horses, which properly have one toe alone fully developed with rudiments of the others, have been described with each foot bearing two or three small separate hoofs: analogous facts have been noticed with sheep, goats, and pigs.[31] The most interesting point with respect to supernumerary digits is their occasional regrowth after amputation. Mr. White[32] describes a child, three years old, with a thumb double from the first joint. He removed the lesser thumb, which was furnished with a nail; but to his astonishment it grew again, and reproduced a nail. The child was then taken to an eminent London surgeon, and the newly-grown thumb was wholly removed by its socket-joint, but again it grew and reproduced a nail. Dr. Struthers mentions a case of partial regrowth of an additional thumb, amputated when the child was three months old; and the late Dr. Falconer communicated to me an analogous case which had fallen under his own observation. A gentleman, who first called my attention to this subject, has given me the following facts which occurred in his own family. He himself, two brothers, and a sister were born with an extra digit to each extremity. His parents were not affected, and there was no tradition in the family, or in the village in which the family had long resided, of any member having been thus affected. Whilst a child, both additional toes, which were attached by bones, were rudely cut off; but the stump of one grew again, and a second operation was performed in his thirty-third year. {15} He has had fourteen children, of whom three have inherited additional digits; and one of them, when about six weeks old, was operated on by an eminent surgeon. The additional finger, which was attached by bone to the outer side of the hand, was removed at the joint; the wound healed, but immediately the digit began growing; and in about three months' time the stump was removed for the second time by the root. But it has since grown again, and is now fully a third of an inch in length, including a bone; so that it will for the third time have to be operated on. Now the normal digits in adult man and other mammals, in birds, and, as I believe, in true reptiles, have no power of regrowth. The nearest approach to this power is exhibited by the occasional reappearance in man of imperfect nails on the stumps of his fingers after amputation.[33] But man in his embryonic condition has a considerable power of reproduction, for Sir J. Simpson[34] has several times observed arms which had been cut off in the womb by bands of false membrane, and which had grown again to a certain extent. In one instance, the extremity was "divided into three minute nodules, on two of which small points of nails could be detected;" so that these nodules clearly represented fingers in process of regrowth. When, however, we descend to the lower vertebrate classes, which are generally looked at as representing the higher classes in their embryonic condition, we find ample powers of regrowth. Spallanzani[35] cut off the legs and tail of a salamander six times, and Bonnet eight times, successively, and they were reproduced. An additional digit beyond the proper number was occasionally formed after Bonnet had cut off or had divided longitudinally the hand or foot, and in one instance three additional digits were thus formed.[36] These latter cases appear at first sight quite distinct from the congenital production of additional digits in the higher animals; but theoretically, as we shall see in a future chapter, they probably present no real difference. The larvæ or tadpoles of the tailless Batrachians, but not the adults,[37] are capable of reproducing lost members.[38] Lastly, as I have been informed by Mr. J. J. Briggs and Mr. F. Buckland, when portions of the pectoral and tail fins of various {16} fresh-water fish are cut off, they are perfectly reproduced in about six weeks' time. From these several facts we may infer that supernumerary digits in man retain to a certain extent an embryonic condition, and that they resemble in this respect the normal digits and limbs in the lower vertebrate classes. They also resemble the digits of some of the lower animals in the number exceeding five; for no mammal, bird, existing reptile, or amphibian (unless the tubercle on the hind feet of the toad and other tailless Batrachians be viewed as a digit) has more than five; whilst fishes sometimes have in their pectoral fins as many as twenty metacarpal and phalangeal bones, which, together with the bony filaments, apparently represent our digits with their nails. So, again, in certain extinct reptiles, namely, the Ichthyopterygia, "the digits may be seven, eight, or nine in number, a significant mark," says Professor Owen, "of piscine affinity."[39] We encounter much difficulty in attempting to reduce these various facts to any rule or law. The inconstant number of the additional digits--their irregular attachment to either the inner or outer margin of the hand--the gradation which can be traced from a mere loose rudiment of a single digit to a completely double hand--the occasional appearance of additional digits in the salamander after a limb has been amputated--these various facts appear to indicate mere fluctuating monstrosity; and this perhaps is all that can be safely said. Nevertheless, as supernumerary digits in the higher animals, from their power of regrowth and from the number thus acquired exceeding five, partake of the nature of the digits in the lower vertebrate animals;--as they occur by no means rarely, and are transmitted with remarkable strength, though perhaps not more strongly than some other anomalies;--and as with animals which have fewer than five digits, when an additional one appears it is generally due to the development of a visible rudiment;--we are led in all cases to suspect, that, although no actual rudiment can be detected, yet that a latent tendency to the formation of an additional digit exists in all mammals, including man. On this view, as we shall more plainly see in the {17} next chapter when discussing latent tendencies, we should have to look at the whole case as one of reversion to an enormously remote, lowly-organised, and multidigitate progenitor. * * * * * I may here allude to a class of facts closely allied to, but somewhat different from, ordinary cases of inheritance. Sir H. Holland[40] states that brothers and sisters of the same family are frequently affected, often at about the same age, by the same peculiar disease, not known to have previously occurred in the family. He specifies the occurrence of diabetes in three brothers under ten years old; he also remarks that children of the same family often exhibit in common infantile diseases the same peculiar symptoms. My father mentioned to me the case of four brothers who died between the ages of sixty and seventy, in the same highly peculiar comatose state. An instance has been already given of supernumerary digits appearing in four children out of six in a previously unaffected family. Dr. Devay states[41] that two brothers married two sisters, their first-cousins, none of the four nor any relation being an albino; but the seven children produced from this double marriage were all perfect albinoes. Some of these cases, as Mr. Sedgwick[42] has shown, are probably the result of reversion to a remote ancestor, of whom no record had been preserved; and all these cases are so far directly connected with inheritance that no doubt the children inherited a similar constitution from their parents, and, from being exposed to nearly similar conditions of life, it is not surprising that they should be affected in the same manner and at the same period of life. * * * * * Most of the facts hitherto given have served to illustrate the force of inheritance, but we must now consider cases, grouped as well as the subject allows into classes, showing how feeble, capricious, or deficient the power of inheritance sometimes is. When a new peculiarity first appears, we can never predict whether it will be inherited. If both parents from their birth present {18} the same peculiarity, the probability is strong that it will be transmitted to at least some of their offspring. We have seen that variegation is transmitted much more feebly by seed from a branch which had become variegated through bud-variation, than from plants which were variegated as seedlings. With most plants the power of transmission notoriously depends on some innate capacity in the individual: thus Vilmorin[43] raised from a peculiarly coloured balsam some seedlings, which all resembled their parent; but of these seedlings some failed to transmit the new character, whilst others transmitted it to all their descendants during several successive generations. So again with a variety of the rose, two plants alone out of six were found by Vilmorin to be capable of transmitting the desired character. The weeping or pendulous growth of trees is strongly inherited in some cases, and, without any assignable reason, feebly in other cases. I have selected this character as an instance of capricious inheritance, because it is certainly not proper to the parent-species, and because, both sexes being borne on the same tree, both tend to transmit the same character. Even supposing that there may have been in some instances crossing with adjoining trees of the same species, it is not probable that all the seedlings would have been thus affected. At Moccas Court there is a famous weeping oak; many of its branches "are 30 feet long, and no thicker in any part of this length than a common rope:" this tree transmits its weeping character, in a greater or less degree, to all its seedlings; some of the young oaks being so flexible that they have to be supported by props; others not showing the weeping tendency till about twenty years old.[44] Mr. Rivers fertilized, as he informs me, the flowers of a new Belgian weeping thorn (_Cratægus oxyacantha_) with pollen from a crimson not-weeping variety, and three young trees, "now six or seven years old, show a decided tendency to be pendulous, but as yet are not so much so as the mother-plant." According to Mr. MacNab,[45] seedlings from a magnificent weeping birch (_Betula alba_), in the Botanic Garden at Edinburgh, grew for the first ten or fifteen years upright, but then all became weepers like their parent. A peach with pendulous branches, like those of the weeping willow, has been found capable of propagation by seed.[46] Lastly, a weeping and almost prostrate yew (_Taxus baccata_) was found in a hedge in Shropshire; it was a male, but one branch bore female flowers, and produced berries; these, {19} being sown, produced seventeen trees, all of which had exactly the same peculiar habit with the parent-tree.[47] These facts, it might have been thought, would have been sufficient to render it probable that a pendulous habit would in all cases be strictly inherited. But let us look to the other side. Mr. MacNab[48] sowed seeds of the weeping beech (_Fagus sylvanica_), but succeeded in raising only common beeches. Mr. Rivers, at my request, raised a number of seedlings from three distinct varieties of weeping elm; and at least one of the parent-trees was so situated that it could not have been crossed by any other elm; but none of the young trees, now about a foot or two in height, show the least signs of weeping. Mr. Rivers formerly sowed above twenty thousand seeds of the weeping ash (_Fraxinus excelsior_), and not a single seedling was in the least degree pendulous: in Germany, M. Borchmeyer raised a thousand seedlings, with the same result. Nevertheless, Mr. Anderson, of the Chelsea Botanic Garden, by sowing seed from a weeping ash, which was found before the year 1780, in Cambridgeshire, raised several pendulous trees.[49] Professor Henslow also informs me that some seedlings from a female weeping ash in the Botanic Garden at Cambridge were at first a little pendulous, but afterwards became quite upright: it is probable that this latter tree, which transmits to a certain extent its pendulous habit, was derived by a bud from the same original Cambridgeshire stock; whilst other weeping ashes may have had a distinct origin. But the crowning case, communicated to me by Mr. Rivers, which shows how capricious is the inheritance of a pendulous habit, is that a variety of another species of ash (_F. lentiscifolia_) which was formerly pendulous, "now about twenty years old has long lost this habit, every shoot being remarkably erect; but seedlings formerly raised from it were perfectly prostrate, the stems not rising more than two inches above the ground." Thus the weeping variety of the common ash, which has been extensively propagated by buds during a long period, did not, with Mr. Rivers, transmit its character to one seedling out of above twenty thousand; whereas the weeping variety of a second species of ash, which could not, whilst grown in the same garden, retain its own weeping character, transmitted to its seedlings the pendulous habit in excess! Many analogous facts could be given, showing how apparently capricious is the principle of inheritance. All the seedlings from a variety of the Barberry (_B. vulgaris_) with red leaves inherited the same character; only about one-third of the seedlings of the copper Beech (_Fagus sylvatica_) had purple leaves. Not one out of a hundred seedlings of a variety of the _Cerasus padus_, with yellow fruit, bore yellow fruit: one-twelfth of the seedlings of the variety of _Cornus mascula_, with yellow fruit, came true:[50] and lastly, all the trees raised by my father from a yellow-berried holly (_Ilex aquifolium_), {20} found wild, produced yellow berries. Vilmorin[51] observed in a bed of _Saponaria calabrica_ an extremely dwarf variety, and raised from it a large number of seedlings; some of these partially resembled their parent, and he selected their seed; but the grandchildren were not in the least dwarfed: on the other hand, he observed a stunted and bushy variety of _Tagetes signata_ growing in the midst of the common varieties by which it was probably crossed; for most of the seedlings raised from this plant were intermediate in character, only two perfectly resembling their parent; but seed saved from these two plants reproduced the new variety so truly, that hardly any selection has since been necessary. Flowers transmit their colour truly, or most capriciously. Many annuals come true: thus I purchased German seeds of thirty-four named sub-varieties of one _race_ of ten-week stocks (_Matthiola annua_), and raised a hundred and forty plants, all of which, with the exception of a single plant, came true. In saying this, however, it must be understood that I could distinguish only twenty kinds out of the thirty-four named sub-varieties; nor did the colour of the flower always correspond with the name affixed to the packet; but I say that they came true, because in each of the thirty-six short rows every plant was absolutely alike, with the one single exception. Again, I procured packets of German seed of twenty-five named varieties of common and quilled asters, and raised a hundred and twenty-four plants; of these, all except ten were true in the above limited sense; and I considered even a wrong shade of colour as false. It is a singular circumstance that white varieties generally transmit their colour much more truly than any other variety. This fact probably stands in close relation with one observed by Verlot,[52] namely, that flowers which are normally white rarely vary into any other colour. I have found that the white varieties of _Delphinium consolida_ and of the Stock are the truest. It is, indeed, sufficient to look through a nurseryman's seed-list, to see the large number of white varieties which can be propagated by seed. The several coloured varieties of the sweet-pea (_Lathyrus odoratus_) are very true; but I hear from Mr. Masters, of Canterbury, who has particularly attended to this plant, that the white variety is the truest. The hyacinth, when propagated by seed, is extremely inconstant in colour, but "white hyacinths almost always give by seed white-flowered plants;"[53] and Mr. Masters informs me that the yellow varieties also reproduce their colour, but of different shades. On the other hand, pink and blue varieties, the latter being the natural colour, are not nearly so true: hence, as Mr. Masters has remarked to me, "we see that a garden variety may acquire a more permanent habit than a natural species;" but it should have been added, that this occurs under cultivation, and therefore under changed conditions. With many flowers, especially perennials, nothing can be more fluctuating than the colour of the seedlings, as is notoriously the case with verbenas, carnations, dahlias, cinerarias, and others.[54] I sowed seed of twelve {21} named varieties of Snapdragon (_Antirrhinum majus_), and utter confusion was the result. In most cases the extremely fluctuating colour of seedling plants is probably in chief part due to crosses between differently-coloured varieties during previous generations. It is almost certain that this is the case with the polyanthus and coloured primrose (_Primula veris_ and _vulgaris_), from their reciprocally dimorphic structure;[55] and these are plants which florists speak of as never come true by seed: but if care be taken to prevent crossing, neither species is by any means very inconstant in colour; thus I raised twenty-three plants from a purple primrose, fertilised by Mr. J. Scott with its own pollen, and eighteen came up purple of different shades, and only five reverted to the ordinary yellow colour: again, I raised twenty plants from a bright-red cowslip, similarly treated by Mr. Scott, and every one perfectly resembled its parent in colour, as likewise did, with the exception of a single plant, 73 grandchildren. Even with the most variable flowers, it is probable that each delicate shade of colour might be permanently fixed so as to be transmitted by seed, by cultivation in the same soil, by long-continued selection, and especially by the prevention of crosses. I infer this from certain annual larkspurs (_Delphinium consolida_ and _ajacis_), of which common seedlings present a greater diversity of colour than any other plant known to me; yet on procuring seed of five named German varieties of _D. consolida_, only nine plants out of ninety-four were false; and the seedlings of six varieties of _D. ajacis_ were true in the same manner and degree as with the stocks above described. A distinguished botanist maintains that the annual species of Delphinium are always self-fertilised; therefore I may mention that thirty-two flowers on a branch of _D. consolida_, enclosed in a net, yielded twenty-seven capsules, with an average of 17.2 seed in each; whilst five flowers, under the same net, which were artificially fertilised, in the same manner as must be effected by bees during their incessant visits, yielded five capsules with an average of 35.2 fine seed; and this shows that the agency of insects is necessary for the full fertility of this plant. Analogous facts could be given with respect to the crossing of many other flowers, such as carnations, &c., of which the varieties fluctuate much in colour. As with flowers, so with our domesticated animals, no character is more variable than colour, and probably in no animal more so than with the horse. Yet with a little care in breeding, it appears that races of any colour might soon be formed. Hofacker gives the result of matching two hundred and sixteen mares of four different colours with like-coloured stallions, without regard to the colour of their ancestors; and of the two hundred and sixteen colts born, eleven alone failed to inherit the colour of their parents: Autenrieth and Ammon assert that, after two generations, colts of a uniform colour are produced with certainty.[56] In a few rare cases peculiarities fail to be inherited, apparently from the force of inheritance being too strong. I have been assured by breeders of the canary-bird that to get a good {22} jonquil-coloured bird it does not answer to pair two jonquils, as the colour then comes out too strong, or is even brown. So again, if two crested canaries are paired, the young birds rarely inherit this character:[57] for in crested birds a narrow space of bare skin is left on the back of the head, where the feathers are up-turned to form the crest, and, when both parents are thus characterised, the bareness becomes excessive, and the crest itself fails to be developed. Mr. Hewitt, speaking of Laced Sebright Bantams, says[58] that, "why this should be so, I know not, but I am confident that those that are best laced frequently produce offspring very far from perfect in their markings, whilst those exhibited by myself, which have so often proved successful, were bred from the union of heavily-laced birds with those that were scarcely sufficiently laced." It is a singular fact that, although several deaf-mutes often occur in the same family, and though their cousins and other relations are often in the same condition, yet their parents are very rarely deaf-mutes. To give a single instance: not one scholar out of 148, who were at the same time in the London Institution, was the child of parents similarly afflicted. So again, when a male or a female deaf-mute marries a sound person, their children are most rarely affected: in Ireland out of 203 children thus produced one alone was mute. Even when both parents have been deaf-mutes, as in the case of forty-one marriages in the United States and of six in Ireland, only two deaf and dumb children were produced. Mr. Sedgwick,[59] in commenting on this remarkable and fortunate failure in the power of transmission in the direct line, remarks that it may possibly be owing to "excess having reversed the action of some natural law in development." But it is safer in the present state of our knowledge to look at the whole case as simply unintelligible. * * * * * With respect to the inheritance of structures mutilated by injuries or altered by disease it is difficult to come to any {23} definite conclusion. In some cases mutilations have been practised for a vast number of generations without any inherited result. Godron has remarked[60] that different races of man have from time immemorial knocked out their upper incisors, cut off joints of their fingers, made holes of immense size through the lobes of their ears or through their nostrils, made deep gashes in various parts of their bodies, and there is no reason whatever to suppose that these mutilations have ever been inherited. Adhesions due to inflammation and pits from the small-pox (and formerly many consecutive generations must have been thus pitted) are not inherited. With respect to Jews, I have been assured by three medical men of the Jewish faith that circumcision, which has been practised for so many ages, has produced no inherited effect; Blumenbach, on the other hand, asserts[61] that in Germany Jews are often born in a condition rendering circumcision difficult, so that a name is here applied to them signifying "born circumcised." The oak and other trees must have borne galls from primeval times, yet they do not produce inherited excrescences; many other such facts could be adduced. On the other hand, various cases have been recorded of cats, dogs, and horses, which have had their tails, legs, &c., amputated or injured, producing offspring with the same parts ill-formed; but as it is not at all rare for similar malformations to appear spontaneously, all such cases may be due to mere coincidence. Nevertheless, Dr. Prosper Lucas has given, on good authorities, such a long list of inherited injuries, that it is difficult not to believe in them. Thus, a cow that had lost a horn from an accident with consequent suppuration, produced three calves which were hornless on the same side of the head. With the horse, there seems hardly a doubt that bony exostoses on the legs, caused by too much travelling on hard roads, are inherited. Blumenbach records the case of a man who had his little finger on the right hand almost cut off, and which in consequence grew crooked, and his sons had the same finger on the same hand similarly crooked. A soldier, fifteen years before his marriage, lost his left eye from purulent ophthalmia, and his {24} two sons were microphthalmic on the same side.[62] In all such cases, if truthfully reported, in which the parent has had an organ injured on one side, and more than one child has been born with the same organ affected on the same side, the chances against mere coincidence are enormous. But perhaps the most remarkable and trustworthy fact is that given by Dr. Brown-Séquard,[63] namely, that many young guinea-pigs inherited an epileptic tendency from parents which had been subjected to a particular operation, inducing in the course of a few weeks a convulsive disease like epilepsy: and it should be especially noted that this eminent physiologist bred a large number of guinea-pigs from animals which had not been operated on, and not one of these manifested the epileptic tendency. On the whole, we can hardly avoid admitting, that injuries and mutilations, especially when followed by disease, or perhaps exclusively when thus followed, are occasionally inherited. Although many congenital monstrosities are inherited, of which examples have already been given, and to which may be added the lately recorded case of the transmission during a century of hare-lip with a cleft-palate in the writer's own family,[64] yet other malformations are rarely or never inherited. Of these later cases, many are probably due to injuries in the womb or egg, and would come under the head of non-inherited injuries or mutilations. With plants, a long catalogue of inherited monstrosities of the most serious and diversified nature could easily be given; and with plants, there is no reason to suppose that monstrosities are caused by direct injuries to the seed or embryo. _Causes of Non-inheritance._ A large number of cases of non-inheritance are intelligible on the principle, that a strong tendency to inheritance does exist, but {25} that it is overborne by hostile or unfavourable conditions of life. No one would expect that our improved pigs, if forced during several generations to travel about and root in the ground for their own subsistence, would transmit, as truly as they now do, their tendency to fatten, and their short muzzles and legs. Dray-horses assuredly would not long transmit their great size and massive limbs, if compelled to live on a cold, damp mountainous region; we have indeed evidence of such deterioration in the horses which have run wild on the Falkland Islands. European dogs in India often fail to transmit their true character. Our sheep in tropical countries lose their wool in a few generations. There seems also to be a close relation between certain peculiar pastures and the inheritance of an enlarged tail in fat-tailed sheep, which form one of the most ancient breeds in the world. With plants, we have seen that the American varieties of maize lose their proper character in the course of two or three generations, when cultivated in Europe. Our cabbages, which here come so true by seed, cannot form heads in hot countries. Under changed circumstances, periodical habits of life soon fail to be transmitted, as the period of maturity in summer and winter wheat, barley, and vetches. So it is with animals; for instance, a person whose statement I can trust, procured eggs of Aylesbury ducks from that town, where they are kept in houses and are reared as early as possible for the London market; the ducks bred from these eggs in a distant part of England, hatched their first brood on January 24th, whilst common ducks, kept in the same yard and treated in the same manner, did not hatch till the end of March; and this shows that the period of hatching was inherited. But the grandchildren of these Aylesbury ducks completely lost their early habit of incubation, and hatched their eggs at the same time with the common ducks of the same place. Many cases of non-inheritance apparently result from the conditions of life continually inducing fresh variability. We have seen that when the seeds of pears, plums, apples, &c., are sown, the seedlings generally inherit some degree of family likeness from the parent-variety. Mingled with these seedlings, a few, and sometimes many, worthless, wild-looking plants commonly appear; and their appearance may be attributed to the principle of reversion. But scarcely a single seedling will be found {26} perfectly to resemble the parent-form; and this, I believe, may be accounted for by constantly recurring variability induced by the conditions of life. I believe in this, because it has been observed that certain fruit-trees truly propagate their kind whilst growing on their own roots, but when grafted on other stocks, and by this process their natural state is manifestly affected, they produce seedlings which vary greatly, departing from the parental type in many characters.[65] Metzger, as stated in the ninth chapter, found that certain kinds of wheat brought from Spain and cultivated in Germany, failed during many years to reproduce themselves truly; but that at last, when accustomed to their new conditions, they ceased to be variable,--that is, they became amenable to the power of inheritance. Nearly all the plants which cannot be propagated with any approach to certainty by seed, are kinds which have long been propagated by buds, cuttings, offsets, tubers, &c., and have in consequence been frequently exposed during their individual lives to widely diversified conditions of life. Plants thus propagated become so variable, that they are subject, as we have seen in the last chapter, even to bud-variation. Our domesticated animals, on the other hand, are not exposed during their individual lives to such extremely diversified conditions, and are not liable to such extreme variability; therefore they do not lose the power of transmitting most of their characteristic features. In the foregoing remarks on non-inheritance, crossed breeds are of course excluded, as their diversity mainly depends on the unequal development of characters derived from either parent, modified by the principles of reversion and prepotency. _Conclusion._ It has, I think, been shown in the early part of this chapter how strongly new characters of the most diversified nature, whether normal or abnormal, injurious or beneficial, whether affecting organs of the highest or most trifling importance, are inherited. Contrary to the common opinion, it is often sufficient for the inheritance of some peculiar character, that one parent alone should possess it, as in most cases in which the rarer {27} anomalies have been transmitted. But the power of transmission is extremely variable: in a number of individuals descended from the same parents, and treated in the same manner, some display this power in a perfect manner, and in some it is quite deficient; and for this difference no reason can be assigned. In some cases the effects of injuries or mutilations apparently are inherited; and we shall see in a future chapter that the effects of the long-continued use and disuse of parts are certainly inherited. Even those characters which are considered the most fluctuating, such as colour, are with rare exceptions transmitted much more forcibly than is generally supposed. The wonder, indeed, in all cases is not that any character should be transmitted, but that the power of inheritance should ever fail. The checks to inheritance, as far as we know them, are, firstly, circumstances hostile to the particular character in question; secondly, conditions of life incessantly inducing fresh variability; and lastly, the crossing of distinct varieties during some previous generation, together with reversion or atavism--that is, the tendency in the child to resemble its grand-parents or more remote ancestors instead of its immediate parents. This latter subject will be fully discussed in the following chapter. * * * * * {28} CHAPTER XIII. INHERITANCE _continued_--REVERSION OR ATAVISM. DIFFERENT FORMS OF REVERSION--IN PURE OR UNCROSSED BREEDS, AS IN PIGEONS, FOWLS, HORNLESS CATTLE AND SHEEP, IN CULTIVATED PLANTS--REVERSION IN FERAL ANIMALS AND PLANTS--REVERSION IN CROSSED VARIETIES AND SPECIES--REVERSION THROUGH BUD-PROPAGATION, AND BY SEGMENTS IN THE SAME FLOWER OR FRUIT--IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE BODY IN THE SAME ANIMAL--THE ACT OF CROSSING A DIRECT CAUSE OF REVERSION, VARIOUS CASES OF, WITH INSTINCTS--OTHER PROXIMATE CAUSES OF REVERSION--LATENT CHARACTERS--SECONDARY SEXUAL CHARACTERS--UNEQUAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE TWO SIDES OF THE BODY--APPEARANCE WITH ADVANCING AGE OF CHARACTERS DERIVED FROM A CROSS--THE GERM WITH ALL ITS LATENT CHARACTERS A WONDERFUL OBJECT--MONSTROSITIES--PELORIC FLOWERS DUE IN SOME CASES TO REVERSION. The great principle of inheritance to be discussed in this chapter has been recognised by agriculturists and authors of various nations, as shown by the scientific term _Atavism_, derived from atavus, an ancestor; by the English terms of _Reversion_, or _Throwing back_; by the French _Pas-en-arrière_; and by the German _Rück-schlag_, or _Rück-schritt_. When the child resembles either grandparent more closely than its immediate parents, our attention is not much arrested, though in truth the fact is highly remarkable; but when the child resembles some remote ancestor, or some distant member in a collateral line,--and we must attribute the latter case to the descent of all the members from a common progenitor,--we feel a just degree of astonishment. When one parent alone displays some newly-acquired and generally inheritable character, and the offspring do not inherit it, the cause may lie in the other parent having the power of prepotent transmission. But when both parents are similarly characterised, and the child does not, whatever the cause may be, inherit the character in question, but resembles its grandparents, we have one of the simplest cases of reversion. We continually see another and even more simple case of atavism, though not generally included under this head, namely, when {29} the son more closely resembles his maternal than his paternal grandsire in some male attribute, as in any peculiarity in the beard of man, the horns of the bull, the hackles or comb of the cock, or, as in certain diseases necessarily confined to the male sex; for the mother cannot possess or exhibit such male attributes, yet the child has inherited them, through her blood, from his maternal grandsire. The cases of reversion may be divided into two main classes, which, however, in some instances, blend into each other; namely, first, those occurring in a variety or race which has not been crossed, but has lost by variation some character that it formerly possessed, and which afterwards reappears. The second class includes all cases in which a distinguishable individual, sub-variety, race, or species, has at some former period been crossed with a distinct form, and a character derived from this cross, after having disappeared during one or several generations, suddenly reappears. A third class, differing only in the manner of reproduction, might be formed to include all cases of reversion effected by means of buds, and therefore independent of true or seminal generation. Perhaps even a fourth class might be instituted, to include reversions by segments in the same individual flower or fruit, and in different parts of the body in the same individual animal as it grows old. But the two first main classes will be sufficient for our purpose. * * * * * _Reversion to lost Characters by pure or uncrossed forms._--Striking instances of this first class of cases were given in the sixth chapter, namely, of the occasional reappearance, in variously-coloured pure breeds of the pigeon, of blue birds with all the marks which characterise the wild _Columba livia_. Similar cases were given in the case of the fowl. With the common ass, as we now know that the legs of the wild progenitor are striped, we may feel assured that the occasional appearance of such stripes in the domestic animal is a case of simple reversion. But I shall be compelled to refer again to these cases, and therefore will here pass them over. The aboriginal species from which our domesticated cattle and sheep are descended, no doubt possessed horns; but several hornless breeds are now well established. Yet in these--for instance, {30} in Southdown sheep--"it is not unusual to find among the male lambs some with small horns." The horns, which thus occasionally reappear in other polled breeds, either "grow to the full size, or are curiously attached to the skin alone and hang loosely down, or drop off."[66] The Galloways and Suffolk cattle have been hornless for the last 100 or 150 years, but a horned calf, with the horn often loosely attached, is occasionally born.[67] There is reason to believe that sheep in their early domesticated condition were "brown or dingy black;" but even in the time of David certain flocks were spoken of as white as snow. During the classical period the sheep of Spain are described by several ancient authors as being black, red, or tawny.[68] At the present day, notwithstanding the great care which is taken to prevent it, particoloured lambs and some entirely black are occasionally dropped by our most highly improved and valued breeds, such as the Southdowns. Since the time of the famous Bakewell, during the last century, the Leicester sheep have been bred with the most scrupulous care; yet occasionally grey-faced, or black-spotted, or wholly black lambs appear.[69] This occurs still more frequently with the less improved breeds, such as the Norfolks.[70] As bearing on this tendency in sheep to revert to dark colours, I may state (though in doing so I trench on the reversion of crossed breeds, and likewise on the subject of prepotency) that the Rev. W. D. Fox was informed that seven white Southdown ewes were put to a so-called Spanish ram, which had two small black spots on his sides, and they produced thirteen lambs, all perfectly black. Mr. Fox believes that this ram belonged to a breed which he has himself kept, and which is always spotted with black and white; and he finds that Leicester sheep crossed by rams of this breed always produce black lambs: he has gone on recrossing these crossed sheep with pure white Leicesters during three successive {31} generations, but always with the same result. Mr. Fox was also told by the friend from whom the spotted breed was procured, that he likewise had gone on for six or seven generations crossing with white sheep, but still black lambs were invariably produced. Similar facts could be given with respect to tailless breeds of various animals. For instance, Mr. Hewitt[71] states that chickens bred from some Rumpless fowls, which were reckoned so good that they won a prize at an exhibition, "in a considerable number of instances were furnished with fully developed tail-feathers." On inquiry, the original breeder of these fowls stated that, from the time when he had first kept them, they had often produced fowls furnished with tails; but that these latter would again reproduce rumpless chickens. Analogous cases of reversion occur in the vegetable kingdom; thus "from seeds gathered from the finest cultivated varieties of Heartsease (_Viola tricolor_), plants perfectly wild both in their foliage and their flowers are frequently produced;"[72] but the reversion in this instance is not to a very ancient period, for the best existing varieties of the heartsease are of comparatively modern origin. With most of our cultivated vegetables there is some tendency to reversion to what is known to be, or may be presumed to be, their aboriginal state; and this would be more evident if gardeners did not generally look over their beds of seedlings, and pull up the false plants or "rogues" as they are called. It has already been remarked, that some few seedling apples and pears generally resemble, but apparently are not identical with, the wild trees from which they are descended. In our turnip[73] and carrot-beds a few plants often "break"--that is, flower too soon; and their roots are generally found to be hard and stringy, as in the parent-species. By the aid of a little selection, carried on during a few generations, most of our cultivated plants could probably be brought back, without any great change in their conditions of life, to a wild or nearly wild condition: Mr. Buckman has effected this with the parsnip;[74] {32} and Mr. Hewett C. Watson, as he informs me, selected, during three generations, "the most diverging plants of Scotch kail, perhaps one of the least modified varieties of the cabbage; and in the third generation some of the plants came very close to the forms now established in England about old castle-walls, and called indigenous." * * * * * _Reversion in Animals and Plants which have run wild._--In the cases hitherto considered, the reverting animals and plants have not been exposed to any great or abrupt change in their conditions of life which could have induced this tendency; but it is very different with animals and plants which have become feral or run wild. It has been repeatedly asserted in the most positive manner by various authors, that feral animals and plants invariably return to their primitive specific type. It is curious on what little evidence this belief rests. Many of our domesticated animals could not subsist in a wild state; thus, the more highly improved breeds of the pigeon will not "field" or search for their own food. Sheep have never become feral, and would be destroyed by almost every beast of prey. In several cases we do not know the aboriginal parent-species, and cannot possibly tell whether or not there has been any close degree of reversion. It is not known in any instance what variety was first turned out; several varieties have probably in some cases run wild, and their crossing alone would tend to obliterate their proper character. Our domesticated animals and plants, when they run wild, must always be exposed to new conditions of life, for, as Mr. Wallace[75] has well remarked, they have to obtain their own food, and are exposed to competition with the native productions. Under these circumstances, if our domesticated animals did not undergo change of some kind, the result would be quite opposed to the conclusions arrived at in this work. Nevertheless, I do not doubt that the simple fact of animals and plants becoming feral, does cause some tendency to reversion to the primitive state; though this tendency has been much exaggerated by some authors. {33} I will briefly run through the recorded cases. With neither horses nor cattle is the primitive stock known; and it has been shown in former chapters that they have assumed different colours in different countries. Thus the horses which have run wild in South America are generally brownish-bay, and in the East dun-coloured; their heads have become larger and coarser, and this may be due to reversion. No careful description has been given of the feral goat. Dogs which have run wild in various countries have hardly anywhere assumed a uniform character; but they are probably descended from several domestic races, and aboriginally from several distinct species. Feral cats, both in Europe and La Plata, are regularly striped; in some cases they have grown to an unusually large size, but do not differ from the domestic animal in any other character. When variously-coloured tame rabbits are turned out in Europe, they generally reacquire the colouring of the wild animal; there can be no doubt that this does really occur, but we should remember that oddly-coloured and conspicuous animals would suffer much from beasts of prey and from being easily shot; this at least was the opinion of a gentleman who tried to stock his woods with a nearly white variety; and when thus destroyed, they would in truth be supplanted by, instead of being transformed into, the common rabbit. We have seen that the feral rabbits of Jamaica, and especially of Porto Santo, have assumed new colours and other new characters. The best known case of reversion, and that on which the widely-spread belief in its universality apparently rests, is that of pigs. These animals have run wild in the West Indies, South America, and the Falkland Islands, and have everywhere acquired the dark colour, the thick bristles, and great tusks of the wild boar; and the young have reacquired longitudinal stripes. But even in the case of the pig, Roulin describes the half-wild animals in different parts of South America as differing in several respects. In Louisiana the pig[76] has run wild, and is said to differ a little in form, and much in colour, from the domestic animal, yet does not closely resemble the wild boar of Europe. With pigeons and fowls,[77] it is not known what variety was first turned out, nor what character the feral birds have assumed. The guinea-fowl in the West Indies, when feral, seems to vary more than in the domesticated state. With respect to plants run wild, Dr. Hooker[78] has strongly insisted on what slight evidence the common belief in their power of reversion rests. Godron[79] describes wild turnips, carrots, and celery; but these plants in their cultivated state hardly differ from their wild prototypes, except in the {34} succulency and enlargement of certain parts,--characters which would be surely lost by plants growing in a poor soil and struggling with other plants. No cultivated plant has run wild on so enormous a scale as the cardoon (_Cynara cardunculus_) in La Plata. Every botanist who has seen it growing there, in vast beds, as high as a horse's back, has been struck with its peculiar appearance; but whether it differs in any important point from the cultivated Spanish form, which is said not to be prickly like its American descendant, or whether it differs from he wild Mediterranean species, which is said not to be social, I do not know. * * * * * _Reversion to Characters derived from a Cross, in the case of Sub-varieties, Races, and Species._--When an individual having some recognizable peculiarity unites with another of the same sub-variety, not having the peculiarity in question, it often reappears in the descendants after an interval of several generations. Every one must have noticed, or heard from old people of children closely resembling in appearance or mental disposition, or in so small and complex a character as expression, one of their grandparents, or some more distant collateral relation. Very many anomalies of structure and diseases,[80] of which instances have been given in the last chapter, have come into a family from one parent, and have reappeared in the progeny after passing over two or three generations. The following case has been communicated to me on good authority, and may, I believe, be fully trusted: a pointer-bitch produced seven puppies; four were marked with blue and white, which is so unusual a colour with pointers that she was thought to have played false with one of the greyhounds, and the whole litter was condemned; but the gamekeeper was permitted to save one as a curiosity. Two years afterwards a friend of the owner saw the young dog, and declared that he was the image of his old pointer-bitch Sappho, the only blue and white pointer of pure descent which he had ever seen. This led to close inquiry, and it was proved that he was the great-great-grandson of Sappho; so that, according to the common expression, he had only 1-16th of her blood in his veins. Here it can hardly be doubted that a character derived from a cross with an individual of the same variety reappeared after passing over three generations. {35} When two distinct races are crossed, it is notorious that the tendency in the offspring to revert to one or both parent-forms is strong, and endures for many generations. I have myself seen the clearest evidence of this in crossed pigeons and with various plants. Mr. Sidney[81] states that, in a litter of Essex pigs, two young ones appeared which were the image of the Berkshire boar that had been used twenty-eight years before in giving size and constitution to the breed. I observed in the farmyard at Betley Hall some fowls showing a strong likeness to the Malay breed, and was told by Mr. Tollet that he had forty years before crossed his birds with Malays; and that, though he had at first attempted to get rid of this strain, he had subsequently given up the attempt in despair, as the Malay character would reappear. This strong tendency in crossed breeds to revert has given rise to endless discussions in how many generations after a single cross, either with a distinct breed or merely with an inferior animal, the breed may be considered as pure, and free from all danger of reversion. No one supposes that less than three generations suffices, and most breeders think that six, seven, or eight are necessary, and some go to still greater lengths.[82] But neither in the case of a breed which has been contaminated by a single cross, nor when, in the attempt to form an intermediate breed, half-bred animals have been matched together during many generations, can any rule be laid down how soon the tendency to reversion will be obliterated. It depends on the difference in the strength or prepotency of transmission in the two parent-forms, on their actual amount of difference, and on the nature of the conditions of life to which the crossed offspring are exposed. But we must be careful not to confound these cases of reversion to characters gained from a cross, with those given under the first class, in which characters originally common to _both_ parents, but lost at some former period, reappear; for such characters may recur after an almost indefinite number of generations. {36} The law of reversion is equally powerful with hybrids, when they are sufficiently fertile to breed together, or when they are repeatedly crossed with either pure parent-form, as with mongrels. It is not necessary to give instances, for in the case of plants almost every one who has worked on this subject from the time of Kölreuter to the present day has insisted on this tendency. Gärtner has recorded some good instances; but no one has given more striking cases than Naudin.[83] The tendency differs in degree or strength in different groups, and partly depends, as we shall presently see, on the fact of the parent-plants having been long cultivated. Although the tendency to reversion is extremely general with nearly all mongrels and hybrids, it cannot be considered as invariably characteristic of them; there is, also, reason to believe that it may be mastered by long-continued selection; but these subjects will more properly be discussed in a future chapter on Crossing. From what we see of the power and scope of reversion, both in pure races and when varieties or species are crossed, we may infer that characters of almost every kind are capable of reappearance after having been lost for a great length of time. But it does not follow from this that in each particular case certain characters will reappear: for instance, this will not occur when a race is crossed with another endowed with prepotency of transmission. In some few cases the power of reversion wholly fails, without our being able to assign any cause for the failure: thus it has been stated that in a French family in which 85 out of above 600 members, during six generations, had been subject to night-blindness, "there has not been a single example of this affection in the children of parents who were themselves free from it."[84] * * * * * _Reversion through Bud-propagation--Partial Reversion, by segments in the same flower or fruit, or in different parts of the {37} body in the same individual animal._--In the eleventh chapter, many cases of reversion by buds, independently of seminal generation, were given--as when a leaf-bud on a variegated, curled, or laciniated variety suddenly reassumes its proper character; or as when a Provence-rose appears on a moss-rose, or a peach on a nectarine-tree. In some of these cases only half the flower or fruit, or a smaller segment, or mere stripes, reassumed their former character; and here we have with buds reversion by segments. Vilmorin[85] has also recorded several cases with plants derived from seed, of flowers reverting by stripes or blotches to their primitive colours: he states that in all such cases a white or pale-coloured variety must first be formed, and, when this is propagated for a length of time by seed, striped seedlings occasionally make their appearance; and these can afterwards by care be multiplied by seed. The stripes and segments just referred to are not due, as far as is known, to reversion to characters derived from a cross, but to characters lost by variation. These cases, however, as Naudin[86] insists in his discussion on disjunction of character, are closely analogous with those given in the eleventh chapter, in which crossed plants are known to have produced half-and-half or striped flowers and fruit, or distinct kinds of flowers on the same root resembling the two parent-forms. Many piebald animals probably come under this same head. Such cases, as we shall see in the chapter on Crossing, apparently result from certain characters not readily blending together, and, as a consequence of this incapacity for fusion, the offspring either perfectly resemble one of their two parents, or resemble one parent in one part and the other parent in another part; or whilst young are intermediate in character, but with advancing age revert wholly or by segments to either parent-form, or to both. Thus young trees of the _Cytisus adami_ are intermediate in foliage and flowers between the two parent-forms; but when older the buds continually revert either partially or wholly to both forms. The cases given in the eleventh chapter on the changes which occurred during growth {38} in crossed plants of Tropæolum, Cereus, Datura, and Lathyrus are all analogous. As however these plants are hybrids of the first generation, and as their buds after a time come to resemble their parents and not their grandparents, these cases do not at first appear to come under the law of reversion in the ordinary sense of the word; nevertheless, as the change is effected through a succession of bud-generations on the same plant, they may be thus included. Analogous facts have been observed in the animal kingdom, and are more remarkable, as they occur strictly in the same individual, and not as with plants through a succession of bud-generations. With animals the act of reversion, if it can be so designated, does not pass over a true generation, but merely over the early stages of growth in the same individual. For instance, I crossed several white hens with a black cock, and many of the chickens were during the first year perfectly white, but acquired during the second year black feathers; on the other hand, some of the chickens which were at first black became during the second year piebald with white. A great breeder[87] says, that a Pencilled Brahma hen which has any of the blood of the Light Brahma in her, will "occasionally produce a pullet well pencilled during the first year, but she will most likely moult brown on the shoulders and become quite unlike her original colours in the second year." The same thing occurs with Light Brahmas if of impure blood. I have observed exactly similar cases with the crossed offspring from differently coloured pigeons. But here is a more remarkable fact: I crossed a turbit, which has a frill formed by the feathers being reversed on its breast, with a trumpeter; and one of the young pigeons thus raised showed at first not a trace of the frill, but, after moulting thrice, a small yet unmistakably distinct frill appeared on its breast. According to Girou,[88] calves produced from a red cow by a black bull, or from a black cow by a red bull, are not rarely born red, and subsequently become black. In the foregoing cases, the characters which appear with advancing age are the result of a cross in the previous or some {39} former generation; but in the following cases, the characters which thus reappear formerly appertained to the species, and were lost at a more or less remote epoch. Thus, according to Azara,[89] the calves of a hornless race of cattle which originated in Corrientes, though at first quite hornless, as they become adult sometimes acquire small, crooked, and loose horns; and these in succeeding years occasionally become attached to the skull. White and black bantams, both of which generally breed true, sometimes assume as they grow old a saffron or red plumage. For instance, a first-rate black bantam has been described, which during three seasons was perfectly black, but then annually became more and more red; and it deserves notice that this tendency to change, whenever it occurs in a bantam, "is almost certain to prove hereditary."[90] The cuckoo or blue-mottled Dorking cock, when old, is liable to acquire yellow or orange hackles in place of his proper bluish-grey hackles.[91] Now, as _Gallus bankiva_ is coloured red and orange, and as Dorking fowls and both kinds of bantams are descended from this species, we can hardly doubt that the change which occasionally occurs in the plumage of these birds as their age advances, results from a tendency in the individual to revert to the primitive type. * * * * * _Crossing as a direct cause of Reversion._--It has long been notorious that hybrids and mongrels often revert to both or to one of their parent-forms, after an interval of from two to seven or eight, or according to some authorities even a greater number of generations. But that the act of crossing in itself gives an impulse towards reversion, as shown by the reappearance of long-lost characters, has never, I believe, been hitherto proved. The proof lies in certain peculiarities, which do not characterise the immediate parents, and therefore cannot have been derived from them, frequently appearing in the offspring of two breeds when crossed, which peculiarities never appear, or appear with extreme rarity, in these same breeds, as long as they are {40} precluded from crossing. As this conclusion seems to me highly curious and novel, I will give the evidence in detail. My attention was first called to this subject, and I was led to make numerous experiments, by MM. Boitard and Corbié having stated that, when they crossed certain breeds, pigeons coloured like the wild _C. livia_, or the common dovecot, namely, slaty-blue, with double black wing-bars, sometimes chequered with black, white loins, the tail barred with black, with the outer feathers edged with white, were almost invariably produced. The breeds which I crossed, and the remarkable results attained, have been fully described in the sixth chapter. I selected pigeons, belonging to true and ancient breeds, which had not a trace of blue or any of the above specified marks; but when crossed, and their mongrels recrossed, young birds were continually produced, more or less plainly coloured slaty-blue, with some or all of the proper characteristic marks. I may recall to the reader's memory one case, namely, that of a pigeon, hardly distinguishable from the wild Shetland species, the grandchild of a red-spot, white fantail, and two black barbs, from any of which, when purely-bred, the production of a pigeon coloured like the wild _C. livia_ would have been almost a prodigy. I was thus led to make the experiments, recorded in the seventh chapter, on fowls. I selected long-established, pure breeds, in which there was not a trace of red, yet in several of the mongrels feathers of this colour appeared; and one magnificent bird, the offspring of a black Spanish cock and white Silk hen, was coloured almost exactly like the wild _Gallus bankiva_. All who know anything of the breeding of poultry will admit that tens of thousands of pure Spanish and of pure white Silk fowls might have been reared without the appearance of a red feather. The fact, given on the authority of Mr. Tegetmeier, of the frequent appearance, in mongrel fowls, of pencilled or transversely-barred feathers, like those common to many gallinaceous birds, is likewise apparently a case of reversion to a character formerly possessed by some ancient progenitor of the family. I owe to the kindness of this same excellent observer the inspection of some neck-hackles and tail-feathers from a hybrid between the common fowl and a very distinct species, the _Gallus varius_; and these feathers are transversely striped in a conspicuous manner with dark metallic blue and grey, a character which could not have been derived from either immediate parent. I have been informed by Mr. B. P. Brent, that he crossed a white Aylesbury drake and a black so-called Labrador duck, both of which are true breeds, and he obtained a young drake closely like the mallard (_A. boschas_). Of the musk-duck (_A. moschata_, Linn.) there are two sub-breeds, namely, white and slate-coloured; and these I am informed breed true, or nearly true. But the Rev. W. D. Fox tells me that, by putting a white drake to a slate-coloured duck, black birds, pied with white, like the wild musk-duck, were always produced. We have seen in the fourth chapter, that the so-called Himalayan rabbit, with its snow-white body, black ears, nose, tail, and feet, breeds {41} perfectly true. This race is known to have been formed by the union of two varieties of silver-grey rabbits. Now, when a Himalayan doe was crossed by a sandy-coloured buck, a silver-grey rabbit was produced; and this is evidently a case of reversion to one of the parent varieties. The young of the Himalayan rabbit are born snow-white, and the dark marks do not appear until some time subsequently; but occasionally young Himalayan rabbits are born of a light silver-grey, which colour soon disappears; so that here we have a trace of reversion, during an early period of life, to the parent-varieties, independently of any recent cross. In the third chapter is was shown that at an ancient period some breeds of cattle in the wilder parts of Britain were white with dark ears, and that the cattle now kept half wild in certain parks, and those which have run quite wild in two distant parts of the world, are likewise thus coloured. Now, an experienced breeder, Mr. J. Beasley, of Northamptonshire,[92] crossed some carefully selected West Highland cows with purely-bred shorthorn bulls. The bulls were red, red and white, or dark roan; and the Highland cows were all of a red colour, inclining to a light or yellow shade. But a considerable number of the offspring--and Mr. Beasley calls attention to this as a remarkable fact--were white, or white with red ears. Bearing in mind that none of the parents were white, and that they were purely-bred animals, it is highly probable that here the offspring reverted, in consequence of the cross, to the colour either of the aboriginal parent-species or of some ancient and half-wild parent-breed. The following case, perhaps, comes under the same head: cows in their natural state have their udders but little developed, and do not yield nearly so much milk as our domesticated animals. Now there is some reason to believe[93] that cross-bred animals between two kinds, both of which are good milkers, such as Alderneys and Shorthorns, often turn out worthless in this respect. In the chapter on the Horse reasons were assigned for believing that the primitive stock was striped and dun-coloured; and details were given, showing that in all parts of the world stripes of a dark colour frequently appear along the spine, across the legs, and on the shoulders, where they are occasionally double or treble, and even sometimes on the face and body of horses of all breeds and of all colours. But the stripes appear most frequently on the various kinds of duns. They may sometimes plainly be seen on foals, and subsequently disappear. The dun-colour and the stripes are strongly transmitted when a horse thus characterised is crossed with any other; but I was not able to prove that striped duns are generally produced from the crossing of two distinct breeds, neither of which are duns, though this does sometimes occur. The legs of the ass are often striped, and this may be considered as a reversion to the wild parent-form, the _Asinus tæniopus_ of Abyssinia,[94] which is thus striped. In the domestic animal the stripes on the shoulder are occasionally double, or forked at the extremity, as in certain zebrine {42} species. There is reason to believe that the foal is frequently more plainly striped on the legs than the adult animal. As with the horse, I have not acquired any distinct evidence that the crossing of differently-coloured varieties of the ass brings out the stripes. But now let us turn to the result of crossing the horse and ass. Although mules are not nearly so numerous in England as asses, I have seen a much greater number with striped legs, and with the stripes far more conspicuous than in either parent-form. Such mules are generally light-coloured, and might be called fallow-duns. The shoulder-stripe in one instance was deeply forked at the extremity, and in another instance was double, though united in the middle. Mr. Martin gives a figure of a Spanish mule with strong zebra-like marks on its legs,[95] and remarks, that mules are particularly liable to be thus striped on their legs. In South America, according to Roulin,[96] such stripes are more frequent and conspicuous in the mule than in the ass. In the United States, Mr. Gosse,[97] speaking of these animals, says, "that in a great number, perhaps in nine out of every ten, the legs are banded with transverse dark stripes." Many years ago I saw in the Zoological Gardens a curious triple hybrid, from a bay mare, by a hybrid from a male ass and female zebra. This animal when old had hardly any stripes; but I was assured by the superintendent, that when young it had shoulder-stripes, and faint stripes on its flanks and legs. I mention this case more especially as an instance of the stripes being much plainer during youth than in old age. As the zebra has such conspicuously striped legs, it might have been expected that the hybrids from this animal and the common ass would have had their legs in some degree striped; but it appears from the figures given in Dr. Gray's 'Knowsley Gleanings,' and still more plainly from that given by Geoffroy and F. Cuvier,[98] that the legs are much more conspicuously striped than the rest of the body; and this fact is intelligible only on the belief that the ass aids in giving, through the power of reversion, this character to its hybrid offspring. The quagga is banded over the whole front part of its body like a zebra, but has no stripes on its legs, or mere traces of them. But in the famous hybrid bred by Lord Morton,[99] from a chesnut, nearly purely-bred, Arabian mare, by a male quagga, the stripes were "more strongly defined and darker than those on the legs of the quagga." The mare was subsequently put to a black Arabian horse, and bore two colts, both of which, as formerly stated, were plainly striped on the legs, and one of them likewise had stripes on the neck and body. The _Asinus Indicus_[100] is characterised by a spinal stripe, without shoulder {43} or leg stripes; but traces of these latter stripes may occasionally be seen even in the adult;[101] and Colonel S. Poole, who has had ample opportunities for observation, informs me that in the foal, when first born, the head and legs are often striped, but the shoulder-stripe is not so distinct as in the domestic ass; all these stripes, excepting that along the spine, soon disappear. Now a hybrid, raised at Knowsley[102] from a female of this species by a male domestic ass, had all four legs transversely and conspicuously striped, had three short stripes on each shoulder, and had even some zebra-like stripes on its face! Dr. Gray informs me that he has seen a second hybrid of the same parentage similarly striped. From these facts we see that the crossing of the several equine species tends in a marked manner to cause stripes to appear on various parts of the body, especially on the legs. As we do not know whether the primordial parent of the genus was striped, the appearance of the stripes can only hypothetically be attributed to reversion. But most persons, after considering the many undoubted cases of variously coloured marks reappearing by reversion in crossed pigeons, fowls, ducks, &c., will come to the same conclusion with respect to the horse-genus; and in this case we must admit that the progenitor of the group was striped on the legs, shoulders, face, and probably over the whole body, like a zebra. If we reject this view, the frequent and almost regular appearance of stripes in the several foregoing hybrids is left without any explanation. * * * * * It would appear that with crossed animals a similar tendency to the recovery of lost characters holds good even with instincts. There are some breeds of fowls which are called "everlasting layers," because they have lost the instinct of incubation; and so rare is it for them to incubate that I have seen notices published in works on poultry, when hens of such breeds have taken to sit.[103] Yet the aboriginal species was of course a good incubator; for with birds in a state of nature hardly any {44} instinct is so strong as this. Now, so many cases have been recorded of the crossed offspring from two races, neither of which are incubators, becoming first-rate sitters, that the reappearance of this instinct must be attributed to reversion from crossing. One author goes so far as to say, "that a cross between two non-sitting varieties almost invariably produces a mongrel that becomes broody, and sits with remarkable steadiness."[104] Another author, after giving a striking example, remarks that the fact can be explained only on the principle that "two negatives make a positive." It cannot, however, be maintained that hens produced from a cross between two non-sitting breeds invariably recover their lost instinct, any more than that crossed fowls or pigeons invariably recover the red or blue plumage of their prototypes. I raised several chickens from a Polish hen by a Spanish cock,--breeds which do not incubate,--and none of the young hens at first recovered their instinct, and this appeared to afford a well-marked exception to the foregoing rule; but one of these hens, the only one which was preserved, in the third year sat well on her eggs and reared a brood of chickens. So that here we have the appearance with advancing age of a primitive instinct, in the same manner as we have seen that the red plumage of the _Gallus bankiva_ is sometimes reacquired by crossed and purely-bred fowls of various kinds as they grow old. The parents of all our domesticated animals were of course aboriginally wild in disposition; and when a domesticated species is crossed with a distinct species, whether this is a domesticated or only tamed animal, the hybrids are often wild {45} to such a degree, that the fact is intelligible only on the principle that the cross has caused a partial return to the primitive disposition. The Earl of Powis formerly imported some thoroughly domesticated humped cattle from India, and crossed them with English breeds, which belong to a distinct species; and his agent remarked to me, without any question having been asked, how oddly wild the cross-bred animals were. The European wild boar and the Chinese domesticated pig are almost certainly specifically distinct: Sir F. Darwin crossed a sow of the latter breed with a wild Alpine boar which had become extremely tame, but the young, though having half-domesticated blood in their veins, were "extremely wild in confinement, and would not eat swill like common English pigs." Mr. Hewitt, who has had great experience in crossing tame cock-pheasants with fowls belonging to five breeds, gives as the character of all "extraordinary wildness;"[105] but I have myself seen one exception to this rule. Mr. S. J. Salter,[106] who raised a large number of hybrids from a bantam-hen by _Gallus Sonneratii_, states that "all were exceedingly wild." Mr. Waterton[107] bred some wild ducks from eggs hatched under a common duck, and the young were allowed to cross freely both amongst themselves and with the tame ducks; they were "half wild and half tame; they came to the windows to be fed, but still they had a wariness about them quite remarkable." On the other hand, mules from the horse and ass are certainly not in the least wild, yet they are notorious for obstinacy and vice. Mr. Brent, who has crossed canary-birds with many kinds of finches, has not observed, as he informs me, that the hybrids were in any way remarkably wild. Hybrids are often raised between the common and musk duck, and I have been assured by three persons, who have kept these crossed birds, that they were not wild; but Mr. Garnett[108] observed that his female hybrids exhibited "migratory propensities," of which there is not a vestige in the common or musk duck. No case is {46} known of this latter bird having escaped and become wild in Europe or Asia, except, according to Pallas, on the Caspian Sea; and the common domestic duck only occasionally becomes wild in districts where large lakes and fens abound. Nevertheless, a large number of cases have been recorded[109] of hybrids from these two ducks, although so few are reared in comparison with purely-bred birds of either species, having been shot in a completely wild state. It is improbable that any of these hybrids could have acquired their wildness from the musk-duck having paired with a truly wild duck; and this is known not to be the case in North America; hence we must infer that they have reacquired, through reversion, their wildness, as well as renewed powers of flight. These latter facts remind us of the statements, so frequently made by travellers in all parts of the world, on the degraded state and savage disposition of crossed races of man. That many excellent and kind-hearted mulattos have existed no one will dispute; and a more mild and gentle set of men could hardly be found than the inhabitants of the island of Chiloe, who consist of Indians commingled with Spaniards in various proportions. On the other hand, many years ago, long before I had thought of the present subject, I was struck with the fact that, in South America, men of complicated descent between Negroes, Indians, and Spaniards, seldom had, whatever the cause might be, a good expression.[110] Livingstone,--and a more unimpeachable authority cannot be quoted,--after speaking of a half-caste man on the Zambesi, described by the Portuguese as a rare monster of inhumanity, remarks, "It is unaccountable why half-castes, such as he, are so much more cruel than the Portuguese, but such is undoubtedly the case." An inhabitant remarked to Livingstone, "God made white men, and God made black men, but the Devil made half-castes."[111] When two races, both {47} low in the scale, are crossed, the progeny seems to be eminently bad. Thus the noble-hearted Humboldt, who felt none of that prejudice against the inferior races now so current in England, speaks in strong terms of the bad and savage disposition of Zambos, or half-castes between Indians and Negroes; and this conclusion has been arrived at by various observers.[112] From these facts we may perhaps infer that the degraded state of so many half-castes is in part due to reversion to a primitive and savage condition, induced by the act of crossing, as well as to the unfavourable moral conditions under which they generally exist. * * * * * _Summary on the proximate causes leading to Reversion._--When purely-bred animals or plants reassume long-lost characters,--when the common ass, for instance, is born with striped legs, when a pure race of black or white pigeons throws a slaty-blue bird, or when a cultivated heartsease with large and rounded flowers produces a seedling with small and elongated flowers,--we are quite unable to assign any proximate cause. When animals run wild, the tendency to reversion, which, though it has been greatly exaggerated, no doubt exists, is sometimes to a certain extent intelligible. Thus, with feral pigs, exposure to the weather will probably favour the growth of the bristles, as is known to be the case with the hair of other domesticated animals, and through correlation the tusks will tend to be redeveloped. But the reappearance of coloured longitudinal stripes on young feral pigs cannot be attributed to the direct action of external conditions. In this case, and in many others, we can only say that changed habits of life apparently have favoured a tendency, inherent or latent in the species, to return to the primitive state. It will be shown in a future chapter that the position of flowers on the summit of the axis, and the position of seeds within the capsule, sometimes determine a tendency towards reversion; and this apparently depends on the amount of sap or nutriment which the flower-buds and seeds receive. The position, also, of buds, either on branches or on roots, sometimes determines, as was formerly shown, the transmission of the {48} proper character of the variety, or its reversion to a former state. We have seen in the last section that when two races or species are crossed there is the strongest tendency to the reappearance in the offspring of long-lost characters, possessed by neither parent nor immediate progenitor. When two white, or red, or black pigeons, of well-established breeds, are united, the offspring are almost sure to inherit the same colours; but when differently-coloured birds are crossed, the opposed forces of inheritance apparently counteract each other, and the tendency which is inherent in both parents to produce slaty-blue offspring becomes predominant. So it is in several other cases. But when, for instance, the ass is crossed with _A. Indicus_ or with the horse,--animals which have not striped legs,--and the hybrids have conspicuous stripes on their legs and even on their faces, all that can be said is, that an inherent tendency to reversion is evolved through some disturbance in the organisation caused by the act of crossing. Another form of reversion is far commoner, indeed is almost universal with the offspring from a cross, namely, to the characters proper to either pure parent-form. As a general rule, crossed offspring in the first generation are nearly intermediate between their parents, but the grandchildren and succeeding generations continually revert, in a greater or lesser degree, to one or both of their progenitors. Several authors have maintained that hybrids and mongrels include all the characters of both parents, not fused together, but merely mingled in different proportions in different parts of the body; or, as Naudin[113] has expressed it, a hybrid is a living mosaic-work, in which the eye cannot distinguish the discordant elements, so completely are they intermingled. We can hardly doubt that, in a certain sense, this is true, as when we behold in a hybrid the elements of both species segregating themselves into segments in the same flower or fruit, by a process of self-attraction or self-affinity; this segregation taking place either by seminal or by bud-propagation. Naudin further believes that the segregation of the two specific elements or essences is eminently liable to occur in the male and female reproductive matter; and he thus explains the almost {49} universal tendency to reversion in successive hybrid generations. For this would be the natural result of the union of pollen and ovules, in both of which the elements of the same species had been segregated by self-affinity. If, on the other hand, pollen which included the elements of one species happened to unite with ovules including the elements of the other species, the intermediate or hybrid state would still be retained, and there would be no reversion. But it would, as I suspect, be more correct to say that the elements of both parent-species exist in every hybrid in a double state, namely, blended together and completely separate. How this is possible, and what the term specific essence or element may be supposed to express, I shall attempt to show in the hypothetical chapter on pangenesis. But Naudin's view, as propounded by him, is not applicable to the reappearance of characters lost long ago by variation; and it is hardly applicable to races or species which, after having been crossed at some former period with a distinct form, and having since lost all traces of the cross, nevertheless occasionally yield an individual which reverts (as in the case of the great-great-grandchild of the pointer Sappho) to the crossing form. The most simple case of reversion, namely, of a hybrid or mongrel to its grandparents, is connected by an almost perfect series with the extreme case of a purely-bred race recovering characters which had been lost during many ages; and we are thus led to infer that all the cases must be related by some common bond. Gärtner believed that only those hybrid plants which are highly sterile exhibit any tendency to reversion to their parent-forms. It is rash to doubt so good an observer, but this conclusion must I think be an error; and it may perhaps be accounted for by the nature of the genera observed by him, for he admits that the tendency differs in different genera. The statement is also directly contradicted by Naudin's observations, and by the notorious fact that perfectly fertile mongrels exhibit the tendency in a high degree,--even in a higher degree, according to Gärtner himself, than hybrids.[114] Gärtner further states that reversions rarely occur with {50} hybrid plants raised from species which have not been cultivated, whilst, with those which have been long cultivated, they are of frequent occurrence. This conclusion explains a curious discrepancy: Max Wichura,[115] who worked exclusively on willows, which had not been subjected to culture, never saw an instance of reversion; and he goes so far as to suspect that the careful Gärtner had not sufficiently protected his hybrids from the pollen of the parent-species: Naudin, on the other hand, who chiefly experimented on cucurbitaceous and other cultivated plants, insists more strenuously than any other author on the tendency to reversion in all hybrids. The conclusion that the condition of the parent-species, as affected by culture, is one of the proximate causes leading to reversion, agrees fairly well with the converse case of domesticated animals and cultivated plants being liable to reversion when they become feral; for in both cases the organisation or constitution must be disturbed, though in a very different way. Finally, we have seen that characters often reappear in purely-bred races without our being able to assign any proximate cause; but when they become feral this is either indirectly or directly induced by the change in their conditions of life. With crossed breeds, the act of crossing in itself certainly leads to the recovery of long-lost characters, as well as of those derived from either parent-form. Changed conditions, consequent on cultivation, and the relative position of buds, flowers, and seeds on the plant, all apparently aid in giving this same tendency. Reversion may occur either through seminal or bud generation, generally at birth, but sometimes only with an advance of age. Segments or portions of the individual may alone be thus affected. That a being should be born resembling in certain characters an ancestor removed by two or three, and in some cases by hundreds or even thousands of generations, is assuredly a wonderful fact. In these cases the child is commonly said to inherit such characters directly from its grandparents or more remote ancestors. But this view is hardly conceivable. If, however, we suppose that every character is derived {51} exclusively from the father or mother, but that many characters lie latent in both parents during a long succession of generations, the foregoing facts are intelligible. In what manner characters may be conceived to lie latent, will be considered in a future chapter to which I have lately alluded. * * * * * _Latent Characters._--But I must explain what is meant by characters lying latent. The most obvious illustration is afforded by secondary sexual characters. In every female all the secondary male characters, and in every male all the secondary female characters, apparently exist in a latent state, ready to be evolved under certain conditions. It is well known that a large number of female birds, such as fowls, various pheasants, partridges, peahens, ducks, &c., when old or diseased, or when operated on, partly assume the secondary male characters of their species. In the case of the hen-pheasant this has been observed to occur far more frequently during certain seasons than during others.[116] A duck ten years old has been known to assume both the perfect winter and summer plumage of the drake.[117] Waterton[118] gives a curious case of a hen which had ceased laying, and had assumed the plumage, voice, spurs, and warlike disposition of the cock; when opposed to an enemy she would erect her hackles and show fight. Thus every character, even to the instinct and manner of fighting, must have lain dormant in this hen as long as her ovaria continued to act. The females of two kinds of deer, when old, have been known to acquire horns; and, as Hunter has remarked, we see something of an analogous nature in the human species. On the other hand, with male animals, it is notorious that the secondary sexual characters are more or less completely lost when they are subjected to castration. Thus, if the operation be performed on a young cock, he never, as Yarrell states, crows {52} again; the comb, wattles, and spurs do not grow to their full size, and the hackles assume an intermediate appearance between true hackles and the feathers of the hen. Cases are recorded of confinement alone causing analogous results. But characters properly confined to the female are likewise acquired; the capon takes to sitting on eggs, and will bring up chickens; and what is more curious, the utterly sterile male hybrids from the pheasant and the fowl act in the same manner, "their delight being to watch when the hens leave their nests, and to take on themselves the office of a sitter."[119] That admirable observer Réaumur[120] asserts that a cock, by being long confined in solitude and darkness, can be taught to take charge of young chickens; he then utters a peculiar cry, and retains during his whole life this newly acquired maternal instinct. The many well-ascertained cases of various male mammals giving milk, show that their rudimentary mammary glands retain this capacity in a latent condition. We thus see that in many, probably in all cases, the secondary characters of each sex lie dormant or latent in the opposite sex, ready to be evolved under peculiar circumstances. We can thus understand how, for instance, it is possible for a good milking cow to transmit her good qualities through her male offspring to future generations; for we may confidently believe that these qualities are present, though latent, in the males of each generation. So it is with the game-cock, who can transmit his superiority in courage and vigour through his female to his male offspring; and with man it is known [121] that diseases, such as hydrocele, necessarily confined to the male sex, can be transmitted through the female to the grandson. Such cases as these offer, as was remarked at the commencement of this chapter, the simplest possible examples of reversion; and they are intelligible on the belief that characters common to the grandparent and grandchild of the same sex are present, though latent, in the intermediate parent of the opposite sex. The subject of latent characters is so important, as we shall see in a future chapter, that I will give another illustration. {53} Many animals have the right and left sides of their body unequally developed: this is well known to be the case with flat-fish, in which the one side differs in thickness and colour, and in the shape of the fins, from the other; and during the growth of the young fish one eye actually travels, as shown by Steenstrup, from the lower to the upper surface.[122] In most flat-fishes the left is the blind side, but in some it is the right; though in both cases "wrong fishes," which are developed in a reversed manner to what is usual, occasionally occur, and in _Platessa flesus_ the right or left side is indifferently developed, the one as often as the other. With gasteropods or shell-fish, the right and left sides are extremely unequal; the far greater number of species are dextral, with rare and occasional reversals of development, and some few are normally sinistral; but certain species of Bulimus, and, many Achatinellæ,[123] are as often sinistral as dextral. I will give an analogous case in the great Articulate kingdom: the two sides of Verruca[124] are so wonderfully unlike, that without careful dissection it is extremely difficult to recognise the corresponding parts on the opposite sides of the body; yet it is apparently a mere matter of chance whether it be the right or the left side that undergoes so singular an amount of change. One plant is known to me[125] in which the flower, according as it stands on the one or other side of the spike, is unequally developed. In all the foregoing cases the two sides of the animal are perfectly symmetrical at an early period of growth. Now, whenever a species is as liable to be unequally developed on the one as on the other side, we may infer that the capacity for such development is present, though latent, in the undeveloped side. And as a reversal of development occasionally occurs in animals of many kinds, this latent capacity is probably very common. The best yet simplest instances of characters lying dormant are, perhaps, those previously given, in which chickens and {54} young pigeons, raised from a cross between differently coloured birds, are at first of one colour, but in a year or two acquire feathers of the colour of the other parent; for in this case the tendency to a change of plumage is clearly latent in the young bird. So it is with hornless breeds of cattle, some of which acquire, as they grow old, small horns. Purely bred black and white bantams, and some other fowls, occasionally assume, with advancing years, the red feathers of the parent-species. I will here add a somewhat different case, as it connects in a striking manner latent characters of two classes. Mr. Hewitt[126] possessed an excellent Sebright gold-laced hen bantam, which, as she became old, grew diseased in her ovaria, and assumed male characters. In this breed the males resemble the females in all respects except in their combs, wattles, spurs, and instincts; hence it might have been expected that the diseased hen would have assumed only those masculine characters which are proper to the breed, but she acquired, in addition, well-arched tail sickle-feathers quite a foot in length, saddle-feathers on the loins, and hackles on the neck,--ornaments which, as Mr. Hewitt remarks, "would be held as abominable in this breed." The Sebright bantam is known[127] to have originated about the year 1800 from a cross between a common bantam and a Polish fowl, recrossed by a hen-tailed bantam, and carefully selected; hence there can hardly be a doubt that the sickle-feathers and hackles which appeared in the old hen were derived from the Polish fowl or common bantam; and we thus see that not only certain masculine characters proper to the Sebright bantam, but other masculine characters derived from the first progenitors of the breed, removed by a period of above sixty years, were lying latent in this hen-bird, ready to be evolved as soon as her ovaria became diseased. From these several facts it must be admitted that certain characters, capacities, and instincts may lie latent in an individual, and even in a succession of individuals, without our being able to detect the least signs of their presence. We have {55} already seen that the transmission of a character from the grandparent to the grandchild, with its apparent omission in the intermediate parent of the opposite sex, becomes simple on this view. When fowls, pigeons, or cattle of different colours are crossed, and their offspring change colour as they grow old, or when the crossed turbit acquired the characteristic frill after its third moult, or when purely-bred bantams partially assume the red plumage of their prototype, we cannot doubt that these qualities were from the first present, though latent, in the individual animal, like the characters of a moth in the caterpillar. Now, if these animals had produced offspring before they had acquired with advancing age their new characters, nothing is more probable than that they would have transmitted them to some of their offspring, which in this case would in appearance have received such characters from their grandparents or more distant progenitors. We should then have had a case of reversion, that is, of the reappearance in the child of an ancestral character, actually present, though during youth completely latent, in the parent; and this we may safely conclude is what occurs with reversions of all kinds to progenitors however remote. This view of the latency in each generation of all the characters which appear through reversion, is also supported by their actual presence in some cases during early youth alone, or by their more frequent appearance and greater distinctness at this age than during maturity. We have seen that this is often the case with the stripes on the legs and faces of the several species of the horse-genus. The Himalayan rabbit, when crossed, sometimes produces offspring which revert to the parent silver-grey breed, and we have seen that in purely bred animals pale-grey fur occasionally reappears during early youth. Black cats, we may feel assured, would occasionally produce by reversion tabbies; and on young black kittens, with a pedigree[128] known to have been long pure, faint traces of stripes may almost always be seen which afterwards disappear. Hornless Suffolk cattle occasionally produce by reversion horned animals; and Youatt[129] asserts that even in hornless individuals {56} "the rudiment of a horn may be often felt at an early age." No doubt it appears at first sight in the highest degree improbable that in every horse of every generation there should be a latent capacity and tendency to produce stripes, though these may not appear once in a thousand generations; that in every white, black, or other coloured pigeon, which may have transmitted its proper colour during centuries, there should be a latent capacity in the plumage to become blue and to be marked with certain characteristic bars; that in every child in a six-fingered family there should be the capacity for the production of an additional digit; and so in other cases. Nevertheless there is no more inherent improbability in this being the case than in a useless and rudimentary organ, or even in only a tendency to the production of a rudimentary organ, being inherited during millions of generations, as is well known to occur with a multitude of organic beings. There is no more inherent improbability in each domestic pig, during a thousand generations, retaining the capacity and tendency to develop great tusks under fitting conditions, than in the young calf having retained for an indefinite number of generations rudimentary incisor teeth, which never protrude through the gums. I shall give at the end of the next chapter a summary of the three preceding chapters; but as isolated and striking cases of reversion have here been chiefly insisted on, I wish to guard the reader against supposing that reversion is due to some rare or accidental combination of circumstances. When a character, lost during hundreds of generations, suddenly reappears, no doubt some such combination must occur; but reversions may be constantly observed, at least to the immediately preceding generations, in the offspring of most unions. This has been universally recognised in the case of hybrids and mongrels, but it has been recognised simply from the difference between the united forms rendering the resemblance of the offspring to their grandparents or more remote progenitors of easy detection. Reversion is likewise almost invariably the rule, as Mr. Sedgwick has shown, with certain diseases. Hence we must conclude that a tendency to this peculiar form of transmission is an integral part of the general law of inheritance. {57} * * * * * _Monstrosities._--A large number of monstrous growths and of lesser anomalies are admitted by every one to be due to an arrest of development, that is to the persistence of an embryonic condition. If every horse or ass had striped legs whilst young, the stripes which occasionally appear on these animals when adult would have to be considered as due to the anomalous retention of an early character, and not as due to reversion. Now, the leg-stripes in the horse-genus, and some other characters in analogous cases, are apt to occur during early youth and then to disappear; thus the persistence of early characters and reversion are brought into close connexion. But many monstrosities can hardly be considered as the result of an arrest of development; for parts of which no trace can be detected in the embryo, but which occur in other members of the same class of animals or plants, occasionally appear, and these may probably with truth be attributed to reversion. For instance: supernumerary mammæ, capable of secreting milk, are not extremely rare in women; and as many as five have been observed. When four are developed, they are generally arranged symmetrically on each side of the chest; and in one instance a woman (the daughter of another with supernumerary mammæ) had one mamma, which yielded milk, developed in the inguinal region. This latter case, when we remember the position of the mammæ in some of the lower animals on both the chest and inguinal region, is highly remarkable, and leads to the belief that in all cases the additional mammæ in woman are due to reversion. The facts given in the last chapter on the tendency in supernumerary digits to regrowth after amputation, indicate their relation to the digits of the lower vertebrate animals, and lead to the suspicion that their appearance may in some manner be connected with reversion. But I shall have to recur, in the chapter on pangenesis, to the abnormal multiplication of organs, and likewise to their occasional transposition. The occasional development in man of the coccygeal vertebræ into a short and free tail, though it thus becomes in one sense more perfectly developed, may at the same time be considered as an arrest of development, and as a case of reversion. The greater frequency of a monstrous kind of proboscis in the pig than in any other mammal, considering the position of the pig {58} in the mammalian series, has likewise been attributed, perhaps truly, to reversion.[130] When flowers which are properly irregular in structure become regular or peloric, the change is generally looked at by botanists as a return to the primitive state. But Dr. Maxwell Masters,[131] who has ably discussed this subject, remarks that when, for instance, all the sepals of a Tropæolum become green and of the same shape, instead of being coloured with one alone prolonged into a spur, or when all the petals of a Linaria become simple and regular, such cases may be due merely to an arrest of development; for in these flowers all the organs during their earliest condition are symmetrical, and, if arrested at this stage of growth, they would not become irregular. If, moreover, the arrest were to take place at a still earlier period of development, the result would be a simple tuft of green leaves; and no one probably would call this a case of reversion. Dr. Masters designates the cases first alluded to as regular peloria; and others, in which all the corresponding parts assume a similar form of irregularity, as when all the petals in a Linaria become spurred, as irregular peloria. We have no right to attribute these latter cases to reversion, until it can be shown to be probable that the parent-form, for instance, of the genus Linaria had had all its petals spurred; for a change of this nature might result from the spreading of an anomalous structure, in accordance with the law, to be discussed in a future chapter, of homologous parts tending to vary in the same manner. But as both forms of peloria frequently occur on the same individual plant of the Linaria,[132] they probably stand in some close relation to each other. On the doctrine that peloria is simply the result of an arrest of development, it is difficult to understand how an organ arrested at a very early period of growth should acquire its full functional perfection;--how a petal, supposed to be thus arrested, should acquire its brilliant colours, and serve as an envelope to the flower, or a stamen produce efficient pollen; yet this occurs with many peloric flowers. That pelorism is not due to mere chance variability, but either to an arrest of development or to reversion, we may infer from an observation made by Ch. Morren,[133] namely, that families which have irregular flowers often "return by these monstrous growths to their regular form; whilst we never see a regular flower realise the structure of an irregular one." Some flowers have almost certainly become more or less completely peloric through reversion. _Corydalis tuberosa_ properly has one of its two nectaries colourless, destitute of nectar, only half the size of the other, and {59} therefore, to a certain extent, in a rudimentary state; the pistil is curved towards the perfect nectary, and the hood, formed of the inner petals, slips off the pistil and stamens in one direction alone, so that, when a bee sucks the perfect nectary, the stigma and stamens are exposed and rubbed against the insect's body. In several closely allied genera, as in Dielytra, &c., there are two perfect nectaries, the pistil is straight, and the hood slips off on either side, according as the bee sucks either nectary. Now, I have examined several flowers of _Corydalis tuberosa_, in which both nectaries were equally developed and contained nectar; in this we see only the redevelopment of a partially aborted organ; but with this redevelopment the pistil becomes straight, and the hood slips off in either direction; so that these flowers have acquired the perfect structure, so well adapted for insect agency, of Dielytra and its allies. We cannot attribute these coadapted modifications to chance, or to correlated variability; we must attribute them to reversion to a primordial condition of the species. The peloric flowers of Pelargonium have their five petals in all respects alike, and there is no nectary; so that they resemble the symmetrical flowers of the closely allied Geranium-genus; but the alternate stamens are also sometimes destitute of anthers, the shortened filaments being left as rudiments, and in this respect they resemble the symmetrical flowers of the closely allied genus, Erodium. Hence we are led to look at the peloric flowers of Pelargonium as having probably reverted to the state of some primordial form, the progenitor of the three closely related genera of Pelargonium, Geranium, and Erodium. In the peloric form of _Antirrhinum majus_, appropriately called the "_Wonder_," the tubular and elongated flowers differ wonderfully from those of the common snapdragon; the calyx and the mouth of the corolla consist of six equal lobes, and include six equal instead of four unequal stamens. One of the two additional stamens is manifestly formed by the development of a microscopically minute papilla, which may be found at the base of the upper lip of the flower in all common snapdragons, at least in nineteen plants examined by me. That this papilla is a rudiment of a stamen was well shown by its various degrees of development in crossed plants between the common and peloric Antirrhinum. Again, a peloric _Galeobdolon luteum_, growing in my garden, had five equal petals, all striped like the ordinary lower lip, and included five equal instead of four unequal stamens; but Mr. R. Keeley, who sent me this plant, informs me that the flowers vary greatly, having from four to six lobes to the corolla, and from three to six stamens.[134] Now, as the members of the two great families to which the Antirrhinum and Galeobdolon belong are properly pentamerous, with some of the parts confluent and others suppressed, we ought not to look at the sixth stamen and the sixth lobe to the corolla in either case as due to reversion, any more than the additional petals in double flowers in these same two families. But the case is different with the fifth stamen in the peloric Antirrhinum, which {60} is produced by the redevelopment of a rudiment always present, and which probably reveals to us the state of the flower, as far as the stamens are concerned, at some ancient epoch. It is also difficult to believe that the other four stamens and the petals, after an arrest of development at a very early embryonic age, would have come to full perfection in colour, structure, and function, unless these organs had at some former period normally passed through a similar course of growth. Hence it appears to me probable that the progenitor of the genus Antirrhinum must at some remote epoch have included five stamens and borne flowers in some degree resembling those now produced by the peloric form. Lastly, I may add that many instances have been recorded of flowers, not generally ranked as peloric, in which certain organs, normally few in number, have been abnormally augmented. As such an increase of parts cannot be looked at as an arrest of development, nor as due to the redevelopment of rudiments, for no rudiments are present, and as these additional parts bring the plant into closer relationship with its natural allies, they ought probably to be viewed as reversions to a primordial condition. These several facts show us in an interesting manner how intimately certain abnormal states are connected together; namely, arrests of development causing parts to become rudimentary or to be wholly suppressed,--the redevelopment of parts at present in a more or less rudimentary condition,--the reappearance of organs of which not a vestige can now be detected,--and to these may be added, in the case of animals, the presence during youth, and subsequent disappearance, of certain characters which occasionally are retained throughout life. Some naturalists look at all such abnormal structures as a return to the ideal state of the group to which the affected being belongs; but it is difficult to conceive what is meant to be conveyed by this expression. Other naturalists maintain, with greater probability and distinctness of view, that the common bond of connection between the several foregoing cases is an actual, though partial, return to the structure of the ancient progenitor of the group. If this view be correct, we must believe that a vast number of characters, capable of evolution, lie hidden in every organic being. But it would be a mistake to suppose that the number is equally great in all beings. We know, for instance, that plants of many orders occasionally become peloric; but many more cases have been observed in the Labiatæ and Scrophulariaceæ than in any other order; and in one genus of the Scrophulariaceæ, namely Linaria, no less {61} than thirteen species have been described in a peloric condition.[135] On this view of the nature of peloric flowers, and bearing in mind what has been said with respect to certain monstrosities in the animal kingdom, we must conclude that the progenitors of most plants and animals, though widely different in structure, have left an impression capable of redevelopment on the germs of their descendants. The fertilised germ of one of the higher animals, subjected as it is to so vast a series of changes from the germinal cell to old age,--incessantly agitated by what Quatrefages well calls the _tourbillon vital_,--is perhaps the most wonderful object in nature. It is probable that hardly a change of any kind affects either parent, without some mark being left on the germ. But on the doctrine of reversion, as given in this chapter, the germ becomes a far more marvellous object, for, besides the visible changes to which it is subjected, we must believe that it is crowded with invisible characters, proper to both sexes, to both the right and left side of the body, and to a long line of male and female ancestors separated by hundreds or even thousands of generations from the present time; and these characters, like those written on paper with invisible ink, all lie ready to be evolved under certain known or unknown conditions. * * * * * {62} CHAPTER XIV. INHERITANCE _continued_--FIXEDNESS OF CHARACTER--PREPOTENCY--SEXUAL LIMITATION--CORRESPONDENCE OF AGE. FIXEDNESS OF CHARACTER APPARENTLY NOT DUE TO ANTIQUITY OF INHERITANCE--PREPOTENCY OF TRANSMISSION IN INDIVIDUALS OF THE SAME FAMILY, IN CROSSED BREEDS AND SPECIES; OFTEN STRONGER IN ONE SEX THAN THE OTHER; SOMETIMES DUE TO THE SAME CHARACTER BEING PRESENT AND VISIBLE IN ONE BREED AND LATENT IN THE OTHER--INHERITANCE AS LIMITED BY SEX--NEWLY-ACQUIRED CHARACTERS IN OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS OFTEN TRANSMITTED BY ONE SEX ALONE, SOMETIMES LOST BY ONE SEX ALONE--INHERITANCE AT CORRESPONDING PERIODS OF LIFE--THE IMPORTANCE OF THE PRINCIPLE WITH RESPECT TO EMBRYOLOGY; AS EXHIBITED IN DOMESTICATED ANIMALS; AS EXHIBITED IN THE APPEARANCE AND DISAPPEARANCE OF INHERITED DISEASES; SOMETIMES SUPERVENING EARLIER IN THE CHILD THAN IN THE PARENT--SUMMARY OF THE THREE PRECEDING CHAPTERS. In the two last chapters the nature and force of Inheritance, the circumstances which interfere with its power, and the tendency to Reversion, with its many remarkable contingencies, were discussed. In the present chapter some other related phenomena will be treated of, as fully as my materials permit. _Fixedness of Character._ It is a general belief amongst breeders that the longer any character has been transmitted by a breed, the more firmly it will continue to be transmitted. I do not wish to dispute the truth of the proposition, that inheritance gains strength simply through long continuance, but I doubt whether it can be proved. In one sense the proposition is little better than a truism; if any character has remained constant during many generations, it will obviously be little likely, the conditions of life remaining the same, to vary during the next generation. So, again, in improving a breed, if care be taken for a length of time to exclude all inferior individuals, the breed will obviously tend to become truer, as it will not have been crossed during many generations by an inferior animal. We have previously seen, {63} but without being able to assign any cause, that, when a new character appears, it is occasionally from the first well fixed, or fluctuates much, or wholly fails to be transmitted. So it is with the aggregate of slight differences which characterise a new variety, for some propagate their kind from the first much truer than others. Even with plants multiplied by bulbs, layers, &c., which may in one sense be said to form parts of the same individual, it is well known that certain varieties retain and transmit through successive bud-generations their newly-acquired characters more truly than others. In none of these, nor in the following cases, does there appear to be any relation between the force with which a character is transmissible and the length of time during which it has already been transmitted. Some varieties, such as white and yellow hyacinths and white sweet-peas, transmit their colours more faithfully than do the varieties which have retained their natural colour. In the Irish family, mentioned in the twelfth chapter, the peculiar tortoiseshell-like colouring of the eyes was transmitted far more faithfully than any ordinary colour. Ancon and Mauchamp sheep and niata cattle, which are all comparatively modern breeds, exhibit remarkably strong powers of inheritance. Many similar cases could be adduced. As all domesticated animals and cultivated plants have varied, and yet are descended from aboriginally wild forms, which no doubt had retained the same character from an immensely remote epoch, we see that scarcely any degree of antiquity ensures a character being transmitted perfectly true. In this case, however, it may be said that changed conditions of life induce certain modifications, and not that the power of inheritance fails; but in every case of failure, some cause, either internal or external, must interfere. It will generally be found that the parts in our domesticated productions which have varied, or which still continue to vary,--that is, which fail to retain their primordial state,--are the same with the parts which differ in the natural species of the same genus. As, on the theory of descent with modification, the species of the same genus have been modified since they branched off from a common progenitor, it follows that the characters by which they differ from each other have varied whilst other parts of the organisation have remained unchanged; and it might be argued that {64} these same characters now vary under domestication, or fail to be inherited, owing to their lesser antiquity. But we must believe structures, which have already varied, would be more liable to go on varying, rather than structures which during an immense lapse of time have remained unaltered; and this variation is probably the result of certain relations between the conditions of life and the organisation, quite independently of the greater or less antiquity of each particular character. Fixedness of character, or the strength of inheritance, has often been judged of by the preponderance of certain characters in the crossed offspring between distinct races; but prepotency of transmission here comes into play, and this, as we shall immediately see, is a very different consideration from the strength or weakness of inheritance. It has often been observed[136] that breeds of animals inhabiting wild and mountainous countries cannot be permanently modified by our improved breeds; and as these latter are of modern origin, it has been thought that the greater antiquity of the wilder breeds has been the cause of their resistance to improvement by crossing; but it is more probably due to their structure and constitution being better adapted to the surrounding conditions. When plants are first subjected to culture, it has been found that, during several generations, they transmit their characters truly, that is, do not vary, and this has been attributed to ancient characters being strongly inherited; but it may with equal or greater probability be consequent on changed conditions of life requiring a long time for their accumulative action. Notwithstanding these considerations, it would perhaps be rash to deny that characters become more strongly fixed the longer they are transmitted; but I believe that the proposition resolves itself into this,--that all characters of all kinds, whether new or old, tend to be inherited, and that those which have already withstood all counteracting influences and been truly transmitted, will, as a general rule, continue to withstand them, and consequently be faithfully inherited. {65} _Prepotency in the Transmission of Character._ When individuals distinct enough to be recognised, but of the same family, or when two well-marked races, or two species, are crossed, the usual result, as stated in the previous chapter, is, that the offspring in the first generation are intermediate between their parents, or resemble one parent in one part and the other parent in another part. But this is by no means the invariable rule; for in many cases it is found that certain individuals, races, and species are prepotent in transmitting their likeness. This subject has been ably discussed by Prosper Lucas,[137] but is rendered extremely complicated by the prepotency sometimes running equally in both sexes, and sometimes more strongly in one sex than in the other; it is likewise complicated by the presence of secondary sexual characters, which render the comparison of mongrels with their parent-breeds difficult. It would appear that in certain families some one ancestor, and after him others in the same family, must have had great power in transmitting their likeness through the male line; for we cannot otherwise understand how the same features should so often be transmitted after marriages with various females, as has been the case with the Austrian Emperors, and as, according to Niebuhr, formerly occurred in certain Roman families with their mental qualities.[138] The famous bull Favourite is believed[139] to have had a prepotent influence on the shorthorn race. It has also been observed[140] with English race-horses that certain mares have generally transmitted their own character, whilst other mares of equally pure blood have allowed the character of the sire to prevail. The truth of the principle of prepotency comes out more clearly when certain races are crossed. The improved Shorthorns, notwithstanding that the breed is comparatively modern, are generally acknowledged to possess great power in impressing their likeness on all other breeds; and it is chiefly in consequence of this power that they are so highly valued {66} for exportation.[141] Godine has given a curious case of a ram of a goat-like breed of sheep from the Cape of Good Hope, which produced offspring hardly to be distinguished from himself, when crossed with ewes of twelve other breeds. But two of these half-bred ewes, when put to a merino ram, produced lambs closely resembling the merino breed. Girou de Buzareingues[142] found that of two races of French sheep the ewes of one, when crossed during successive generations with merino rams, yielded up their character far sooner than the ewes of the other race. Sturm and Girou have given analogous cases with other breeds of sheep and with cattle, the prepotency running in these cases through the male side; but I was assured on good authority in South America, that when niata cattle are crossed with common cattle, though the niata breed is prepotent whether males or females are used, yet that the prepotency is strongest through the female line. The Manx cat is tailless and has long hind legs; Dr. Wilson crossed a male Manx with common cats, and, out of twenty-three kittens, seventeen were destitute of tails; but when the female Manx was crossed by common male cats all the kittens had tails, though they were generally short and imperfect.[143] In making reciprocal crosses between pouter and fantail pigeons, the pouter-race seemed to be prepotent through both sexes over the fantail. But this is probably due to weak power in the fantail rather than to any unusually strong power in the pouter, for I have observed that barbs also preponderated over fantails. This weakness of transmission in the fantail, though the breed is an ancient one, is said[144] to be general; but I have observed one exception to the rule, namely, in a cross between a fantail and laugher. The most curious instance known to me of weak power in both sexes is in the trumpeter pigeon. This breed has been well known for at least 130 years: it breeds perfectly true, as I have been assured by those who have long kept many birds: it is characterised by a peculiar tuft of feathers over the beak, by a crest on the head, by a most peculiar coo quite unlike that of any other breed, and by much-feathered feet. I have crossed both sexes with turbits of two sub-breeds, with almond tumblers, spots, and runts, and reared many mongrels and recrossed them; and though the crest on the head and feathered feet were inherited (as is generally the case with most breeds), I have never seen a vestige of the tuft over the beak or heard the peculiar coo. Boitard and Corbié[145] assert that this is the invariable result of crossing trumpeters with any other breed: Neumeister,[146] however, states that in Germany mongrels have been obtained, though very rarely, which were furnished with the tuft and would trumpet: but a pair of these mongrels with a tuft, which I imported, never trumpeted. Mr. Brent states[147] that the crossed offspring of a trumpeter were crossed {67} with trumpeters for three generations, by which time the mongrels had 7-8ths of this blood in their veins, yet the tuft over the beak did not appear. At the fourth generation the tuft appeared, but the birds, though now having 15-16ths trumpeter's blood, still did not trumpet. This case well shows the wide difference between inheritance and prepotency; for here we have a well-established old race which transmits it characters faithfully, but which, when crossed with any other race, has the feeblest power of transmitting its two chief characteristic qualities. I will give one other instance with fowls and pigeons of weakness and strength in the transmission of the same character to their crossed offspring. The Silk-fowl breeds true, and there is reason to believe is a very ancient race; but when I reared a large number of mongrels from a Silk-hen by a Spanish cock, not one exhibited even a trace of the so-called silkiness. Mr. Hewitt also asserts that in no instance are the silky feathers transmitted by this breed when crossed with any other variety. But three birds out of many raised by Mr. Orton from a cross between a silk-cock and a bantam-hen, had silky feathers.[148] So that it is certain that this breed very seldom has the power of transmitting its peculiar plumage to its crossed progeny. On the other hand, there is a silk sub-variety of the fantail pigeon, which has its feathers in nearly the same state as in the Silk-fowl: now we have already seen that fantails, when crossed, possess singularly weak power in transmitting their general qualities; but the silk sub-variety when crossed with any other small-sized race invariably transmits its silky feathers![149] The law of prepotency comes into action when species are crossed, as with races and individuals. Gärtner has unequivocally shown[150] that this is the case with plants. To give one instance: when _Nicotiana paniculata_ and _vincæflora_ are crossed, the character of _N. paniculata_ is almost completely lost in the hybrid; but if _N. quadrivalvis_ be crossed with _N. vincæflora_, this later species, which was before so prepotent, now in its turn almost disappears under the power of _N. quadrivalvis_. It is remarkable that the prepotency of one species over another in transmission is quite independent, as shown by Gärtner, of the greater or less facility with which the one fertilises the other. With animals, the jackal is prepotent over the dog, as is stated by Flourens who made many crosses between these animals; and this was likewise the case with a hybrid which I once saw between a jackal and terrier. I cannot doubt, from the observations of Colin and others, that the ass is prepotent over the horse; the prepotency in this instance running more strongly through the male than through the female ass; so that the mule resembles the ass more closely than does the hinny.[151] The {68} male pheasant, judging from Mr. Hewitt's descriptions,[152] and from the hybrids which I have seen, preponderates over the domestic fowl; but the latter, as far as colour is concerned, has considerable power of transmission, for hybrids raised from five differently coloured hens differed greatly in plumage. I formerly examined some curious hybrids in the Zoological Gardens, between the Penguin variety of the common duck and the Egyptian goose (_Tadorna Ægyptiaca_); and although I will not assert that the domesticated variety preponderated over the natural species, yet it had strongly impressed its unnatural upright figure on these hybrids. I am aware that such cases as the foregoing have been ascribed by various authors, not to one species, race, or individual being prepotent over the other in impressing it character on its crossed offspring, but to such rules as that the father influences the external characters and the mother the internal or vital organs. But the great diversity of the rules given by various authors almost proves their falseness. Dr. Prosper Lucas has fully discussed this point, and has shown[153] that none of the rules (and I could add others to those quoted by him) apply to all animals. Similar rules have been enounced for plants, and have been proved by Gärtner[154] to be all erroneous. If we confine our view to the domesticated races of a single species, or perhaps even to the species of the same genus, some such rules may hold good; for instance, it seems that in reciprocally crossing various breeds of fowls the male generally gives colour;[155] but conspicuous exceptions have passed under my own eyes. In sheep it seems that the ram usually gives its peculiar horns and fleece to its crossed offspring, and the bull the presence or absence of horns. In the following chapter on Crossing I shall have occasion to show that certain characters are rarely or never blended by crossing, but are {69} transmitted in an unmodified state from either parent-form; I refer to this fact here because it is sometimes accompanied on the one side by prepotency, which thus acquires the false appearance of unusual strength. In the same chapter I shall show that the rate at which a species or breed absorbs and obliterates another by repeated crosses, depends in chief part on prepotency in transmission. In conclusion, some of the cases above given,--for instance, that of the trumpeter pigeon,--prove that there is a wide difference between mere inheritance and prepotency. This latter power seems to us, in our ignorance, to act in most cases quite capriciously. The very same character, even though it be an abnormal or monstrous one, such as silky feathers, may be transmitted by different species, when crossed, either with prepotent force or singular feebleness. It is obvious, that a purely-bred form of either sex, in all cases in which prepotency does not run more strongly in one sex than the other, will transmit its character with prepotent force over a mongrelized and already variable form.[156] From several of the above-given cases we may conclude that mere antiquity of character does not by any means necessarily make it prepotent. In some cases prepotency apparently depends on the same character being present and visible in one of the two breeds which are crossed, and latent or invisible in the other breed; and in this case it is natural that the character which is potentially present in both should be prepotent. Thus, we have reason to believe that there is a latent tendency in all horses to be dun-coloured and striped; and when a horse of this kind is crossed with one of any other colour, it is said that the offspring are almost sure to be striped. Sheep have a similar latent tendency to become dark-coloured, and we have seen with what prepotent force a ram with a few black spots, when crossed with sheep of various breeds, coloured its offspring. All pigeons have a latent tendency to become slaty-blue, with certain characteristic marks, and it is known that, when a bird thus coloured is crossed with one of any other colour, it is most difficult afterwards to eradicate the blue tint. A nearly parallel case is offered by those black bantams which, as they grow {70} old, develop a latent tendency to acquire red feathers. But there are exceptions to the rule: hornless breeds of cattle possess a latent capacity to reproduce horns, yet when crossed with horned breeds they do not invariably produce offspring bearing horns. We meet with analogous cases with plants. Striped flowers, though they can be propagated truly by seed, have a latent tendency to become uniformly coloured, but when once crossed by a uniformly coloured variety, they ever afterwards fail to produce striped seedlings.[157] Another case is in some respects more curious: plants bearing peloric or regular flowers have so strong a latent tendency to reproduce their normally irregular flowers, that this often occurs by buds when a plant is transplanted into poorer or richer soil.[158] Now I crossed the peloric snapdragon (_Antirrhinum majus_), described in the last chapter, with pollen of the common form; and the latter, reciprocally, with peloric pollen. I thus raised two great beds of seedlings, and not one was peloric. Naudin[159] obtained the same result from crossing a peloric Linaria with the common form. I carefully examined the flowers of ninety plants of the crossed Antirrhinum in the two beds, and their structure had not been in the least affected by the cross, except that in a few instances the minute rudiment of the fifth stamen, which is always present, was more fully or even completely developed. It must not be supposed that this entire obliteration of the peloric structure in the crossed plants can be accounted for by any incapacity of transmission; for I raised a large bed of plants from the peloric Antirrhinum, artificially fertilised by its own pollen, and sixteen plants, which alone survived the winter, were all as perfectly peloric as the parent-plant. Here we have a good instance of the wide difference between the inheritance of a character and the power of transmitting it to crossed offspring. The crossed plants, which perfectly resembled the common snapdragon, were allowed to sow themselves, and, out of a hundred and twenty-seven seedlings, eighty-eight proved to be common snapdragons, two were in an intermediate condition between the peloric and normal state, {71} and thirty-seven were perfectly peloric, having reverted to the structure of their one grandparent. This case seems at first sight to offer an exception to the rule formerly given, namely, that a character which is present in one form and latent in the other is generally transmitted with prepotent force when the two forms are crossed. For in all the Scrophulariaceæ, and especially in the genera Antirrhinum and Linaria, there is, as was shown in the last chapter, a strong latent tendency to become peloric; and there is also, as we have just seen, a still stronger tendency in all peloric plants to reacquire their normal irregular structure. So that we have two opposed latent tendencies in the same plants. Now, with the crossed Antirrhinums the tendency to produce normal or irregular flowers, like those of the common Snapdragon, prevailed in the first generation; whilst the tendency to pelorism, appearing to gain strength by the intermission of a generation, prevailed to a large extent in the second set of seedlings. How it is possible for a character to gain strength by the intermission of a generation, will be considered in the chapter on pangenesis. On the whole, the subject of prepotency is extremely intricate,--from its varying so much in strength, even in regard to the same character, in different animals,--from its running either equally in both sexes, or, as frequently is the case with animals, but not with plants, much stronger in the one sex than the other,--from the existence of secondary sexual characters,--from the transmission of certain characters being limited, as we shall immediately see, by sex,--from certain characters not blending together,--and, perhaps, occasionally from the effects of a previous fertilisation on the mother. It is therefore not surprising that every one hitherto has been baffled in drawing up general rules on the subject of prepotency. _Inheritance as limited by Sex._ New characters often appear in one sex, and are afterwards transmitted to the same sex, either exclusively or in a much greater degree than to the other. This subject is important, because with animals of many kinds in a state of nature, both high and low in the scale, secondary sexual characters, not in {72} any way directly connected with the organs of reproduction, are often conspicuously present. With our domesticated animals, also, these same secondary characters are often found to differ greatly from the state in which they exist in the parent-species. And the principle of inheritance as limited by sex shows how such characters might have been first acquired and subsequently modified. Dr. P. Lucas, who has collected many facts on this subject, shows[160] that when a peculiarity, in no manner connected with the reproductive organs, appears in either parent, it is often transmitted exclusively to the offspring of the same sex, or to a much greater number of them than of the opposite sex. Thus, in the family of Lambert, the horn-like projections on the skin were transmitted from the father to his sons and grandsons alone; so it has been with other cases of ichthyosis, with supernumerary digits, with a deficiency of digits and phalanges, and in a lesser degree with various diseases, especially with colour-blindness, and a hæmorrhagic diathesis, that is, an extreme liability to profuse and uncontrollable bleeding from trifling wounds. On the other hand, mothers have transmitted, during several generations, to their daughters alone, supernumerary and deficient digits, colour-blindness, and other peculiarities. So that we see that the very same peculiarity may become attached to either sex, and be long inherited by that sex alone; but the attachment in certain cases is much more frequent to one than the other sex. The same peculiarities also may be promiscuously transmitted to either sex. Dr. Lucas gives other cases, showing that the male occasionally transmits his peculiarities to his daughters alone, and the mother to her sons alone; but even in this case we see that inheritance is to a certain extent, though inversely, regulated by sex. Dr. Lucas, after weighing the whole evidence, comes to the conclusion that every peculiarity, according to the sex in which it first appears, tends to be transmitted in a greater or lesser degree to that sex. A few details from the many cases collected by Mr. Sedgwick,[161] may be here given. Colour-blindness, from some unknown cause, shows itself much oftener in males than in females; in upwards of two hundred cases collected by Mr. Sedgwick, nine-tenths related to men; but it is eminently liable to be transmitted through women. In the case given by Dr. Earle, members of eight related families were affected during five generations: these families consisted of sixty-one individuals, namely, of thirty-two males, of whom nine-sixteenths were incapable of distinguishing colour, and of twenty-nine females, of whom only one-fifteenth were thus affected. {73} Although colour-blindness thus generally clings to the male sex, nevertheless, in one instance in which it first appeared in a female, it was transmitted during five generations to thirteen individuals, all of whom were females. A hæmorrhagic diathesis, often accompanied by rheumatism, has been known to affect the males alone during five generations, being transmitted, however, through the females. It is said that deficient phalanges in the fingers have been inherited by the females alone during ten generations. In another case, a man thus deficient in both hands and feet, transmitted the peculiarity to his two sons and one daughter; but in the third generation, out of nineteen grandchildren, twelve sons had the family defect, whilst the seven daughters were free. In ordinary cases of sexual limitation, the sons or daughters inherit the peculiarity, whatever it may be, from their father or mother, and transmit it to their children of the same sex; but generally with the hæmorrhagic diathesis, and often with colour-blindness, and in some other cases, the sons never inherit the peculiarity directly from their fathers, but the daughters, and the daughters alone, transmit the latent tendency, so that the sons of the daughters alone exhibit it. Thus, the father, grandson, and great-great-grandson will exhibit a peculiarity,--the grandmother, daughter, and great-granddaughter having transmitted it in a latent state. Hence we have, as Mr. Sedgwick remarks, a double kind of atavism or reversion; each grandson apparently receiving and developing the peculiarity from his grandfather, and each daughter apparently receiving the latent tendency from her grandmother. From the various facts recorded by Dr. Prosper Lucas, Mr. Sedgwick, and others, there can be no doubt that peculiarities first appearing in either sex, though not in any way necessarily or invariably connected with that sex, strongly tend to be inherited by the offspring of the same sex, but are often transmitted in a latent state through the opposite sex. Turning now to domesticated animals, we find that certain characters not proper to the parent-species are often confined to, and inherited by, one sex alone; but we do not know the history of the first appearance of such characters. In the chapter on Sheep, we have seen that the males of certain races differ greatly from the females in the shape of their horns, these being absent in the ewes of some breeds, in the development of fat in the tail in certain fat-tailed breeds, and in the outline of the forehead. These differences, judging from the character of the allied wild species, cannot be accounted for by supposing that they have been derived from distinct parent-forms. There is, also, a great difference between the horns of the two sexes in one Indian breed of goats. The bull zebu is said to have a larger hump than the cow. In the Scotch deer-hound the two sexes differ in size more than in any other variety of the dog,[162] and, judging from analogy, more than in the aboriginal parent-species. The peculiar colour called tortoise-shell is very rarely seen in a male cat; the males of this variety being of a rusty tint. A tendency to baldness in man before the advent of old age is certainly inherited; and in the European, or at least in the {74} Englishman, is an attribute of the male sex, and may almost be ranked as an incipient secondary sexual character. In various breeds of the fowl the males and females often differ greatly; and these differences are far from being the same with those which distinguish the two sexes in the parent-species, the _Gallus bankiva_; and consequently have originated under domestication. In certain sub-varieties of the Game race we have the unusual case of the hens differing from each other more than the cocks. In an Indian breed of a white colour stained with soot, the hens invariably have black skins, and their bones are covered by a black periosteum, whilst the cocks are never or most rarely thus characterised. Pigeons offer a more interesting case; for the two sexes rarely differ throughout the whole great family, and the males and females of the parent-form, the _C. livia_, are undistinguishable; yet we have seen that with Pouters the male has the characteristic quality of pouting more strongly developed than the female; and in certain sub-varieties[163] the males alone are spotted or striated with black. When male and female English carrier-pigeons are exhibited in separate pens, the difference in the development of the wattle over the beak and round the eyes is conspicuous. So that here we have instances of the appearance of secondary sexual characters in the domesticated races of a species in which such differences are naturally quite absent. On the other hand, secondary sexual characters which properly belong to the species are sometimes quite lost, or greatly diminished, under domestication. We see this in the small size of the tusks in our improved breeds of the pig, in comparison with those of the wild boar. There are sub-breeds of fowls in which the males have lost the fine flowing tail-feathers and hackles; and others in which there is no difference in colour between the two sexes. In some cases the barred plumage, which in gallinaceous birds is commonly the attribute of the hen, has been transferred to the cock, as in the cuckoo sub-breeds. In other cases masculine characters have been partly transferred to the female, as with the splendid plumage of the golden-spangled Hamburgh hen, the enlarged comb of the Spanish hen, the pugnacious disposition of the Game hen, and as in the well-developed spurs which occasionally appear in the hens of various breeds. In Polish fowls both sexes are ornamented with a topknot, that of the male being formed of hackle-like feathers, and this is a new male character in the genus Gallus. On the whole, as far as I can judge, new characters are more apt {75} to appear in the males of our domesticated animals than in the females, and afterwards to be either exclusively or more strongly inherited by the males. Finally, in accordance with the principle of inheritance as limited by sex, the appearance of secondary sexual characters in natural species offers no especial difficulty, and their subsequent increase and modification, if of any service to the species, would follow through that form of selection which in my 'Origin of Species' I have called sexual selection. _Inheritance at corresponding periods of Life._ This is an important subject. Since the publication of my 'Origin of Species,' I have seen no reason to doubt the truth of the explanation there given of perhaps the most remarkable of all the facts in biology, namely, the difference between the embryo and the adult animal. The explanation is, that variations do not necessarily or generally occur at a very early period of embryonic growth, and that such variations are inherited at a corresponding age. As a consequence of this the embryo, even when the parent-form undergoes a great amount of modification, is left only slightly modified; and the embryos of widely-different animals which are descended from a common progenitor remain in many important respects like each other and their common progenitor. We can thus understand why embryology should throw a flood of light on the natural system of classification, for this ought to be as far as possible genealogical. When the embryo leads an independent life, that is, becomes a larva, it has to be adapted to the surrounding conditions in its structure and instincts, independently of those of its parents; and the principle of inheritance at corresponding periods of life renders this possible. This principle is, indeed, in one way so obvious that it escapes attention. We possess a number of races of animals and plants, which, when compared with each other and with their parent-forms, present conspicuous differences, both in the immature and mature states. Look at the seeds of the several kinds of peas, beans, maize, which can be propagated truly, and see how they differ in size, colour, and shape, whilst the {76} full-grown plants differ but little. Cabbages on the other hand differ greatly in foliage and manner of growth, but hardly at all in their seeds; and generally it will be found that the differences between cultivated plants at different periods of growth are not necessarily closely connected together, for plants may differ much in their seeds and little when full-grown, and conversely may yield seeds hardly distinguishable, yet differ much when full-grown. In the several breeds of poultry, descended from a single species, differences in the eggs and chickens, in the plumage at the first and subsequent moults, in the comb and wattles during maturity, are all inherited. With man peculiarities in the milk and second teeth, of which I have received the details, are inheritable, and with man longevity is often transmitted. So again with our improved breeds of cattle and sheep, early maturity, including the early development of the teeth, and with certain breeds of fowl the early appearance of secondary sexual characters, all come under the same head of inheritance at corresponding periods. Numerous analogous facts could be given. The silk-moth, perhaps, offers the best instance; for in the breeds which transmit their characters truly, the eggs differ in size, colour, and shape;--the caterpillars differ, in moulting three or four times, in colour, even in having a dark-coloured mark like an eyebrow, and in the loss of certain instincts;--the cocoons differ in size, shape, and in the colour and quality of the silk; these several differences being followed by slight or barely distinguishable differences in the mature moth. But it may be said that, if in the above cases a new peculiarity is inherited, it must be at the corresponding stage of development; for an egg or seed can resemble only an egg or seed, and the horn in a full-grown ox can resemble only a horn. The following cases show inheritance at corresponding periods more plainly, because they refer to peculiarities which might have supervened, as far as we can see, earlier or later in life, yet are inherited at the same period at which they first appeared. In the Lambert family the porcupine-like excrescences appeared in the father and sons at the same age, namely, about nine weeks after {77} birth.[164] In the extraordinary hairy family described by Mr. Crawfurd,[165] children were produced during three generations with hairy ears; in the father the hair began to grow over his body at six years old; in his daughter somewhat earlier, namely, at one year; and in both generations the milk teeth appeared late in life, the permanent teeth being afterwards singularly deficient. Greyness of hair at an unusually early age has been transmitted in some families. These cases border on diseases inherited at corresponding periods of life, to which I shall immediately refer. It is a well-known peculiarity with almond-tumbler pigeons, that the full beauty and peculiar character of the plumage does not appear until the bird has moulted two or three times. Neumeister describes and figures a breed of pigeons in which the whole body is white except the breast, neck, and head; but before the first moult all the white feathers acquire coloured edges. Another breed is more remarkable: its first plumage is black, with rusty-red wing-bars and a crescent-shaped mark on the breast; these marks then became white, and remain so during three or four moults; but after this period the white spreads over the body, and the bird loses its beauty.[166] Prize canary-birds have their wings and tail black: "this colour, however, is only retained until the first moult, so that they must be exhibited ere the change takes place. Once moulted, the peculiarity has ceased. Of course all the birds emanating from this stock have black wings and tails the first year."[167] A curious and somewhat analogous account has been given[168] of a family of wild pied rooks which were first observed in 1798, near Chalfont, and which every year from that date up to the period of the published notice, viz. 1837, "have several of their brood particoloured, black and white. This variegation of the plumage, however, disappears with the first moult; but among the next young families there are always a few pied ones." These changes of plumage, which appear and are inherited at various corresponding periods of life in the pigeon, canary-bird, and rook, are remarkable, because the parent-species undergo no such change. Inherited diseases afford evidence in some respects of less value than the foregoing cases, because diseases are not necessarily connected with any change in structure; but in other respects of more value, because the periods have been more carefully observed. Certain diseases are communicated to the child apparently by a process like inoculation, and the child is from the first affected; such cases may be here passed over. Large classes of diseases usually appear at certain ages, such as St. Vitus's dance in youth, consumption in early mid-life, gout later, and apoplexy still later; and these are naturally inherited at the same period. But even in diseases of this class, instances have been recorded, as with St. Vitus's {78} dance, showing that an unusually early or late tendency to the disease is inheritable.[169] In most cases the appearance of any inherited disease is largely determined by certain critical periods in each person's life, as well as by unfavourable conditions. There are many other diseases, which are not attached to any particular period, but which certainly tend to appear in the child at about the same age at which the parent was first attacked. An array of high authorities, ancient and modern, could be given in support of this proposition. The illustrious Hunter believed in it; and Piorry[170] cautions the physician to look closely to the child at the period when any grave inheritable disease attacked the parent. Dr. Prosper Lucas,[171] after collecting facts from every source, asserts that affections of all kinds, though not related to any particular period of life, tend to reappear in the offspring at whatever period of life they first appeared in the progenitor. As the subject is important, it may be well to give a few instances, simply as illustrations, not as proof; for proof, recourse must be had to the authorities above quoted. Some of the following cases have been selected for the sake of showing that, when a slight departure from the rule occurs, the child is affected somewhat earlier in life than the parent. In the family of Le Compte blindness was inherited during three generations, and no less than thirty-seven children and grandchildren were all affected at about the same age, namely seventeen or eighteen.[172] In another case a father and his four children all became blind at twenty-one years old; in another, a grandmother grew blind at thirty-five, her daughter at nineteen, and three grandchildren at the ages of thirteen and eleven.[173] So with deafness, two brothers, their father and paternal grandfather, all became deaf at the age of forty.[174] Esquirol gives several striking instances of insanity coming on at the same age, as that of a grandfather, father, and son, who all committed suicide near their fiftieth year. Many other cases could be given, as of a whole family who became insane at the age of forty.[175] Other cerebral affections sometimes follow the same rule,--for instance, epilepsy and apoplexy. A woman died of the latter disease when sixty-three years old; one of her daughters at forty-three, and the other at sixty-seven: the latter had twelve children, who all died from tubercular meningitis.[176] I mention this latter case because it illustrates a frequent occurrence, namely, a change in the precise nature of an inherited disease, though still affecting the same organ. {79} Asthma has attacked several members of the same family when forty years old, and other families during infancy. The most different diseases, as angina pectoris, stone in the bladder, and various affections of the skin, have appeared in successive generations at nearly the same age. The little finger of a man began from some unknown cause to grow inwards, and the same finger in his two sons began at the same age to bend inwards in a similar manner. Strange and inexplicable neuralgic affections have caused parents and children to suffer agonies at about the same period of life.[177] I will give only two other cases, which are interesting as illustrating the disappearance as well as the appearance of disease at the same age. Two brothers, their father, their paternal uncles, seven cousins, and their paternal grandfather, were all similarly affected by a skin-disease, called pityriasis versicolor; "the disease, strictly limited to the males of the family (though transmitted through the females), usually appeared at puberty, and disappeared at about the age of forty or forty-five years." The second case is that of four brothers, who when about twelve years old suffered almost every week from severe headaches, which were relieved only by a recumbent position in a dark room. Their father, paternal uncles, paternal grandfather, and paternal granduncles all suffered in the same way from headaches, which ceased at the age of fifty-four or fifty-five in all those who lived so long. None of the females of the family were affected.[178] It is impossible to read the foregoing accounts, and the many others which have been recorded, of diseases coming on during three or even more generations, at the same age in several members of the same family, especially in the case of rare affections in which the coincidence cannot be attributed to chance, and doubt that there is a strong tendency to inheritance in disease at corresponding periods of life. When the rule fails, the disease is apt to come on earlier in the child than in the parent; the exceptions in the other direction being vey much rarer. Dr. Lucas[179] alludes to several cases of inherited diseases coming on at an earlier period. I have already given one striking instance with blindness during three generations; and Mr. Bowman remarks that this frequently occurs with cataract. With cancer there seems to be a peculiar liability to earlier inheritance: Mr. Paget, who has particularly {80} attended to this subject, and tabulated a large number of cases, informs me that he believes that in nine cases out of ten the later generation suffers from the disease at an earlier period than the previous generation. He adds, "In the instances in which the opposite relation holds, and the members of later generations have cancer at a later age than their predecessors, I think it will be found that the non-cancerous parents have lived to extreme old ages." So that the longevity of a non-affected parent seems to have the power of determining in the offspring the fatal period; and we thus apparently get another element of complexity in inheritance. The facts, showing that with certain diseases the period of inheritance occasionally or even frequently advances, are important with respect to the general descent-theory, for they render it in some degree probable that the same thing would occur with ordinary modifications of structure. The final result of a long series of such advances would be the gradual obliteration of characters proper to the embryo and larva, which would thus come to resemble more and more closely the mature parent-form. But any structure which was of service to the embryo or larva would be preserved by the destruction at this stage of growth of each individual which manifested any tendency to lose at too early an age its own proper character. Finally, from the numerous races of cultivated plants and domestic animals, in which the seed or eggs, the young or old, differ from each other and from their parent-species;--from the cases in which new characters have appeared at a particular period, and afterwards have been inherited at the same period;--and from what we know with respect to disease, we must believe in the truth of the great principle of inheritance at corresponding periods of life. * * * * * _Summary of the three preceding Chapters._--Strong as is the force of inheritance, it allows the incessant appearance of new characters. These, whether beneficial or injurious, of the most trifling importance, such as a shade of colour in a flower, a coloured lock of hair, or a mere gesture; or of the highest importance, as when affecting the brain or an organ so perfect {81} and complex as the eye; or of so grave a nature as to deserve to be called a monstrosity, or so peculiar as not to occur normally in any member of the same natural class, are all sometimes strongly inherited by man, the lower animals, and plants. In numberless cases it suffices for the inheritance of a peculiarity that one parent alone should be thus characterised. Inequalities in the two sides of the body, though opposed to the law of symmetry, may be transmitted. There is a considerable body of evidence showing that even mutilations, and the effects of accidents, especially or perhaps exclusively when followed by disease, are occasionally inherited. There can be no doubt that the evil effects of long-continued exposure in the parent to injurious conditions are sometimes transmitted to the offspring. So it is, as we shall see in a future chapter, with the effects of the use and disuse of parts, and of mental habits. Periodical habits are likewise transmitted, but generally, as it would appear, with little force. Hence we are led to look at inheritance as the rule, and non-inheritance as the anomaly. But this power often appears to us in our ignorance to act capriciously, transmitting a character with inexplicable strength or feebleness. The very same peculiarity, as the weeping habit of trees, silky-feathers, &c., may be inherited either firmly or not at all by different members of the same group, and even by different individuals of the same species, though treated in the same manner. In this latter case we see that the power of transmission is a quality which is merely individual in its attachment. As with single characters, so it is with the several concurrent slight differences which distinguish sub-varieties or races; for of these, some can be propagated almost as truly as species, whilst others cannot be relied on. The same rule holds good with plants, when propagated by bulbs, offsets, &c., which in one sense still form parts of the same individual, for some varieties retain or inherit through successive bud-generations their character far more truly than others. Some characters not proper to the parent-species have certainly been inherited from an extremely remote epoch, and may therefore be considered as firmly fixed. But it is doubtful whether length of inheritance in itself gives fixedness of character; {82} though the chances are obviously in favour of any character which has long been transmitted true or unaltered, still being transmitted true as long as the conditions of life remain the same. We know that many species, after having retained the same character for countless ages, whilst living under their natural conditions, when domesticated have varied in the most diversified manner, that is, have failed to transmit their original form; so that no character appears to be absolutely fixed. We can sometimes account for the failure of inheritance by the conditions of life being opposed to the development of certain characters; and still oftener, as with plants cultivated by grafts and buds, by the conditions causing new and slight modifications incessantly to appear. In this latter case it is not that inheritance wholly fails, but that new characters are continually superadded. In some few cases, in which both parents are similarly characterised, inheritance seems to gain so much force by the combined action of the two parents, that it counteracts its own power, and a new modification is the result. In many cases the failure of the parents to transmit their likeness is due to the breed having been at some former period crossed; and the child takes after his grandparent or more remote ancestor of foreign blood. In other cases, in which the breed has not been crossed, but some ancient character has been lost through variation, it occasionally reappears through reversion, so that the parents apparently fail to transmit their own likeness. In all cases, however, we may safely conclude that the child inherits all its characters from its parents, in whom certain characters are latent, like the secondary sexual characters of one sex in the other. When, after a long succession of bud-generations, a flower or fruit becomes separated into distinct segments, having the colours or other attributes of both parent-forms, we cannot doubt that these characters were latent in the earlier buds, though they could not then be detected, or could be detected only in an intimately commingled state. So it is with animals of crossed parentage, which with advancing years occasionally exhibit characters derived from one of their two parents, of which not a trace could at first be perceived. Certain monstrosities, which resemble what naturalists call the typical form of the group in question, {83} apparently come under the same law of reversion. It is assuredly an astonishing fact that the male and female sexual elements, that buds, and even full-grown animals, should retain characters, during several generations in the case of crossed breeds, and during thousands of generations in the case of pure breeds, written as it were in invisible ink, yet ready at any time to be evolved under the requisite conditions. What these conditions are, we do not in many cases at all know. But the act of crossing in itself, apparently from causing some disturbance in the organisation, certainly gives a strong tendency to the reappearance of long-lost characters, both corporeal and mental, independently of those derived from the cross. A return of any species to its natural conditions of life, as with feral animals and plants, favours reversion; though it is certain that this tendency exists, we do not know how far it prevails, and it has been much exaggerated. On the other hand, the crossed offspring of plants which have had their organisation disturbed by cultivation, are more liable to reversion than the crossed offspring of species which have always lived under their natural conditions. When distinguishable individuals of the same family, or races, or species are crossed, we see that the one is often prepotent over the other in transmitting its own character. A race may possess a strong power of inheritance, and yet when crossed, as we have seen with trumpeter-pigeons, yield to the prepotency of every other race. Prepotentcy of transmission may be equal in the two sexes of the same species, but often runs more strongly in one sex. It plays an important part in determining the rate at which one race can be modified or wholly absorbed by repeated crosses with another. We can seldom tell what makes one race or species prepotent over another; but it sometimes depends on the same character being present and visible in one parent, and latent or potentially present in the other. Characters may first appear in either sex, but oftener in the male than in the female, and afterwards be transmitted to the offspring of the same sex. In this case we may feel confident that the peculiarity in question is really present though latent in the opposite sex; hence the father may transmit through his daughter any character to his grandson; and the mother {84} conversely to her granddaughter. We thus learn, and the fact is an important one, that transmission and development are distinct powers. Occasionally these two powers seem to be antagonistic, or incapable of combination in the same individual; for several cases have been recorded in which the son has not directly inherited a character from his father, or directly transmitted it to his son, but has received it by transmission through his non-affected mother, and transmitted it through his non-affected daughter. Owing to inheritance being limited by sex, we can see how secondary sexual characters may first have arisen under nature; their preservation and accumulation being dependent on their service to either sex. At whatever period of life a new character first appears, it generally remains latent in the offspring until a corresponding age is attained, and then it is developed. When this rule fails, the child generally exhibits the character at an earlier period than the parent. On this principle of inheritance at corresponding periods, we can understand how it is that most animals display from the germ to maturity such a marvellous succession of characters. Finally, though much remains obscure with respect to Inheritance, we may look at the following laws as fairly well established. Firstly, a tendency in every character, new and old, to be transmitted by seminal and bud generation, though often counteracted by various known and unknown causes. Secondly, reversion or atavism, which depends on transmission and development being distinct powers: it acts in various degrees and manners through both seminal and bud generation. Thirdly, prepotency of transmission, which may be confined to one sex, or be common to both sexes of the prepotent form. Fourthly, transmission, limited by sex, generally to the same sex in which the inherited character first appeared. Fifthly, inheritance at corresponding periods of life, with some tendency to the earlier development of the inherited character. In these laws of Inheritance, as displayed under domestication, we see an ample provision for the production, through variability and natural selection, of new specific forms. * * * * * {85} CHAPTER XV. ON CROSSING. FREE INTERCROSSING OBLITERATES THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ALLIED BREEDS--WHEN THE NUMBERS OF TWO COMMINGLING BREEDS ARE UNEQUAL, ONE ABSORBS THE OTHER--THE RATE OF ABSORPTION DETERMINED BY PREPOTENCY OF TRANSMISSION, BY THE CONDITIONS OF LIFE, AND BY NATURAL SELECTION--ALL ORGANIC BEINGS OCCASIONALLY INTERCROSS; APPARENT EXCEPTIONS--ON CERTAIN CHARACTERS INCAPABLE OF FUSION; CHIEFLY OR EXCLUSIVELY THOSE WHICH HAVE SUDDENLY APPEARED IN THE INDIVIDUAL--ON THE MODIFICATION OF OLD RACES, AND THE FORMATION OF NEW RACES, BY CROSSING--SOME CROSSED RACES HAVE BRED TRUE FROM THEIR FIRST PRODUCTION--ON THE CROSSING OF DISTINCT SPECIES IN RELATION TO THE FORMATION OF DOMESTIC RACES. In the two previous chapters, when discussing reversion and prepotency, I was necessarily led to give many facts on crossing. In the present chapter I shall consider the part which crossing plays in two opposed directions,--firstly, in obliterating characters, and consequently in preventing the formation of new races; and secondly, in the modification of old races, or in the formation of new and intermediate races, by a combination of characters. I shall also show that certain characters are incapable of fusion. The effects of free or uncontrolled breeding between the members of the same variety or of closely allied varieties are important; but are so obvious that they need not be discussed at much length. It is free intercrossing which chiefly gives uniformity, both under nature and under domestication, to the individuals of the same species or variety, when they live mingled together and are not exposed to any cause inducing excessive variability. The prevention of free crossing, and the intentional matching of individual animals, are the corner-stones of the breeder's art. No man in his senses would expect to improve or modify a breed in any particular manner, or keep an old breed true and distinct, unless he separated his animals. The killing of inferior animals in each generation comes to the {86} same thing as their separation. In savage and semi-civilised countries, where the inhabitants have not the means of separating their animals, more than a single breed of the same species rarely or never exists. In former times, even in a country so civilised as North America, there were no distinct races of sheep, for all had been mingled together.[180] The celebrated agriculturist Marshall[181] remarks that "sheep that are kept within fences, as well as shepherded flocks in open countries, have generally a similarity, if not a uniformity, of character in the individuals of each flock;" for they breed freely together, and are prevented from crossing with other kinds; whereas in the unenclosed parts of England the unshepherded sheep, even of the same flock, are far from true or uniform, owing to various breeds having mingled and crossed. We have seen that the half-wild cattle in the several British parks are uniform in character in each; but in the different parks, from not having mingled and crossed during many generations, they differ in a slight degree. We cannot doubt that the extraordinary number of varieties and sub-varieties of the pigeon, amounting to at least one hundred and fifty, is partly due to their remaining, differently from other domesticated birds, paired for life when once matched. On the other hand, breeds of cats imported into this country soon disappear, for their nocturnal and rambling habits render it hardly possible to prevent free crossing. Rengger[182] gives an interesting case with respect to the cat in Paraguay: in all the distant parts of the kingdom it has assumed, apparently from the effects of the climate, a peculiar character, but near the capital this change has been prevented, owing, as he asserts, to the native animal frequently crossing with cats imported from Europe. In all cases like the foregoing, the effects of an occasional cross will be augmented by the increased vigour and fertility of the crossed offspring, of which fact evidence will hereafter be given; for this will lead to the mongrels increasing more rapidly than the pure parent-breeds. {87} When distinct breeds are allowed to cross freely, the result will be a heterogenous body; for instance, the dogs in Paraguay are far from uniform, and can no longer be affiliated to their parent-races.[183] The character which a crossed body of animals will ultimately assume must depend on several contingencies,--namely, on the relative numbers of the individuals belonging to the two or more races which are allowed to mingle; on the prepotency of one race over the other in the transmission of character; and on the conditions of life to which they are exposed. When two commingled breeds exist at first in nearly equal numbers, the whole will sooner or later become intimately blended, but not so soon, both breeds being equally favoured in all respects, as might have been expected. The following calculation[184] shows that this is the case: if a colony with an equal number of black and white men were founded, and we assume that they marry indiscriminately, are equally prolific, and that one in thirty annually dies and is born; then "in 65 years the number of blacks, whites, and mulattoes would be equal. In 91 years the whites would be 1-10th, the blacks 1-10th, and the mulattoes, or people of intermediate degrees of colour, 8-10ths of the whole number. In three centuries not 1-100th part of the whites would exist." When one of two mingled races exceeds the other greatly in number, the latter will soon be wholly, or almost wholly, absorbed and lost.[185] Thus European pigs and dogs have been largely introduced into the islands of the Pacific Ocean, and the native races have been absorbed and lost in the course of about fifty or sixty years;[186] but the imported races no doubt were favoured. Rats may be considered as semi-domesticated animals. Some snake-rats (_Mus alexandrinus_) escaped in the Zoological Gardens of London, "and for a long time afterwards the keepers frequently caught cross-bred rats, at first half-breds, afterwards with less and less of the character of the snake-rat, till at length all traces of it disappeared."[187] On the other hand, {88} in some parts of London, especially near the docks, where fresh rats are frequently imported, an endless variety of intermediate forms may be found between the brown, black, and snake rat, which are all three usually ranked as distinct species. How many generations are necessary for one species or race to absorb another by repeated crosses has often been discussed;[188] and the requisite number has probably been much exaggerated. Some writers have maintained that a dozen, or score, or even more generations, are necessary; but this in itself is improbable, for in the tenth generation there will be only 1-1024th part of foreign blood in the offspring. Gärtner found,[189] that with plants one species could be made to absorb another in from three to five generations, and he believes that this could always be effected in from six to seventh generations. In one instance, however, Kölreuter[190] speaks of the offspring of _Mirabilis vulgaris_, crossed during eight successive generations by _M. longiflora_, as resembling this latter species so closely, that the most scrupulous observer could detect "vix aliquam notabilem differentiam;"--he succeeded, as he says, "ad plenariam fere transmutationem." But this expression shows that the act of absorption was not even then absolutely complete, though these crossed plants contained only the 1-256th part of _M. vulgaris_. The conclusions of such accurate observers as Gärtner and Kölreuter are of far higher worth than those made without scientific aim by breeders. The most remarkable statement which I have met with of the persistent endurance of the effects of a single cross is given by Fleischmann,[191] who, in reference to German sheep, says "that the original coarse sheep have 5500 fibres of wool on a square inch; grades of the third or fourth Merino cross produced about 8000, the twentieth cross 27,000, the perfect pure Merino blood 40,000 to 48,000." So that in this case common German sheep crossed twenty times successively with Merinos have not by any means acquired wool as fine as that of the pure breed. In all cases, the rate of absorption will {89} depend largely on the conditions of life being favourable to any particular character; and we may suspect that there would be under the climate of Germany a constant tendency to degeneration in the wool of Merinos, unless prevented by careful selection; and thus perhaps the foregoing remarkable case may be explained. The rate of absorption must also depend on the amount of distinguishable difference between the two forms which are crossed, and especially, as Gärtner insists, on prepotency of transmission in the one form over the other. We have seen in the last chapter that one of two French breeds of sheep yielded up its character, when crossed with Merinos, very much slower than the other; and the common German sheep referred to by Fleischmann may present an analogous case. But in all cases there will be during many subsequent generations more or less liability to reversion, and it is this fact which has probably led authors to maintain that a score or more of generations are requisite for one race to absorb another. In considering the final result of the commingling of two or more breeds, we must not forget that the act of crossing in itself tends to bring back long-lost characters not proper to the immediate parent-forms. With respect to the influence of the conditions of life on any two breeds which are allowed to cross freely, unless both are indigenous and have long been accustomed to the country where they live, they will, in all probability, be unequally affected by the conditions, and this will modify the result. Even with indigenous breeds, it will rarely or never occur that both are equally well adapted to the surrounding circumstances; more especially when permitted to roam freely, and not carefully tended, as will generally be the case with breeds allowed to cross. As a consequence of this, natural selection will to a certain extent come into action, and the best fitted will survive, and this will aid in determining the ultimate character of the commingled body. How long a time it would require before such a crossed body of animals would assume within a limited area a uniform character no one can say; that they would ultimately become uniform from free intercrossing, and from the survival of the fittest, we may feel assured; but the character thus acquired would rarely or never, as we may infer from the several previous {90} considerations, be exactly intermediate between that of the two parent-breeds. With respect to the very slight differences by which the individuals of the same sub-variety, or even of allied varieties, are characterised, it is obvious that free crossing would soon obliterate such small distinctions. The formation of new varieties, independently of selection, would also thus be prevented; except when the same variation continually recurred from the action of some strongly predisposing cause. Hence we may conclude that free crossing has in all cases played an important part in giving to all the members of the same domestic race, and of the same natural species, uniformity of character, though largely modified by natural selection and by the direct action of the surrounding conditions. _On the possibility of all organic beings occasionally intercrossing._--But it may be asked, can free crossing occur with hermaphrodite animals and plants? All the higher animals, and the few insects which have been domesticated, have separated sexes, and must inevitably unite for each birth. With respect to the crossing of hermaphrodites, the subject is too large for the present volume, and will be more properly treated in a succeeding work. In my 'Origin of Species,' however, I have given a short abstract of the reasons which induce me to believe that all organic beings occasionally cross, though perhaps in some cases only at long intervals of time.[192] I will here just recall the fact that many plants, though hermaphrodite in structure, are unisexual in function;--such as those called by C. K. Sprengel _dichogamous_, in which the pollen and stigma of the same flower are matured at different periods; or those called by me _reciprocally dimorphic_, in which the flower's own pollen is not fitted to fertilise its own stigma; or again, the many kinds in which curious mechanical contrivances exist, effectually preventing self-fertilisation. There are, however, many hermaphrodite plants which are not in any way specially constructed to favour intercrossing, but which nevertheless commingle almost as freely as animals with separated sexes. This is the case with cabbages, radishes, and onions, as I know from {91} having experimented on them: even the peasants of Liguria say that cabbages must be prevented "from falling in love" with each other. In the orange tribe, Gallesio[193] remarks that the amelioration of the various kinds is checked by their continual and almost regular crossing. So it is with numerous other plants. Nevertheless some cultivated plants can be named which rarely intercross, as the common pea, or which never intercross, as I have reason to believe is the case with the sweet-pea (_Lathyrus odoratus_); yet the structure of these flowers certainly favours an occasional cross. The varieties of the tomato and aubergine (_Solanum_) and pimenta (_Pimenta vulgaris?_) are said[194] never to cross, even when growing alongside each other. But it should be observed that these are all exotic plants, and we do not know how they would behave in their native country when visited by the proper insects. It must also be admitted that some few natural species appear under our present state of knowledge to be perpetually self-fertilised, as in the case of the Bee Ophrys (_O. apifera_), though adapted in its structure to be occasionally crossed. The _Leersia oryzoides_ produces minute enclosed flowers which cannot possibly be crossed, and these alone, to the exclusion of the ordinary flowers, have as yet been known to yield seed.[195] A few additional and analogous cases could be advanced. But these facts do not make me doubt that it is a general law of nature that the individuals of the same species occasionally intercross, and that some great advantage is derived from this act. It is well known (and I shall hereafter have to give instances) that some plants, both indigenous and naturalised, rarely or never produce flowers; or, if they flower, never produce seeds. But no one is thus led to doubt that it is a general law of nature that phanerogamic plants should produce flowers, and that these flowers should produce seed. When they fail, we believe that such plants would perform their proper functions under different conditions, or that they formerly did so and will do so again. On analogous grounds, I believe that the few flowers {92} which do not now intercross, either would do so under different conditions, or that they formerly fertilised each other at intervals--the means for effecting this being generally still retained--and they will do so again at some future period, unless indeed they become extinct. On this view alone, many points in the structure and action of the reproductive organs in hermaphrodite plants and animals are intelligible,--for instance, the male and female organs never being so completely enclosed as to render access from without impossible. Hence we may conclude that the most important of all the means for giving uniformity to the individuals of the same species, namely, the capacity of occasionally intercrossing, is present, or has been formerly present, with all organic beings. _On certain Characters not blending._--When two breeds are crossed their characters usually become intimately fused together; but some characters refuse to blend, and are transmitted in an unmodified state either from both parents or from one. When grey and white mice are paired, the young are not piebald nor of an intermediate tint, but are pure white or of the ordinary grey colour: so it is when white and common collared turtle-doves are paired. In breeding Game fowls, a great authority, Mr. J. Douglas, remarks, "I may here state a strange fact: if you cross a black with a white game, you get birds of both breeds of the clearest colour." Sir R. Heron crossed during many years white, black, brown, and fawn-coloured Angora rabbits, and never once got these colours mingled in the same animal, but often all four colours in the same litter.[196] Additional cases could be given, but this form of inheritance is very far from universal even with respect to the most distinct colours. When turnspit dogs and ancon sheep, both of which have dwarfed limbs, are crossed with common breeds, the offspring are not intermediate in structure, but take after either parent. When tailless or hornless animals are crossed with perfect animals, it frequently, but by no means invariably, happens that the offspring are {93} either perfectly furnished with these organs or are quite destitute of them. According to Rengger, the hairless condition of the Paraguay dog is either perfectly or not at all transmitted to its mongrel offspring; but I have seen one partial exception in a dog of this parentage which had part of its skin hairy, and part naked; the parts being distinctly separated as in a piebald animal. When Dorking fowls with five toes are crossed with other breeds, the chickens often have five toes on one foot and four on the other. Some crossed pigs raised by Sir R. Heron between the solid-hoofed and common pig had not all four feet in an intermediate condition, but two feet were furnished with properly divided, and two with united hoofs. Analogous facts have been observed with plants: Major Trevor Clarke crossed the little, glabrous-leaved, annual stock (_Matthiola_), with pollen of a large, red-flowered, rough-leaved, biennial stock, called _cocardeau_ by the French, and the result was that half the seedlings had glabrous and the other half rough leaves, but none had leaves in an intermediate state. That the glabrous seedlings were the product of the rough-leaved variety, and not accidentally of the mother-plant's own pollen, was shown by their tall and strong habit of growth.[197] In the succeeding generations raised from the rough-leaved crossed seedlings, some glabrous plants appeared, showing that the glabrous character, though incapable of blending with and modifying the rough leaves, was all the time latent in this family of plants. The numerous plants formerly referred to, which I raised from reciprocal crosses between the peloric and common Antirrhinum, offer a nearly parallel case; for in the first generation all the plants resembled the common form, and in the next generation, out of one hundred and thirty-seven plants, two alone were in an intermediate condition, the others perfectly resembling either the peloric or common form. Major Trevor Clarke also fertilised the above-mentioned red-flowered stock with pollen from the purple Queen stock, and about half the seedlings scarcely differed in habit, and not at all in the red colour of the flower, from the mother-plant, the other half bearing blossoms of a rich purple, closely like those of the paternal plant. Gärtner crossed many white and yellow-flowered species and varieties of Verbascum; and these colours were never blended, but the offspring bore either pure white or pure yellow blossoms; the former in the larger proportion.[198] Dr. Herbert raised many seedlings, as he informed me, from Swedish turnips crossed by two other varieties, and these never produced flowers of an intermediate tint, but always like one of their parents. I fertilised the purple sweet-pea (_Lathyrus odoratus_), which has a dark reddish-purple standard-petal and violet-coloured wings and keel, with pollen of the painted-lady sweet-pea, which has a pale cherry-coloured standard, and almost white wings and keel; and from the same pod I twice raised plants perfectly resembling both sorts; the greater number resembling the father. So perfect was the resemblance, that I should have thought there had {94} been some mistake, if the plants which were at first identical with the paternal variety, namely, the painted-lady, had not later in the season produced, as mentioned in a former chapter, flowers blotched and streaked with dark purple. I raised grandchildren and great-grandchildren from these crossed plants, and they continued to resemble the painted-lady, but during the later generations became rather more blotched with purple, yet none reverted completely to the original mother-plant, the purple sweet-pea. The following case is slightly different, but still shows the same principle: Naudin[199] raised numerous hybrids between the yellow _Linaria vulgaris_ and the purple _L. purpurea_, and during three successive generations the colours kept distinct in different parts of the same flower. From such cases as the foregoing, in which the offspring of the first generation perfectly resemble either parent, we come by a small step to those cases in which differently coloured flowers borne on the same root resemble both parents, and by another step to those in which the same flower or fruit is striped or blotched with the two parental colours, or bears a single stripe of the colour or other characteristic quality of one of the parent-forms. With hybrids and mongrels it frequently or even generally happens that one part of the body resembles more or less closely one parent and another part the other parent; and here again some resistance to fusion, or, what comes to the same thing, some mutual affinity between the organic atoms of the same nature, apparently comes into play, for otherwise all parts of the body would be equally intermediate in character. So again, when the offspring of hybrids or mongrels, which are themselves nearly intermediate in character, revert either wholly or by segments to their ancestors, the principle of the affinity of similar, or the repulsion of dissimilar atoms, must come into action. To this principle, which seems to be extremely general, we shall recur in the chapter on pangenesis. It is remarkable, as has been strongly insisted upon by Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire in regard to animals, that the transmission of characters without fusion occurs most rarely when species are crossed; I know of one exception alone, namely, with the hybrids naturally produced between the common and hooded crow (_Corvus corone_ and _cornix_), which, however, are closely allied species, differing in nothing except colour. Nor have I met with any well-ascertained cases of transmission of this kind, even when one form is strongly prepotent over another, when two races are crossed which have been slowly formed by man's selection, and therefore resemble to a certain extent natural species. Such cases as puppies in the same litter closely resembling two distinct breeds, are probably due to super-foetation,--that is, to the influence of two fathers. All the characters above enumerated, which are transmitted in a perfect state to some of the offspring and not to others,--such as distinct colours, nakedness of skin, smoothness of leaves, absence of horns or tail, additional toes, pelorism, dwarfed structure, &c.,--have all been known to appear suddenly in individual animals and plants. From this fact, and from the several slight, aggregated differences which distinguish domestic races and species from {95} each other, not being liable to this peculiar form of transmission, we may conclude that it is in some way connected with the sudden appearance of the characters in question. _On the Modification of old Races and the Formation of new Races by Crossing._--We have hitherto chiefly considered the effects of crossing in giving uniformity of character; we must now look to an opposite result. There can be no doubt that crossing, with the aid of rigorous selection during several generations, has been a potent means in modifying old races, and in forming new ones. Lord Orford crossed his famous stud of greyhounds once with the bulldog, which breed was chosen from being deficient in scenting powers, and from having what was wanted, courage and perseverance. In the course of six or seven generations all traces of the external form of the bulldog were eliminated, but courage and perseverance remained. Certain pointers have been crossed, as I hear from the Rev. W. D. Fox, with the foxhound, to give them dash and speed. Certain strains of Dorking fowls have had a slight infusion of Game blood; and I have known a great fancier who on a single occasion crossed his turbit-pigeons with barbs, for the sake of gaining greater breadth of beak. In the foregoing cases breeds have been crossed once, for the sake of modifying some particular character; but with most of the improved races of the pig, which now breed true, there have been repeated crosses,--for instance, the improved Essex owes its excellence to repeated crosses with the Neapolitan, together probably with some infusion of Chinese blood.[200] So with our British sheep: almost all the races, except the Southdown, have been largely crossed; "this, in fact, has been the history of our principal breeds."[201] To give an example, the "Oxfordshire Downs" now rank as an established breed.[202] They were produced about the year 1830 by crossing "Hampshire and in some instances Southdown ewes with Cotswold rams:" now the Hampshire ram was itself produced by repeated crosses between the native {96} Hampshire sheep and Southdowns; and the long-woolled Cotswold were improved by crosses with the Leicester, which latter again is believed to have been a cross between several long-woolled sheep. Mr. Spooner, after considering the various cases which have been carefully recorded, concludes "that from a judicious pairing of cross-bred animals it is practicable to establish a new breed." On the Continent the history of several crossed races of cattle and of other animals has been well ascertained. To give one instance: the King of Wurtemberg, after twenty-five years' careful breeding, that is after six or seven generations, made a new breed of cattle from a cross between a Dutch and Swiss breed, combined with other breeds.[203] The Sebright bantam, which breeds as true as any other kind of fowl, was formed about sixty years ago by a complicated cross.[204] Dark Brahmas, which are believed by some fanciers to constitute a distinct species, were undoubtedly formed[205] in the United States, within a recent period, by a cross between Chittagongs and Cochins. With plants I believe there is little doubt that some kinds of turnips, now extensively cultivated, are crossed races; and the history of a variety of wheat which was raised from two very distinct varieties, and which after six years' culture presented an even sample, has been recorded on good authority.[206] Until quite lately, cautious and experienced breeders, though not averse to a single infusion of foreign blood, were almost universally convinced that the attempt to establish a new race, intermediate between two widely distinct races, was hopeless: "they clung with superstitious tenacity to the doctrine of purity of blood, believing it to be the ark in which alone true safety could be found."[207] Nor was this conviction unreasonable: when two distinct races are crossed, the offspring of the first generation are generally nearly uniform in character; but even this sometimes fails to be the case, especially with crossed dogs and fowls, the young of which from the first are sometimes much {97} diversified. As cross-bred animals are generally of large size and vigorous, they have been raised in great numbers for immediate consumption. But for breeding they are found to be utterly useless; for though they may be themselves uniform in character, when paired together they yield during many generations offspring astonishingly diversified. The breeder is driven to despair, and concludes that he will never form an intermediate race. But from the cases already given, and from others which have been recorded, it appears that patience alone is necessary; as Mr. Spooner remarks, "nature opposes no barrier to successful admixture; in the course of time, by the aid of selection and careful weeding, it is practicable to establish a new breed." After six or seven generations the hoped-for result will in most cases be obtained; but even then an occasional reversion, or failure to keep true, may be expected. The attempt, however, will assuredly fail if the conditions of life be decidedly unfavourable to the characters of either parent-breed.[208] Although the grandchildren and succeeding generations of cross-bred animals are generally variable in an extreme degree, some curious exceptions to the rule have been observed, both with crossed races and species. Thus Boitard and Corbié[209] assert that from a Pouter and a Runt "a Cavalier will appear, which we have classed amongst pigeons of pure race, because it transmits all its qualities to its posterity." The editor of the 'Poultry Chronicle'[210] bred some bluish fowls from a black Spanish cock and a Malay hen; and these remained true to colour "generation after generation." The Himalayan breed of rabbits was certainly formed by crossing two sub-varieties of the silver-grey rabbit; although it suddenly assumed its present character, which differs much from that of either parent-breed, yet it has ever since been easily and truly propagated. I crossed some Labrador and Penguin ducks, and recrossed the mongrels with Penguins; afterwards, most of the ducks reared during three generations were nearly uniform in character, being brown with a white crescentic mark on the lower part of the breast, {98} and with some white spots at the base of the beak; so that by the aid of a little selection a new breed might easily have been formed. In regard to crossed varieties of plants, Mr. Beaton remarks[211] that "Melville's extraordinary cross between the Scotch kale and an early cabbage is as true and genuine as any on record;" but in this case no doubt selection was practised. Gärtner[212] has given five cases of hybrids, in which the progeny kept constant; and hybrids between _Dianthus armeria_ and _deltoides_ remained true and uniform to the tenth generation. Dr. Herbert likewise showed me a hybrid from two species of Loasa which from its first production had kept constant during several generations. We have seen in the earlier chapters, that some of our domesticated animals, such as dogs, cattle, pigs, &c., are almost certainly descended from more than one species, or wild race, if any one prefers to apply this latter term to forms which were enabled to keep distinct in a state of nature. Hence the crossing of aboriginally distinct species probably came into play at an early period in the formation of our present races. From Rütimeyer's observations there can be little doubt that this occurred with cattle; but in most cases some one of the forms which were allowed to cross freely, will, it is probable, have absorbed and obliterated the others. For it is not likely that semi-civilized men would have taken the necessary pains to modify by selection their commingled, crossed, and fluctuating stock. Nevertheless, those animals which were best adapted to their conditions of life would have survived through natural selection; and by this means crossing will often have indirectly aided in the formation of primeval domesticated breeds. Within recent times, as far as animals are concerned, the crossing of distinct species has done little or nothing in the formation or modification of our races. It is not yet known whether the species of silk-moth which have been recently crossed in France will yield permanent races. In the fourth chapter I alluded with some hesitation to the statement that a new breed, between the hare and rabbit, called leporides, had been formed in France, and was found capable of propagating {99} itself; but it is now positively affirmed[213] that this is an error. With plants which can be multiplied by buds and cuttings, hybridisation has done wonders, as with many kinds of Roses, Rhododendrons, Pelargoniums, Calceolarias, and Petunias. Nearly all these plants can be propagated by seed; most of them freely; but extremely few or none come true by seed. Some authors believe that crossing is the chief cause of variability,--that is, of the appearance of absolutely new characters. Some have gone so far as to look at it as the sole cause; but this conclusion is disproved by some of the facts given in the chapter on Bud-variation. The belief that characters not present in either parent or in their ancestors frequently originate from crossing is doubtful; that they occasionally thus arise is probable; but this subject will be more conveniently discussed in a future chapter on the causes of Variability. A condensed summary of this and of the three following chapters, together with some remarks on Hybridism, will be given in the nineteenth chapter. * * * * * {100} CHAPTER XVI. CAUSES WHICH INTERFERE WITH THE FREE CROSSING OF VARIETIES--INFLUENCE OF DOMESTICATION ON FERTILITY. DIFFICULTIES IN JUDGING OF THE FERTILITY OF VARIETIES WHEN CROSSED--VARIOUS CAUSES WHICH KEEP VARIETIES DISTINCT, AS THE PERIOD OF BREEDING AND SEXUAL PREFERENCE--VARIETIES OF WHEAT SAID TO BE STERILE WHEN CROSSED--VARIETIES OF MAIZE, VERBASCUM, HOLLYHOCK, GOURDS, MELONS, AND TOBACCO, RENDERED IN SOME DEGREE MUTUALLY STERILE--DOMESTICATION ELIMINATES THE TENDENCY TO STERILITY NATURAL TO SPECIES WHEN CROSSED--ON THE INCREASED FERTILITY OF UNCROSSED ANIMALS AND PLANTS FROM DOMESTICATION AND CULTIVATION. The domesticated races of both animals and plants, when crossed, are with extremely few exceptions quite prolific,--in some cases even more so than the purely bred parent-races. The offspring, also, raised from such crosses are likewise, as we shall see in the following chapter, generally more vigorous and fertile than their parents. On the other hand, species when crossed, and their hybrid offspring, are almost invariability in some degree sterile; and here there seems to exist a broad and insuperable distinction between races and species. The importance of this subject as bearing on the origin of species is obvious; and we shall hereafter recur to it. It is unfortunate how few precise observations have been made on the fertility of mongrel animals and plants during several successive generations. Dr. Broca[214] has remarked that no one has observed whether, for instance, mongrel dogs, bred _inter se_, are indefinitely fertile; yet, if a shade of infertility be detected by careful observation in the offspring of natural forms when crossed, it is thought that their specific distinction is proved. But so many breeds of sheep, cattle, pigs, dogs, and poultry, have been crossed and recrossed in various ways, that any sterility, if it had existed, would from being injurious {101} almost certainly have been observed. In investigating the fertility of crossed varieties many sources of doubt occur. Whenever the least trace of sterility between two plants, however closely allied, was observed by Kölreuter, and more especially by Gärtner, who counted the exact number of seed in each capsule, the two forms were at once ranked as distinct species; and if this rule be followed, assuredly it will never be proved that varieties when crossed are in any degree sterile. We have formerly seen that certain breeds of dogs do not readily pair together; but no observations have been made whether, when paired, they produce the full number of young, and whether the latter are perfectly fertile _inter se_; but, supposing that some degree of sterility were found to exist, naturalists would simply infer that these breeds were descended from aboriginally distinct species; and it would be scarcely possible to ascertain whether or not this explanation was the true one. The Sebright Bantam is much less prolific than any other breed of fowls, and is descended from a cross between two very distinct breeds, recrossed by a third sub-variety. But it would be extremely rash to infer that the loss of fertility was in any manner connected with its crossed origin, for it may with more probability be attributed either to long-continued close interbreeding, or to an innate tendency to sterility correlated with the absence of hackles and sickle tail-feathers. Before giving the few recorded cases of forms, which must be ranked as varieties, being in some degree sterile when crossed, I may remark that other causes sometimes interfere with varieties freely intercrossing. Thus they may differ too greatly in size, as with some kinds of dogs and fowls: for instance, the editor of the 'Journal of Horticulture, &c.,'[215] says that he can keep Bantams with the larger breeds without much danger of their crossing, but not with the smaller breeds, such as Games, Hamburgs, &c. With plants a difference in the period of flowering serves to keep varieties distinct, as with the various kinds of maize and wheat: thus Colonel Le Couteur[216] remarks, "the Talavera wheat, from flowering much earlier than any other kind, is sure to continue pure." In different parts of {102} the Falkland Islands the cattle are breaking up into herds of different colours; and those on the higher ground, which are generally white, usually breed, as I am informed by Admiral Sulivan, three months earlier than those on the lowlands; and this would manifestly tend to keep the herds from blending. Certain domestic races seem to prefer breeding with their own kind; and this is a fact of some importance, for it is a step towards that instinctive feeling which helps to keep closely allied species in a state of nature distinct. We have now abundant evidence that, if it were not for this feeling, many more hybrids would be naturally produced than is the case. We have seen in the first chapter that the alco dog of Mexico dislikes dogs of other breeds; and the hairless dog of Paraguay mixes less readily with the European races, than the latter do with each other. In Germany the female Spitz-dog is said to receive the fox more readily than will other dogs; a female Australian Dingo in England attracted the wild male foxes. But these differences in the sexual instinct and attractive power of the various breeds may be wholly due to their descent from distinct species. In Paraguay the horses have much freedom, and an excellent observer[217] believes that the native horses of the same colour and size prefer associating with each other, and that the horses which have been imported from Entre Rios and Banda Oriental into Paraguay likewise prefer associating together. In Circassia six sub-races of the horse are known and have received distinct names; and a native proprietor of rank[218] asserts that horses of three of these races, whilst living a free life, almost always refuse to mingle and cross, and will even attack each other. It has been observed, in a district stocked with heavy Lincolnshire and light Norfolk sheep, that both kinds, though bred together, when turned out, "in a short time separate to a sheep;" the Lincolnshires drawing off to the rich soil, and the Norfolks to their own dry light soil; and as long as there is plenty of grass, "the two breeds keep themselves as distinct as rooks and pigeons." In this case different habits of {103} life tend to keep the races distinct. On one of the Faroe islands, not more than half a mile in diameter, the half-wild native black sheep are said not to have readily mixed with the imported white sheep. It is a more curious fact that the semi-monstrous ancon sheep of modern origin "have been observed to keep together, separating themselves from the rest of the flock, when put into enclosures with other sheep."[219] With respect to fallow deer, which live in a semi-domesticated condition, Mr. Bennett[220] states that the dark and pale coloured herds, which have long been kept together in the Forest of Dean, in High Meadow Woods, and in the New Forest, have never been known to mingle: the dark-coloured deer, it may be added, are believed to have been first brought by James I. from Norway, on account of their greater hardiness. I imported from the island of Porto Santo two of the feral rabbits, which differ, as described in the fourth chapter, from common rabbits; both proved to be males, and, though they lived during some years in the Zoological Gardens, the superintendent, Mr. Bartlett, in vain endeavoured to make them breed with various tame kinds; but whether this refusal to breed was due to any change in instinct, or simply to their extreme wildness; or whether confinement had rendered them sterile, as often occurs, cannot be told. Whilst matching for the sake of experiment many of the most distinct breeds of pigeons, it frequently appeared to me that the birds, though faithful to their marriage vow, retained some desire after their own kind. Accordingly I asked Mr. Wicking, who has kept a larger stock of various breeds together than any man in England, whether he thought that they would prefer pairing with their own kind, supposing that there were males and females enough of each; and he without hesitation answered that he was convinced that this was the case. It has often been noticed that the dovecot pigeon seems to have an actual aversion towards the several fancy breeds;[221] yet all have {104} certainly sprung from a common progenitor. The Rev. W. D. Fox informs me that his flocks of white and common Chinese geese kept distinct. These facts and statements, though some of them are incapable of proof, resting only on the opinion of experienced observers, show that some domestic races are led by different habits of life to keep to a certain extent separate, and that others prefer coupling with their own kind, in the same manner as species in a state of nature, though in a much less degree. With respect to sterility from the crossing of domestic races, I know of no well-ascertained case with animals. This fact, seeing the great difference in structure between some breeds of pigeons, fowls, pigs, dogs, &c., is extraordinary, in contrast with the sterility of many closely allied natural species when crossed; but we shall hereafter attempt to show that it is not so extraordinary as it at first appears. And it may be well here to recall to mind that the amount of external difference between two species will not safely guide us in foretelling whether or not they will breed together,--some closely allied species when crossed being utterly sterile, and others which are extremely unlike being moderately fertile. I have said that no case of sterility in crossed races rests on satisfactory evidence; but here is one which at first seems trustworthy. Mr. Youatt,[222] and a better authority cannot be quoted, states, that formerly in Lancashire crosses were frequently made between longhorn and shorthorn cattle; the first cross was excellent, but the produce was uncertain; in the third or fourth generation the cows were bad milkers; "in addition to which, there was much uncertainty whether the cows would conceive; and full one-third of the cows among some of these half-breds failed to be in calf." This at first seems a good case; but Mr. Wilkinson states,[223] that a breed derived from this same cross was actually established in another part of England; and if it had failed in fertility, the fact would surely have been noticed. Moreover, supposing that Mr. Youatt had proved his case, it might be argued that the sterility was wholly due to the two parent-breeds being descended from primordially distinct species. I will give a case with plants, to show how difficult it is to get sufficient evidence. Mr. Sheriff, who has been so successful in the formation of new races of wheat, fertilised the Hopetoun with the Talavera; in the first and second generations the produce was intermediate in character, but in the fourth generation "it was found to consist of many varieties; nine-tenths of the florets proved barren, and many of the seeds seemed shrivelled abortions, void of vitality, and the whole race was evidently verging to extinction."[224] Now, considering how little these {105} varieties of wheat differ in any important character, it seems to me very improbable that the sterility resulted, as Mr. Sheriff thought, from the cross, but from some quite distinct cause. Until such experiments are many times repeated, it would be rash to trust them; but unfortunately they have been rarely tried even once with sufficient care. Gärtner has recorded a more remarkable and trustworthy case: he fertilised thirteen panicles (and subsequently nine others) on a dwarf maize bearing yellow seed[225] with pollen of a tall maize having red seed; and one head alone produced good seed, only five in number. Though these plants are monoecious, and therefore do not require castration, yet I should have suspected some accident in the manipulation had not Gärtner expressly stated that he had during many years grown these two varieties together, and they did not spontaneously cross; and this, considering that the plants are monoecious and abound with pollen, and are well known generally to cross freely, seems explicable only on the belief that these two varieties are in some degree mutually infertile. The hybrid plants raised from the above five seed were intermediate in structure, extremely variable, and perfectly fertile.[226] No one, I believe, has hitherto suspected that these varieties of maize are distinct species; but had the hybrids been in the least sterile, no doubt Gärtner would at once have so classed them. I may here remark, that with undoubted species there is not necessarily any close relation between the sterility of a first cross and that of the hybrid offspring. Some species can be crossed with facility, but produce utterly sterile hybrids; others can be crossed with extreme difficulty, but the hybrids when produced are moderately fertile. I am not aware, however, of any instance quite like this of the maize with natural species, namely, of a first cross made with difficulty, but yielding perfectly fertile hybrids. The following case is much more remarkable, and evidently perplexed Gärtner, whose strong wish it was to draw a broad line of distinction between species and varieties. In the genus Verbascum, he made, during eighteen years, a vast number of experiments, and crossed no less than 1085 flowers and counted their seeds. Many of these experiments consisted in crossing white and yellow varieties of both _V. lychnitis_ and _V. blattaria_ with nine other species and their hybrids. That the white and yellow flowered plants of these two species are really varieties, no one has doubted; and Gärtner actually raised in the case of both species one variety from the seed of the other. Now in two of his works[227] he distinctly asserts that crosses between similarly-coloured flowers yield more seed than between dissimilarly-coloured; so that the yellow-flowered variety of either species (and conversely with the white-flowered variety), when crossed with pollen of its own kind, yields more seed than when crossed with that of the white variety; and so it is when differently coloured species are crossed. The general results may be seen in the Table at the {106} end of his volume. In one instance he gives[228] the following details; but I must premise that Gärtner, to avoid exaggerating the degree of sterility in his crosses, always compares the _maximum_ number obtained from a cross with the _average_ number naturally given by the pure mother-plant. The white-variety of _V. lychnitis_, naturally fertilised by its own pollen, gave from an _average_ of twelve capsules ninety-six good seeds in each; whilst twenty flowers fertilised with pollen from the yellow variety of this same species, gave as the _maximum_ only eighty-nine good seed; so that we have the proportion of 1000 to 908, according to Gärtner's usual scale. I should have thought it possible that so small a difference in fertility might have been accounted for by the evil effects of the necessary castration; but Gärtner shows that the white variety of _V. lychnitis_, when fertilised first by the white variety of _V. blattaria_, and then by the yellow variety of this species, yielded seed in the proportion of 622 to 438; and in both these cases castration was performed. Now the sterility which results from the crossing of the differently coloured varieties of the same species, is fully as great as that which occurs in many cases when distinct species are crossed. Unfortunately Gärtner compared the results of the first unions alone, and not the sterility of the two sets of hybrids produced from the white variety of _V. lychnitis_ when fertilised by the white and yellow varieties of _V. blattaria_, for it is probable that they would have differed in this respect. Mr. J. Scott has given me the results of a series of experiments on Verbascum, made by him in the Botanic Gardens of Edinburgh. He repeated some of Gärtner's experiments on distinct species, but obtained only fluctuating results; some confirmatory, but the greater number contradictory; nevertheless these seem hardly sufficient to overthrow the conclusions arrived at by Gärtner from experiments tried on a much larger scale. In the second place Mr. Scott experimented on the relative fertility of unions between similarly and dissimilarly-coloured varieties of the same species. Thus he fertilised six flowers of the yellow variety of _V. lychnitis_ by its own pollen, and obtained six capsules, and calling, for the sake of having a standard of comparison, the average number of good seed in each one hundred, he found that this same yellow variety, when fertilised by the white variety, yielded from seven capsules an average of ninety-four seed. On the same principle, the white variety of _V. lychnitis_ by its own pollen (from six capsules), and by the pollen of the yellow variety (eight capsules), yielded seed in the proportion of 100 to 82. The yellow variety of _V. thapsus_ by its own pollen (eight capsules), and by that of the white variety (only two capsules), yielded seed in the proportion of 100 to 94. Lastly, the white variety of _V. blattaria_ by its own pollen (eight capsules), and by that of the yellow variety (five capsules), yielded seed in the proportion of 100 to 79. So that in every case the unions of dissimilarly-coloured varieties of the same species were less fertile than the unions of similarly-coloured varieties; when all the cases are grouped together, the difference of fertility is as 86 to 100. Some additional trials were made, and altogether thirty-six similarly-coloured unions yielded thirty-five good {107} capsules; whilst thirty-five dissimilarly-coloured unions yielded only twenty-six good capsules. Besides the foregoing experiments, the purple _V. phoeniceum_ was crossed by a rose-coloured and a white variety of the same species; these two varieties were also crossed together, and these several unions yielded less seed than _V. phoeniceum_ by its own pollen. Hence it follows from Mr. Scott's experiments, that in the genus Verbascum the similarly and dissimilarly-coloured varieties of the same species behave, when crossed, like closely allied but distinct species.[229] This remarkable fact of the sexual affinity of similarly-coloured varieties, as observed by Gärtner and Mr. Scott, may not be of very rare occurrence; for the subject has not been attended to by others. The following case is worth giving, partly to show how difficult it is to avoid error. Dr. Herbert[230] has remarked that variously-coloured double varieties of the hollyhock (_Althæa rosea_) may be raised with certainty by seed from plants growing close together. I have been informed that nurserymen who raise seed for sale do not separate their plants; accordingly I procured seed of eighteen named varieties; of these, eleven varieties produced sixty-two plants all perfectly true to their kind; and seven produced forty-nine plants, half of which were true and half false. Mr. Masters of Canterbury has given me a more striking case; he saved seed from a great bed of twenty-four named varieties planted in closely adjoining rows, and each variety reproduced itself truly with only sometimes a shade of difference in tint. Now in the hollyhock the pollen, which is abundant, is matured and nearly all shed before the stigma of the same flower is ready to receive it;[231] and as bees covered with pollen incessantly fly from plant to plant, it would appear that adjoining varieties could not escape being crossed. As, however, this does not occur, it appeared to me probable that the pollen {108} of each variety was prepotent on its own stigma over that of all other varieties. But Mr. C. Turner of Slough, well known for his success in the cultivation of this plant, informs me that it is the doubleness of the flowers which prevents the bees gaining access to the pollen and stigma; and he finds that it is difficult even to cross them artificially. Whether this explanation will fully account for varieties in close proximity propagating themselves so truly by seed, I do not know. The following cases are worth giving, as they relate to monoecious forms, which do not require, and consequently have not been injured by, castration. Girou de Buzareingues crossed what he designates three varieties of gourd,[232] and asserts that their mutual fertilisation is less easy in proportion to the difference which they present. I am aware how imperfectly the forms in this group were until recently known; but Sageret,[233] who ranked them according to their mutual fertility, considers the three forms above alluded to as varieties, as does a far higher authority, namely, M. Naudin.[234] Sageret[235] has observed that certain melons have a greater tendency, whatever the cause may be, to keep true than others; and M. Naudin, who has had such immense experience in this group, informs me that he believes that certain varieties intercross more readily than others of the same species; but he has not proved the truth of this conclusion; the frequent abortion of the pollen near Paris being one great difficulty. Nevertheless, he has grown close together, during seven years, certain forms of Citrullus, which, as they could be artificially crossed with perfect facility and produced fertile offspring, are ranked as varieties; but these forms when not artificially crossed kept true. Many other varieties, on the other hand, in the same group cross with such facility, as M. Naudin repeatedly insists, that without being grown far apart they cannot be kept in the least true. Another case, though somewhat different, may be here given, as it is highly remarkable, and is established on excellent evidence. Kölreuter minutely describes five varieties of the common tobacco,[236] which were reciprocally crossed, and the offspring were intermediate in character and as fertile as their parents: from this fact Kölreuter inferred that they are really varieties; and no one, as far as I can discover, seems to have doubted that such is the case. He also crossed reciprocally these five varieties with _N. glutinosa_, and they yielded very sterile hybrids; but those raised from the _var. perennis_, whether used as the father or mother plant, were not so sterile as the hybrids from the four other varieties.[237] So that the sexual {109} capacity of this one variety has certainly been in some degree modified, so as to approach in nature that of _N. glutinosa_.[238] These facts with respect to plants show that in some few cases certain varieties have had their sexual powers so far modified, that they cross together less readily and yield less seed than other varieties of the same species. We shall presently see that the sexual functions of most animals and plants are eminently liable to be affected by the conditions of life to which they are exposed; and hereafter we shall briefly discuss the conjoint bearing of this and other facts on the difference in fertility between crossed varieties and crossed species. _Domestication eliminates the tendency to Sterility which is general with Species when crossed._ This hypothesis was first propounded by Pallas,[239] and has been adopted by several authors. I can find hardly any direct facts in its support; but unfortunately no one has compared, in the case of either animals or plants, the fertility of anciently domesticated varieties, when crossed with a distinct species, with that of the wild parent-species when similarly crossed. No one has compared, for instance, the fertility of _Gallus bankiva_ and of the domesticated fowl, when crossed with a distinct species of Gallus or Phasianus; and the {110} experiment would in all cases be surrounded by many difficulties. Dureau de la Malle, who has so closely studied classical literature, states[240] that in the time of the Romans the common mule was produced with more difficulty than at the present day; but whether this statement may be trusted I know not. A much more important, though somewhat different, case is given by M. Groenland,[241] namely, that plants, known from their intermediate character and sterility to be hybrids between Ægilops and wheat, have perpetuated themselves under culture since 1857, _with a rapid but varying increase of fertility in each generation_. In the fourth generation the plants, still retaining their intermediate character, had become as fertile as common cultivated wheat. The indirect evidence in favour of the Pallasian doctrine appears to me to be extremely strong. In the earlier chapters I have attempted to show that our various breeds of dogs are descended from several wild species; and this probably is the case with sheep. There can no longer be any doubt that the Zebu or humped Indian ox belongs to a distinct species from European cattle: the latter, moreover, are descended from two or three forms, which may be called either species or wild races, but which co-existed in a state of nature and kept distinct. We have good evidence that our domesticated pigs belong to at least two specific types, _S. scrofa_ and _Indica_, which probably lived together in a wild state in South-eastern Europe. Now, a widely-extended analogy leads to the belief that if these several allied species, in the wild state or when first reclaimed, had been crossed, they would have exhibited, both in their first unions and in their hybrid offspring, some degree of sterility. Nevertheless the several domesticated races descended from them are now all, as far as can be ascertained, perfectly fertile together. If this reasoning be trustworthy, and it is apparently sound, we must admit the Pallasian doctrine that long-continued domestication tends to eliminate that sterility which is natural to species when crossed in their aboriginal state. {111} _On increased Fertility from Domestication and Cultivation._ Increased fertility from domestication, without any reference to crossing, may be here briefly considered. This subject bears indirectly on two or three points connected with the modification of organic beings. As Buffon long ago remarked,[242] domestic animals breed oftener in the year and produce more young at a birth than wild animals of the same species; they, also, sometimes breed at an earlier age. The case would hardly have deserved further notice, had not some authors lately attempted to show that fertility increases and decreases in an inverse ratio with the amount of food. This strange doctrine has apparently arisen from individual animals when supplied with an inordinate quantity of food, and from plants of many kinds when grown on excessively rich soil, as on a dunghill, becoming sterile; but to this latter point I shall have occasion presently to return. With hardly an exception, our domesticated animals, which have long been habituated to a regular and copious supply of food, without the labour of searching for it, are more fertile than the corresponding wild animals. It is notorious how frequently cats and dogs breed, and how many young they produce at a birth. The wild rabbit is said generally to breed four times yearly, and to produce from four to eight young; the tame rabbit breeds six or seven times yearly, and produces from four to eleven young. The ferret, though generally so closely confined, is more prolific than its supposed wild prototype. The wild sow is remarkably prolific, for she often breeds twice in the year, and produces from four to eight and sometimes even twelve young at a birth; but the domestic sow regularly breeds twice a year, and would breed oftener if permitted; and a sow that produces less than eight at a birth "is worth little, and the sooner she is fattened for the butcher the better." The amount of food affects the fertility even of the same individual: thus sheep, which on mountains never produce more than one lamb at a birth, when brought {112} down to lowland pastures frequently bear twins. This difference apparently is not due to the cold of the higher land, for sheep and other domestic animals are said to be extremely prolific in Lapland. Hard living, also, retards the period at which animals conceive; for it has been found disadvantageous in the northern islands of Scotland to allow cows to bear calves before they are four years old.[243] Birds offer still better evidence of increased fertility from domestication: the hen of the wild _Gallus bankiva_ lays from six to ten eggs, a number which would be thought nothing of with the domestic hen. The wild duck lays from five to ten eggs; the tame one in the course of the year from eighty to one hundred. The wild grey-lag goose lays from five to eight eggs; the tame from thirteen to eighteen, and she lays a second time; as Mr. Dixon has remarked, "high-feeding, care, and moderate warmth induce a habit of prolificacy which becomes in some measure hereditary." Whether the semi-domesticated dovecot pigeon is more fertile than the wild rock-pigeon _C. livia_, I know not; but the more thoroughly domesticated breeds are nearly twice as fertile as dovecots: the latter, however, when caged and highly fed, become equally fertile with house pigeons. The peahen alone of domesticated birds is rather more fertile, according to some accounts, when wild in its native Indian home, than when domesticated in Europe and exposed to our much colder climate.[244] With respect to plants, no one would expect wheat to tiller more, and each ear to produce more grain, in poor than in rich soil; or to get in poor soil a heavy crop of peas or beans. Seeds vary so much in number {113} that it is difficult to estimate them; but on comparing beds of carrots saved for seed in a nursery garden with wild plants, the former seemed to produce about twice as much seed. Cultivated cabbages yielded thrice as many pods by measure as wild cabbages from the rocks of South Wales. The excess of berries produced by the cultivated Asparagus in comparison with the wild plant is enormous. No doubt many highly cultivated plants, such as pears, pineapples, bananas, sugar-cane, &c., are nearly or quite sterile; and I am inclined to attribute this sterility to excess of food and to other unnatural conditions; but to this subject I shall presently recur. In some cases, as with the pig, rabbit, &c., and with those plants which are valued for their seed, the direct selection of the more fertile individuals has probably much increased their fertility; and in all cases this may have occurred indirectly, from the better chance of the more numerous offspring produced by the more fertile individuals having survived. But with cats, ferrets, and dogs, and with plants like carrots, cabbages, and asparagus, which are not valued for their prolificacy, selection can have played only a subordinate part; and their increased fertility must be attributed to the more favourable conditions of life under which they have long existed. * * * * * {114} CHAPTER XVII. ON THE GOOD EFFECTS OF CROSSING, AND ON THE EVIL EFFECTS OF CLOSE INTERBREEDING. DEFINITION OF CLOSE INTERBREEDING--AUGMENTATION OF MORBID TENDENCIES--GENERAL EVIDENCE ON THE GOOD EFFECTS DERIVED FROM CROSSING, AND ON THE EVIL EFFECTS FROM CLOSE INTERBREEDING--CATTLE, CLOSELY INTERBRED; HALF-WILD CATTLE LONG KEPT IN THE SAME PARKS--SHEEP--FALLOW-DEER--DOGS--RABBITS--PIGS--MAN, ORIGIN OF HIS ABHORRENCE OF INCESTUOUS MARRIAGES--FOWLS--PIGEONS--HIVE-BEES--PLANTS, GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS ON THE BENEFITS DERIVED FROM CROSSING--MELONS, FRUIT-TREES, PEAS, CABBAGES, WHEAT, AND FOREST-TREES--ON THE INCREASED SIZE OF HYBRID PLANTS, NOT EXCLUSIVELY DUE TO THEIR STERILITY--ON CERTAIN PLANTS WHICH EITHER NORMALLY OR ABNORMALLY ARE SELF-IMPOTENT, BUT ARE FERTILE, BOTH ON THE MALE AND FEMALE SIDE, WHEN CROSSED WITH DISTINCT INDIVIDUALS EITHER OF THE SAME OR ANOTHER SPECIES--CONCLUSION. The gain in constitutional vigour, derived from an occasional cross between individuals of the same variety, but belonging to distinct families, or between distinct varieties, has not been so largely or so frequently discussed, as have the evil effects of too close interbreeding. But the former point is the more important of the two, inasmuch as the evidence is more decisive. The evil results from close interbreeding are difficult to detect, for they accumulate slowly, and differ much in degree with different species; whilst the good effects which almost invariably follow a cross are from the first manifest. It should, however, be clearly understood that the advantage of close interbreeding, as far as the retention of character is concerned, is indisputable, and often outweighs the evil of a slight loss of constitutional vigour. In relation to the subject of domestication, the whole question is of some importance, as too close interbreeding interferes with the improvement of old races, and especially with the formation of new ones. It is important as indirectly bearing on Hybridism; and perhaps on the extinction of species, when any form has become so rare that only a few individuals {115} remain within a confined area. It bears in an important manner on the influence of free intercrossing, in obliterating individual differences, and thus giving uniformity of character to the individuals of the same race or species; for if additional vigour and fertility be thus gained, the crossed offspring will multiply and prevail, and the ultimate result will be far greater than otherwise would have occurred. Lastly, the question is of high interest, as bearing on mankind. Hence I shall discuss this subject at full length. As the facts which prove the evil effects of close interbreeding are more copious, though less decisive, than those on the good effects of crossing, I shall, under each group of beings, begin with the former. There is no difficulty in defining what is meant by a cross; but this is by no means easy in regard to "breeding in and in" or "too close interbreeding," because, as we shall see, different species of animals are differently affected by the same degree of interbreeding. The pairing of a father and daughter, or mother and son, or brothers and sisters, if carried on during several generations, is the closest possible form of interbreeding. But some good judges, for instance Sir J. Sebright, believe that the pairing of a brother and sister is closer than that of parents and children; for when the father is matched with his daughter he crosses, as is said, with only half his own blood. The consequences of close interbreeding carried on for too long a time, are, as is generally believed, loss of size, constitutional vigour, and fertility, sometimes accompanied by a tendency to malformation. Manifest evil does not usually follow from pairing the nearest relations for two, three, or even four generations; but several causes interfere with our detecting the evil--such as the deterioration being very gradual, and the difficulty of distinguishing between such direct evil and the inevitable augmentation of any morbid tendencies which may be latent or apparent in the related parents. On the other hand, the benefit from a cross, even when there has not been any very close interbreeding, is almost invariably at once conspicuous. There is reason to believe, and this was the opinion of that most experienced observer Sir J. Sebright,[245] that the evil effects of close interbreeding may be checked by the related individuals {116} being separated during a few generations and exposed to different conditions of life. That evil directly follows from any degree of close interbreeding has been denied by many persons; but rarely by any practical breeder; and never, as far as I know, by one who has largely bred animals which propagate their kind quickly. Many physiologists attribute the evil exclusively to the combination and consequent increase of morbid tendencies common to both parents: that this is an active source of mischief there can be no doubt. It is unfortunately too notorious that men and various domestic animals endowed with a wretched constitution, and with a strong hereditary disposition to disease, if not actually ill, are fully capable of procreating their kind. Close interbreeding, on the other hand, induces sterility; and this indicates something quite distinct from the augmentation of morbid tendencies common to both parents. The evidence immediately to be given convinces me that it is a great law of nature, that all organic beings profit from an occasional cross with individuals not closely related to them in blood; and that, on the other hand, long-continued close interbreeding is injurious. Various general considerations have had much influence in leading me to this conclusion; but the reader will probably rely more on special facts and opinions. The authority of experienced observers, even when they do not advance the grounds of their belief, is of some little value. Now almost all men who have bred many kinds of animals and have written on the subject, such as Sir J. Sebright, Andrew Knight, &c.,[246] have expressed the strongest conviction on the impossibility of long-continued close interbreeding. Those who have compiled works on agriculture, and have associated much with breeders, such as the sagacious Youatt, Low, &c., have strongly declared their opinion to the same effect. Prosper Lucas, trusting largely to French authorities, has come to a similar conclusion. The distinguished German agriculturist Hermann von Nathusius, who has written the most able treatise on this subject which I have met with, concurs; and as I shall have to quote from {117} this treatise, I may state that Nathusius is not only intimately acquainted with works on agriculture in all languages, and knows the pedigrees of our British breeds better than most Englishmen, but has imported many of our improved animals, and is himself an experienced breeder. Evidence of the evil effects of close interbreeding can most readily be acquired in the case of animals, such as fowls, pigeons, &c., which propagate quickly, and, from being kept in the same place, are exposed to the same conditions. Now I have inquired of very many breeders of these birds, and I have hitherto not met with a single man who was not thoroughly convinced that an occasional cross with another strain of the same sub-variety was absolutely necessary. Most breeders of highly-improved or fancy birds value their own strain, and are most unwilling, at the risk, in their opinion, of deterioration, to make a cross. The purchase of a first-rate bird of another strain is expensive, and exchanges are troublesome; yet all breeders, as far as I can hear, excepting those who keep large stocks at different places for the sake of crossing, are driven after a time to take this step. Another general consideration which has had great influence on my mind is, that with all hermaphrodite animals and plants, which it might have been thought would have perpetually fertilised themselves, and thus have been subjected for long ages to the closest interbreeding, there is no single species, as far as I can discover, in which the structure ensures self-fertilisation. On the contrary, there are in a multitude of cases, as briefly stated in the fifteenth chapter, manifest adaptations which favour or inevitably lead to an occasional cross between one hermaphrodite and another of the same species; and these adaptive structures are utterly purposeless, as far as we can see, for any other end. With _Cattle_ there can be no doubt that extremely close interbreeding may be long carried on, advantageously with respect to external characters and with no manifestly apparent evil as far as constitution is concerned. The same remark is applicable to sheep. Whether these animals have gradually been rendered less susceptible than others to this evil, in order to permit them to live in herds,--a habit which leads the old and vigorous males to expel all intruders, and in consequence often to pair with their own daughters, I will not pretend to decide. The case of Bakewell's Long-horns, which were closely interbred for a long period, has often been {118} quoted; yet Youatt says[247] the breed "had acquired a delicacy of constitution inconsistent with common management," and "the propagation of the species was not always certain." But the Shorthorns offer the most striking case of close interbreeding; for instance, the famous bull Favourite (who was himself the offspring of a half-brother and sister from Foljambe) was matched with his own daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter; so that the produce of this last union, or the great-great-granddaughter, had 15-16ths, or 93.75 per cent. of the blood of Favourite in her veins. This cow was matched with the bull Wellington, having 62.5 per cent. of Favourite blood in his veins, and produced Clarissa; Clarissa was matched with the bull Lancaster, having 68.75 of the same blood, and she yielded valuable offspring.[248] Nevertheless Collings, who reared these animals, and was a strong advocate for close breeding, once crossed his stock with a Galloway, and the cows from this cross realised the highest prices. Bates's herd was esteemed the most celebrated in the world. For thirteen years he bred most closely in and in; but during the next seventeen years, though he had the most exalted notion of the value of his own stock, he thrice infused fresh blood into his herd: it is said that he did this, not to improve the form of his animals, but on account of their lessened fertility. Mr. Bates's own view, as given by a celebrated breeder,[249] was, that "to breed in and in from a bad stock was ruin and devastation; yet that the practice may be safely followed within certain limits when the parents so related are descended from first-rate animals." We thus see that there has been extremely close interbreeding with Shorthorns; but Nathusius, after the most careful study of their pedigrees, says that he can find no instance of a breeder who has strictly followed this practice during his whole life. From this study and his own experience, he concludes that close interbreeding is necessary to ennoble the stock; but that in effecting this the greatest care is necessary, on account of the tendency to infertility and weakness. It may be added, that another high authority[250] asserts that many more calves are born cripples from Shorthorns than from other and less closely interbred races of cattle. Although by carefully selecting the best animals (as Nature effectually does by the law of battle) close interbreeding may be long carried on with cattle, yet the good effects of a cross between almost any two breeds is at once shown by the greater size and vigour of the offspring; as Mr. Spooner writes to me, "crossing distinct breeds certainly improves cattle for the butcher." Such crossed animals are of course of no value to the breeder; but they have been raised during many years in several {119} parts of England to be slaughtered;[251] and their merit is now so fully recognised, that at fat-cattle shows a separate class has been formed for their reception. The best fat ox at the great show at Islington in 1862 was a crossed animal. The half-wild cattle, which have been kept in British parks probably for 400 or 500 years, or even for a longer period, have been advanced by Culley and others as a case of long-continued interbreeding within the limits of the same herd without any consequent injury. With respect to the cattle at Chillingham, the late Lord Tankerville owned that they were bad breeders.[252] The agent, Mr. Hardy, estimates (in a letter to me, dated May, 1861) that in the herd of about fifty the average number annually slaughtered, killed by fighting, and dying, is about ten, or one in five. As the herd is kept up to nearly the same average number, the annual rate of increase must be likewise about one in five. The bulls, I may add, engage in furious battles, of which battles the present Lord Tankerville has given me a graphic description, so that there will always be rigorous selection of the most vigorous males. I procured in 1855 from Mr. D. Gardner, agent to the Duke of Hamilton, the following account of the wild cattle kept in the Duke's park in Lanarkshire, which is about 200 acres in extent. The number of cattle varies from sixty-five to eighty; and the number annually killed (I presume by all causes) is from eight to ten; so that the annual rate of increase can hardly be more than one in six. Now in South America, where the herds are half-wild, and therefore offer a nearly fair standard of comparison, according to Azara the natural increase of the cattle on an estancia is from one-third to one-fourth of the total number, or one in between three and four; and this, no doubt, applies exclusively to adult animals fit for consumption. Hence the half-wild British cattle which have long interbred within the limits of the same herd are relatively far less fertile. Although in an unenclosed country like Paraguay there must be some crossing between the different herds, yet even there the inhabitants believe that the occasional introduction of animals from distant localities is necessary to prevent "degeneration in size and diminution of fertility."[253] The decrease in size from ancient times in the Chillingham and Hamilton cattle must have been prodigious, for Professor Rütimeyer has shown that they are almost certainly the descendants of the gigantic _Bos primigenius_. No doubt this decrease in size may be largely attributed to less favourable conditions of life; yet animals roaming over large parks, and fed during severe winters, can hardly be considered as placed under very unfavourable conditions. With _Sheep_ there has often been long-continued interbreeding within the limits of the same flock; but whether the nearest relations have been matched so frequently as in the case of Shorthorn cattle, I do not know. The Messrs. Brown during fifty years have never infused fresh blood into their excellent flock of Leicesters. Since 1810 Mr. Barford has acted on the same principle with the Foscote flock. He asserts that half a century {120} of experience has convinced him that when two nearly related animals are quite sound in constitution, in-and-in breeding does not induce degeneracy; but he adds that he "does not pride himself on breeding from the nearest affinities." In France the Naz flock has been bred for sixty years without the introduction of a single strange ram.[254] Nevertheless, most great breeders of sheep have protested against close interbreeding prolonged for too great a length of time.[255] The most celebrated of recent breeders, Jonas Webb, kept five separate families to work on, thus "retaining the requisite distance of relationship between the sexes."[256] Although by the aid of careful selection the near interbreeding of sheep may be long continued without any manifest evil, yet it has often been the practice with farmers to cross distinct breeds to obtain animals for the butcher, which plainly shows that good is derived from this practice. Mr. Spooner sums up his excellent Essay on Crossing by asserting that there is a direct pecuniary advantage in judicious cross-breeding, especially when the male is larger than the female. A former celebrated breeder, Lord Somerville, distinctly states that his half-breeds from Ryelands and Spanish sheep were larger animals than either the pure Ryelands or pure Spanish sheep.[257] As some of our British parks are ancient, it occurred to me that there must have been long-continued close interbreeding with the fallow deer (_Cervus dama_) kept in them; but on inquiry I find that it is a common practice to infuse new blood by procuring bucks from other parks. Mr. Shirley,[258] who has carefully studied the management of deer, admits that in some parks there has been no admixture of foreign blood from a time beyond the memory of man. But he concludes "that in the end the constant breeding in-and-in is sure to tell to the disadvantage of the whole herd, though it may take a very long time to prove it; moreover, when we find, as is very constantly the case, that the introduction of fresh blood has been of the very greatest use to deer, both by improving their size and appearance, and particularly by being of service in removing the taint of 'rickback,' if not of other diseases, to which deer are sometimes subject when the blood has not been changed, there can, I think, be no doubt but that a judicious cross with a good stock is of the greatest consequence, and is indeed essential, sooner or later, to the prosperity of every well-ordered park." Mr. Meynell's famous foxhounds have been adduced, as showing that no ill effects follow from close interbreeding; and Sir J. Sebright ascertained from him that he frequently bred from father and daughter, mother and {121} son, and sometimes even from brothers and sisters. Sir J. Sebright, however, declares,[259] that by breeding _in-and-in_, by which he means matching brothers and sisters, he has actually seen strong spaniels become weak and diminutive lapdogs. The Rev. W. D. Fox has communicated to me the case of a small lot of bloodhounds, long kept in the same family, which had become very bad breeders, and nearly all had a bony enlargement in the tail. A single cross with a distinct strain of bloodhounds restored their fertility, and drove away the tendency to malformation in the tail. I have heard the particulars of another case with bloodhounds, in which the female had to be held to the male. Considering how rapid is the natural increase of the dog, it is difficult to understand the high price of most highly improved breeds, which almost implies long-continued close interbreeding, except on the belief that this process lessens fertility and increases liability to distemper and other diseases. A high authority, Mr. Scrope, attributes the rarity and deterioration in size of the Scotch deerhound (the few individuals now existing throughout the country being all related) in large part to close interbreeding. With all highly-bred animals there is more or less difficulty in getting them to procreate quickly, and all suffer much from delicacy of constitution; but I do not pretend that these effects ought to be wholly attributed to close interbreeding. A great judge of rabbits[260] says, "the long-eared does are often too highly bred or forced in their youth to be of much value as breeders, often turning out barren or bad mothers." Again: "Very long-eared bucks will also sometimes prove barren." These highly-bred rabbits often desert their young, so that it is necessary to have nurse-rabbits. With _Pigs_ there is more unanimity amongst breeders on the evil effects of close interbreeding than, perhaps, with any other large animal. Mr. Druce, a great and successful breeder of the Improved Oxfordshires (a crossed race), writes, "without a change of boars of a different tribe, but of the same breed, constitution cannot be preserved." Mr. Fisher Hobbs, the raiser of the celebrated Improved Essex breed, divided his stock into three separate families, by which means he maintained the breed for more than twenty years, "by judicious selection from the _three distinct families_."[261] Lord Western was the first importer of a Neapolitan boar and sow. "From this pair he bred in-and-in, until the breed was in danger of becoming extinct, a sure result (as Mr. Sidney remarks) of in-and-in breeding." Lord Western then crossed his Neapolitan pigs with the old Essex, and made the first great step towards the Improved Essex breed. Here is a more interesting case. Mr. J. Wright, well known as a breeder, crossed[262] the same boar with the daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter, and so on for seven generations. The result was, that in many instances the offspring failed to breed; in others they produced few that lived; and of the latter many were idiotic, without sense {122} even to suck, and when attempting to move could not walk straight. Now it deserves especial notice, that the two last sows produced by this long course of interbreeding were sent to other boars, and they bore several litters of healthy pigs. The best sow in external appearance produced during the whole seven generations was one in the last stage of descent; but the litter consisted of this one sow. She would not breed to her sire, yet bred at the first trial to a stranger in blood. So that, in Mr. Wright's case, long-continued and extremely close interbreeding did not affect the external form or merit of the young; but with many of them the general constitution and mental powers, and especially the reproductive functions, were seriously affected. Nathusius gives[263] an analogous and even more striking case: he imported from England a pregnant sow of the large Yorkshire breed, and bred the product closely in-and-in for three generations: the result was unfavourable, as the young were weak in constitution, with impaired fertility. One of the latest sows, which he esteemed a good animal, produced, when paired with her own uncle (who was known to be productive with sows of other breeds), a litter of six, and a second time a litter of only five weak young pigs. He then paired this sow with a boar of a small black breed, which he had likewise imported from England, and which boar, when matched with sows of his own breed, produced from seven to nine young: now, the sow of the large breed, which was so unproductive when paired with her own uncle, yielded to the small black boar, in the first litter twenty-one, and in the second litter eighteen young pigs; so that in one year she produced thirty-nine fine young animals! As in the case of several other animals already mentioned, even when no injury is perceptible from moderately close interbreeding, yet, to quote the words of Mr. Coate, a most successful breeder (who five times won the annual gold medal of the Smithfield Club Show for the best pen of pigs), "Crosses answer well for profit to the farmer, as you get more constitution and quicker growth; but for me, who sell a great number of pigs for breeding purposes, I find it will not do, as it requires many years to get anything like purity of blood again."[264] Before passing on to Birds, I ought to refer to man, though I am unwilling to enter on this subject, as it is surrounded by natural prejudices. It has moreover been discussed by various authors under many points of view.[265] Mr. Tylor[266] has shown {123} that with widely different races, in the most distant quarters of the world, marriages between relations--even between distant relations--have been strictly prohibited. A few exceptional cases can be specified, especially with royal families; and these have been enlarged on in a learned article[267] by Mr. W. Adam, and formerly in 1828 by Hofacker. Mr. Tylor is inclined to believe that the almost universal prohibition of closely-related marriages has arisen from their evil effects having been observed, and he ingeniously explains some apparent anomalies in the prohibition not extending equally to the relations on both the male and female side. He admits, however, that other causes, such as the extension of friendly alliances, may have come into play. Mr. W. Adam, on the other hand, concludes that related marriages are prohibited and viewed with repugnance from the confusion which would thus arise in the descent of property, and from other still more recondite reasons; but I cannot accept this view, seeing that the savages of Australia and South America,[268] who have no property to bequeath or fine moral feelings to confuse, hold the crime of incest in abhorrence. It would be interesting to know, if it could be ascertained, as throwing light on this question with respect to man, what occurs with the higher anthropomorphous apes--whether the young males and females soon wander away from their parents, or whether the old males become jealous of their sons and expel them, or whether any inherited instinctive feeling, from being beneficial, has been generated, leading the young males and females of the same family to prefer pairing with distinct families, and to dislike pairing with each other. A considerable body of evidence has already been advanced, showing that the offspring from parents which are not related are more vigorous and fertile than those from parents which are closely related; hence any slight feeling, arising from the sexual excitement of novelty or other cause, which led to the former rather than to the latter unions, would be augmented through natural selection, and thus might become instinctive; for those individuals which had an innate preference of this kind would increase in number. It seems more probable, that degraded savages should {124} thus unconsciously have acquired their dislike and even abhorrence of incestuous marriages, rather than that they should have discovered by reasoning and observation the evil results. The abhorrence occasionally failing is no valid argument against the feeling being instinctive, for any instinct may occasionally fail or become vitiated, as sometimes occurs with parental love and the social sympathies. In the case of man, the question whether evil follows from close interbreeding will probably never be answered by direct evidence, as he propagates his kind so slowly and cannot be subjected to experiment; but the almost universal practice of all races at all times of avoiding closely-related marriages is an argument of considerable weight; and whatever conclusion we arrive at in regard to the higher animals may be safely extended to man. Turning now to Birds: in the case of the _Fowl_ a whole array of authorities could be given against too close interbreeding. Sir J. Sebright positively asserts that he made many trials, and that his fowls, when thus treated, became long in the legs, small in the body, and bad breeders.[269] He produced the famous Sebright Bantams by complicated crosses, and by breeding in-and-in; and since his time there has been much close interbreeding with these Bantams; and they are now notoriously bad breeders. I have seen Silver Bantams, directly descended from his stock, which had become almost as barren as hybrids; for not a single chicken had been that year hatched from two full nests of eggs. Mr. Hewitt says that with these Bantams the sterility of the male stands, with rare exceptions, in the closest relation with their loss of certain secondary male characters: he adds, "I have noticed, as a general rule, that even the slightest deviation from feminine character in the tail of the male Sebright--say the elongation by only half an inch of the two principal tail-feathers--brings with it improved probability of increased fertility."[270] Mr. Wright states[271] that Mr. Clark, "whose fighting-cocks were so notorious, continued to breed from his own kind till they lost their disposition to fight, but stood to be cut up without making any resistance, and were so reduced in size as to be under those weights required for the best prizes; but on obtaining a cross from Mr. Leighton, they again resumed their former courage and weight." It should be borne in mind that game-cocks before they fought were always weighed, so that nothing was left to the imagination about any reduction or increase of {125} weight. Mr. Clark does not seem to have bred from brothers and sisters, which is the most injurious kind of union; and he found, after repeated trials, that there was a greater reduction in weight in the young from a father paired with his daughter, than from a mother with her son. I may add that Mr. Eyton, of Eyton, the well-known ornithologist, who is a large breeder of Grey Dorkings, informs me that they certainly diminish in size, and become less prolific, unless a cross with another strain is occasionally obtained. So it is with Malays, according to Mr. Hewitt, as far as size is concerned.[272] An experienced writer[273] remarks that the same amateur, as is well known, seldom long maintains the superiority of his birds; and this, he adds, undoubtedly is due to all his stock "being of the same blood;" hence it is indispensable that he should occasionally procure a bird of another strain. But this is not necessary with those who keep a stock of fowls at different stations. Thus, Mr. Ballance, who has bred Malays for thirty years, and has won more prizes with these birds than any other fancier in England, says that breeding in-and-in does not necessarily cause deterioration; "but all depends upon how this is managed." "My plan has been to keep about five or six distinct runs, and to rear about two hundred or three hundred chickens each year, and select the best birds from each run for crossing. I thus secure sufficient crossing to prevent deterioration."[274] We thus see that there is almost complete unanimity with poultry-breeders that, when fowls are kept at the same place, evil quickly follows from interbreeding carried on to an extent which would be disregarded in the case of most quadrupeds. On the other hand, it is a generally received opinion that cross-bred chickens are the hardiest and most easily reared.[275] Mr. Tegetmeier, who has carefully attended to poultry of all breeds, says[276] that Dorking hens, allowed to run with Houdan or Crevecoeur cocks, "produce in the early spring chickens that for size, hardihood, early maturity, and fitness for the market, surpass those of any pure breed that we have ever raised." Mr. Hewitt gives it as a general rule with fowls, that crossing the breed increases their size. He makes this remark after stating that hybrids from the pheasant and fowl are considerably larger than either progenitor: so again, hybrids from the male golden pheasant and hen common pheasant "are of far larger size than either parent-bird."[277] To this subject of the increased size of hybrids I shall presently return. With _Pigeons_, breeders are unanimous, as previously stated, that it is absolutely indispensable, notwithstanding the trouble and expense thus caused, occasionally to cross their much-prized birds with individuals of another strain, but belonging, of course, to the same variety. It deserves {126} notice that, when large size is one of the desired characters, as with pouters,[278] the evil effects of close interbreeding are much sooner perceived than when small birds, such as short-faced tumblers, are valued. The extreme delicacy of the high fancy breeds, such as these tumblers and improved English carriers, is remarkable; they are liable to many diseases, and often die in the egg or during the first moult; and their eggs have generally to be hatched under foster-mothers. Although these highly-prized birds have invariably been subjected to much close interbreeding, yet their extreme delicacy of constitution cannot perhaps be thus fully explained. Mr. Yarrell informed me that Sir J. Sebright continued closely interbreeding some owl-pigeons, until from their extreme sterility he as nearly as possible lost the whole family. Mr. Brent[279] tried to raise a breed of trumpeters, by crossing a common pigeon, and recrossing the daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter, and great-great-granddaughter, with the same male trumpeter, until he obtained a bird with 15/16ths of trumpeter's blood; but then the experiment failed, for "breeding so close stopped reproduction." The experienced Neumeister[280] also asserts that the offspring from dovecotes and various other breeds are "generally very fertile and hardy birds:" so again, MM. Boitard and Corbié,[281] after forty-five years' experience, recommend persons to cross their breeds for amusement; for, if they fail to make interesting birds, they will succeed under an economical point of view, "as it is found that mongrels are more fertile than pigeons of pure race." I will refer only to one other animal, namely, the Hive-bee, because a distinguished entomologist has advanced this as a case of inevitable close interbreeding. As the hive is tenanted by a single female, it might have been thought that her male and female offspring would always have bred together, more especially as bees of different hives are hostile to each other; a strange worker being almost always attacked when trying to enter another hive. But Mr. Tegetmeier has shown[282] that this instinct does not apply to drones, which are permitted to enter any hive; so that there is no _à priori_ improbability of a queen receiving a foreign drone. The fact of the union invariably and necessarily taking place on the wing, during the queen's nuptial flight, seems to be a special provision against continued interbreeding. However this may be, experience has shown, since the introduction of the yellow-banded Ligurian race into Germany and England, that bees freely cross: Mr. Woodbury, who introduced Ligurian bees into Devonshire, found during a single season that three stocks, at distances of from one to two miles from his hives, were crossed by his drones. In one case the Ligurian drones must have flown over the city of Exeter, and over several intermediate hives. On another occasion several common black queens were crossed by Ligurian drones at a distance of from one to three and a half miles.[283] {127} _Plants._ When a single plant of a new species is introduced into any country, if propagated by seed, many individuals will soon be raised, so that if the proper insects be present there will be crossing. With newly-introduced trees or other plants not propagated by seed we are not here concerned. With old-established plants it is an almost universal practice occasionally to make exchanges of seed, by which means individuals which have been exposed to different conditions of life,--and this, as we have seen, diminishes the evil from close interbreeding,--will occasionally be introduced into each district. Experiments have not been tried on the effects of fertilising flowers with their own pollen during _several_ generations. But we shall presently see that certain plants, either normally or abnormally, are more or less sterile, even in the first generation, when fertilised by their own pollen. Although nothing is directly known on the evil effects of long-continued close interbreeding with plants, the converse proposition that great good is derived from crossing is well established. With respect to the crossing of individuals belonging to the same sub-variety, Gärtner, whose accuracy and experience exceeded that of all other hybridisers, states[284] that he has many times observed good effects from this step, especially with exotic genera, of which the fertility is somewhat impaired, such as Passiflora, Lobelia, and Fuchsia. Herbert also says,[285] "I am inclined to think that I have derived advantage from impregnating the flower from which I wished to obtain seed with pollen from another individual of the same variety, or at least from another flower, rather than with its own." Again, Professor Lecoq asserts that he has ascertained that crossed offspring are more vigorous and robust than their parents.[286] General statements of this kind, however, can seldom be fully trusted; consequently I have begun a series of experiments, which, if they continue to give the same results as hitherto, will for ever settle the question of the good effects of crossing two distinct plants of the same variety, and of the evil effects of self-fertilisation. A clear light will thus also be thrown on the fact that flowers are invariably constructed so as to permit, or favour, or necessitate the union of two individuals. We shall clearly understand why monoecious and dioecious,--why dimorphic and trimorphic plants exist, and many other such cases. The plan which I have followed in my experiments is to grow plants in the same pot, or in pots of the same size, or close together in the open ground; to carefully exclude insects; and then to fertilise some of the flowers with pollen from the same flower, and others on the same plant with pollen from a distinct but adjoining plant. In many, but not all, of these experiments, the crossed plants yielded much more seed than the self-fertilised plants; and I have never seen the {128} reversed case. The self-fertilised and crossed seeds thus obtained were allowed to germinate in the same glass vessel on damp sand; and as the seeds successively germinated, they were planted in pairs on opposite sides of the same pot, with a superficial partition between them, and were placed so as to be equally exposed to the light. In other cases the self-fertilised and crossed seeds were simply sown on opposite sides of the same small pot. I have, in short, followed different plans, but in every case have taken all the precautions which I could think of, so that the two lots should be equally favoured. Now, I have carefully observed the growth of plants raised from crossed and self-fertilised seed, from their germination to maturity, in species of the following genera, namely, Brassica, Lathyrus, Lupinus, Lobelia, Lactuca, Dianthus, Myosotis, Petunia, Linaria, Calceolaria, Mimulus, and Ipomoea, and the difference in their powers of growth, and of withstanding in certain cases unfavourable conditions, was most manifest and strongly marked. It is of importance that the two lots of seed should be sown or planted on opposite sides of the same pot, so that the seedlings may struggle against each other; for if sown separately in ample and good soil, there is often but little difference in their growth. I will briefly describe the two most striking cases as yet observed by me. Six crossed and six self-fertilised seeds of _Ipomoea purpurea_, from plants treated in the manner above described, were planted as soon as they had germinated, in pairs on opposite sides of two pots, and rods of equal thickness were given them to twine up. Five of the crossed plants grew from the first more quickly than the opposed self-fertilised plants; the sixth, however, was weakly and was for a time beaten, but at last its sounder constitution prevailed and it shot ahead of its antagonist. As soon as each crossed plant reached the top of its seven-foot rod its fellow was measured, and the result was that, when the crossed plants were seven feet high, the self-fertilised had attained the average height of only five feet four and a half inches. The crossed plants flowered a little before, and more profusely than the self-fertilised plants. On opposite sides of another _small_ pot a large number of crossed and self-fertilised seeds were sown, so that they had to struggle for bare existence; a single rod was given to each lot: here again the crossed plants showed from the first their advantage; they never quite reached the summit of the seven-foot rod, but relatively to the self-fertilised plants their average height was as seven feet to five feet two inches. The experiment was repeated in the two following generations with plants raised from the self-fertilised and crossed plants, treated in exactly the same manner, and with nearly the same result. In the second generation, the crossed plants, which were again crossed, produced 121 seed-capsules, whilst the self-fertilised plants, again self-fertilised, produced only 84 capsules. Some flowers of the _Mimulus luteus_ were fertilised with their own pollen, and others were crossed with pollen from distinct plants growing in the same pot. The seeds after germinating were thickly planted on opposite sides of a pot. The seedlings were at first equal in height; but when the young crossed plants were exactly half an inch, the {129} self-fertilised plants were only a quarter of an inch high. But this inequality did not continue, for, when the crossed plants were four and a half inches high, the self-fertilised were three inches; and they retained the same relative difference till their growth was complete. The crossed plants looked far more vigorous than the uncrossed, and flowered before them; they produced also a far greater number of flowers, which yielded capsules (judging, however, from only a few) containing more seeds. As in the former case, the experiment was repeated in the same manner during the next two generations, and with exactly the same result. Had I not watched these plants of the Mimulus and Ipomoea during their whole growth, I could not have believed it possible, that a difference apparently so slight, as that of the pollen being taken from the same flower, and from a distinct plant growing in the same small pot, could have made so wonderful a difference in the growth and vigour of the plants thus produced. This, under a physiological point of view, is a most remarkable phenomenon. * * * * * With respect to the benefit derived from crossing distinct varieties, plenty of evidence has been published. Sageret[287] repeatedly speaks in strong terms of the vigour of melons raised by crossing different varieties, and adds that they are more easily fertilised than common melons, and produce numerous good seed. Here follows the evidence of an English gardener:[288] "I have this summer met with better success in my cultivation of melons, in an unprotected state, from the seeds of hybrids (_i.e._ mongrels) obtained by cross impregnation, than with old varieties. The offspring of three different hybridisations (one more especially, of which the parents were the two most dissimilar varieties I could select) each yielded more ample and finer produce than any one of between twenty and thirty established varieties." Andrew Knight[289] believed that his seedlings from crossed varieties of the apple exhibited increased vigour and luxuriance; and M. Chevreul[290] alludes to the extreme vigour of some of the crossed fruit-trees raised by Sageret. By crossing reciprocally the tallest and shortest peas, Knight[291] says, "I had in this experiment a striking instance of the stimulative effects of crossing the breeds; for the smallest variety, whose height rarely exceeded two feet, was increased to six feet; whilst the height of the large and luxuriant kind was very little diminished." Mr. Laxton gave me seed-peas produced from crosses between four distinct kinds; and the plants thus raised were extraordinarily vigorous, being in each case from one to two or three feet taller than the parent-forms growing close alongside them. {130} Wiegmann[292] made many crosses between several varieties of cabbage; and he speaks with astonishment of the vigour and height of the mongrels, which excited the amazement of all the gardeners who beheld them. Mr. Chaundy raised a great number of mongrels by planting together six distinct varieties of cabbage. These mongrels displayed an infinite diversity of character; "But the most remarkable circumstance was, that, while all the other cabbages and borecoles in the nursery were destroyed by a severe winter, these hybrids were little injured, and supplied the kitchen when there was no other cabbage to be had." Mr. Maund exhibited before the Royal Agricultural Society[293] specimens of crossed wheat, together with their parent varieties; and the editor states that they were intermediate in character, "united with that greater vigour of growth, which it appears, in the vegetable as in the animal world, is the result of a first cross." Knight also crossed several varieties of wheat,[294] and he says "that in the years 1795 and 1796, when almost the whole crop of corn in the island was blighted, the varieties thus obtained, and these only, escaped in this neighbourhood, though sown in several different soils and situations." Here is a remarkable case: M. Clotzsch[295] crossed _Pinus sylvestris_ and _nigricans_, _Quercus robur_ and _pedunculata, Alnus glutinosa_ and _incana_, _Ulmus campestris_ and _effusa_; and the cross-fertilised seeds, as well as seeds of the pure parent-trees, were all sown at the same time and in the same place. The result was, that after an interval of eight years, the hybrids were one-third taller than the pure trees! * * * * * The facts above given refer to undoubted varieties, excepting the trees crossed by Clotzsch, which are ranked by various botanists as strongly-marked races, sub-species, or species. That true hybrids raised from entirely distinct species, though they lose in fertility, often gain in size and constitutional vigour, is certain. It would be superfluous to quote any facts; for all experimenters, Kölreuter, Gärtner, Herbert, Sageret, Lecoq, and Naudin, have been struck with the wonderful vigour, height, size, tenacity of life, precocity, and hardiness of their hybrid productions. Gärtner[296] sums up his conviction on this head in the strongest terms. Kölreuter[297] gives numerous precise measurements of the weight and height of his hybrids in comparison with measurements of both parent-forms; and speaks with astonishment of their "_statura portentosa_," their "_ambitus vastissimus ac altitudo valde conspicua_." Some exceptions to the rule in the case of very sterile hybrids have, however, been noticed by Gärtner and {131} Herbert; but the most striking exceptions are given by Max Wichura,[298] who found that hybrid willows were generally tender in constitution, dwarf, and short-lived. Kölreuter explains the vast increase in the size of the roots, stems, &c., of his hybrids, as the result of a sort of compensation due to their sterility, in the same way as many emasculated animals are larger than the perfect males. This view seems at first sight extremely probable, and has been accepted by various authors;[299] but Gärtner[300] has well remarked that there is much difficulty in fully admitting it; for with many hybrids there is no parallelism between the degree of their sterility and their increased size and vigour. The most striking instances of luxuriant growth have been observed with hybrids which were not sterile in any extreme degree. In the genus Mirabilis, certain hybrids are unusually fertile, and their extraordinary luxuriance of growth, together with their enormous roots,[301] have been transmitted to their progeny. The increased size of the hybrids produced between the fowl and pheasant, and between the distinct species of pheasants, has been already noticed. The result in all cases is probably in part due to the saving of nutriment and vital force through the sexual organs not acting, or acting imperfectly, but more especially to the general law of good being derived from a cross. For it deserves especial attention that mongrel animals and plants, which are so far from being sterile that their fertility is often actually augmented, have, as previously shown, their size, hardiness, and constitutional vigour generally increased. It is not a little remarkable that an accession of vigour and size should thus arise under the opposite contingencies of increased and diminished fertility. It is a perfectly well ascertained fact[302] that hybrids will invariably breed more readily with either pure parent, and not rarely with a distinct species, than with each other. Herbert is inclined to explain even this fact by the advantage derived from a cross; but Gärtner more justly accounts for it by the pollen of the hybrid, and probably its ovules, being in some degree vitiated, whereas the pollen and ovules of both pure parents and of any third species are sound. Nevertheless there are some well-ascertained and remarkable facts, which, as we shall immediately see, show that the act of crossing in itself undoubtedly tends to increase or re-establish the fertility of hybrids. _On certain Hermaphrodite Plants which, either normally or abnormally, require to be fertilised by pollen from a distinct individual or species._ The facts now to be given differ from those hitherto detailed, as the self-sterility does not here result from long-continued, {132} close interbreeding. These facts are, however, connected with our present subject, because a cross with a distinct individual is shown to be either necessary or advantageous. Dimorphic and trimorphic plants, though they are hermaphrodites, must be reciprocally crossed, one set of forms by the other, in order to be fully fertile, and in some cases to be fertile in any degree. But I should not have noticed these plants, had it not been for the following cases given by Dr. Hildebrand:[303]-- _Primula sinensis_ is a reciprocally dimorphic species: Dr. Hildebrand fertilised twenty-eight flowers of both forms, each by pollen of the other form, and obtained the full number of capsules containing on an average 42.7 seed per capsule; here we have complete and normal fertility. He then fertilised forty-two flowers of both forms with pollen of the same form, but taken from a distinct plant, and all produced capsules containing on an average only 19.6 seed. Lastly, and here we come to our more immediate point, he fertilised forty-eight flowers of both forms with pollen of the same form, taken from the same flower, and now he obtained only thirty-two capsules, and these contained on an average 18.6 seed, or one less per capsule than in the former case. So that, with these illegitimate unions, the act of impregnation is less assured, and the fertility slightly less, when the pollen and ovules belong to the same flower, than when belonging to two distinct individuals of the same form. Dr. Hildebrand has recently made analogous experiments on the long-styled form of _Oxalis rosea_, with the same result.[304] It has recently been discovered that certain plants, whilst growing in their native country under natural conditions, cannot be fertilised with pollen from the same plant. They are sometimes so utterly self-impotent, that, though they can readily be fertilised by the pollen of a distinct species or even distinct genus, yet, wonderful as the fact is, they never produce a single seed by their own pollen. In some cases, moreover, the plant's own pollen and stigma mutually act on each other in a deleterious manner. Most of the facts to be given relate to Orchids, but I will commence with a plant belonging to a widely different family. Sixty-three flowers of _Corydalis cava_, borne on distinct plants, were fertilised by Dr. Hildebrand[305] with pollen from other plants of the same species; and fifty-eight capsules were obtained, including on an average {133} 4.5 seed in each. He then fertilised sixteen flowers produced by the same raceme, one with another, but obtained only three capsules, one of which alone contained any good seeds, namely, two in number. Lastly, he fertilised twenty-seven flowers, each with its own pollen; he left also fifty-seven flowers to be spontaneously fertilised, and this would certainly have ensued if it had been possible, for the anthers not only touch the stigma, but the pollen-tubes were seen by Dr. Hildebrand to penetrate it; nevertheless these eighty-four flowers did not produce a single seed-capsule! This whole case is highly instructive, as it shows how widely different the action of the same pollen is, according as it is placed on the stigma of the same flower, or on that of another flower on the same raceme, or on that of a distinct plant. With exotic Orchids several analogous cases have been observed, chiefly by Mr. John Scott.[306] _Oncidium sphacelatum_ has effective pollen, for with it Mr. Scott fertilised two distinct species; its ovules are likewise capable of impregnation, for they were readily fertilised by the pollen of _O. divaricatum_; nevertheless, between one and two hundred flowers fertilised by their own pollen did not produce a single capsule, though the stigmas were penetrated by the pollen-tubes. Mr. Robinson Munro, of the Royal Botanic Gardens of Edinburgh, also informs me (1864) that a hundred and twenty flowers of this same species were fertilised by him with their own pollen, and did not produce a capsule, but eight flowers fertilised by the pollen of _O. divaricatum_ produced four fine capsules: again, between two and three hundred flowers of _O. divaricatum_, fertilised by their own pollen, did not set a capsule, but twelve flowers fertilised by _O. flexuosum_ produced eight fine capsules: so that here we have three utterly self-impotent species, with their male and female organs perfect, as shown by their mutual fertilisation. In these cases fertilisation was effected only by the aid of a distinct species. But, as we shall presently see, distinct plants, raised from seed, of _Oncidium flexuosum_, and probably of the other species, would have been perfectly capable of fertilising each other, for this is the natural process. Again, Mr. Scott found that the pollen of a plant of _O. microchilum_ was good, for with it he fertilised two distinct species; he found its ovules good, for they could be fertilised by the pollen of one of these species, and by the pollen of a distinct plant of _O. microchilum_; but they could not be fertilised by pollen of the same plant, though the pollen-tubes penetrated the stigma. An analogous case has been recorded by M. Rivière,[307] with two plants of _O. Cavendishianum_, which were both self-sterile, but reciprocally fertilised each other. All these cases refer to the genus Oncidium, but Mr. Scott found that _Maxillaria atro-rubens_ was "totally insusceptible of fertilisation with its own pollen," but fertilised, and was fertilised by, a widely distinct species, viz. _M. squalens_. As these orchids had grown under unnatural conditions, in {134} hot-houses, I concluded without hesitation that their self-sterility was due to this cause. But Fritz Müller informs me that at Desterro, in Brazil, he fertilised above one hundred flowers of the above-mentioned _Oncidium flexuosum_, which is there endemic, with its own pollen, and with that taken from distinct plants; all the former were sterile, whilst those fertilised by pollen from any _other plant_ of the same species were fertile. During the first three days there was no difference in the action of the two kinds of pollen: that placed on the stigma of the same plant separated in the usual manner into grains, and emitted tubes which penetrated the column, and the stigmatic chamber shut itself; but the flowers alone which had been fertilised by pollen taken from a distinct plant produced seed-capsules. On a subsequent occasion these experiments were repeated on a large scale with the same result. Fritz Müller found that four other endemic species of Oncidium were in like manner utterly sterile with their own pollen, but fertile with that from any other plant: some of them likewise produced seed-capsules when impregnated with pollen of widely distinct genera, such as Leptotes, Cyrtopodium, and Rodriguezia! _Oncidium crispum_, however, differs from the foregoing species in varying much in its self-sterility; some plants producing fine pods with their own pollen, others failing to do so; in two or three instances, Fritz Müller observed that the pods produced by pollen taken from a distinct flower on the same plant, were larger than those produced by the flower's own pollen. In _Epidendrum cinnabarinum_, an orchid belonging to another division of the family, fine pods were produced by the plant's own pollen, but they contained by weight only about half as much seed as the capsules which had been fertilized by pollen from a distinct plant, and in one instance from a distinct species; moreover, a very large proportion, and in some cases nearly all the seed produced by the plant's own pollen, was embryonless and worthless. Some self-fertilized capsules of a Maxillaria were in a similar state. Another observation made by Fritz Müller is highly remarkable, namely, that with various orchids the plant's own pollen not only fails to impregnate the flower, but acts on the stigma, and is acted on, in an injurious or poisonous manner. This is shown by the surface of the stigma in contact with the pollen, and by the pollen itself, becoming in from three to five days dark brown, and then decaying. The discolouration and decay are not caused by parasitic cryptogams, which were observed by Fritz Müller in only a single instance. These changes are well shown by placing on the same stigma, at the same time, the plant's own pollen and that from a distinct plant of the same species, or of another species, or even of another and widely remote genus. Thus, on the stigma of _Oncidium flexuosum_, the plant's own pollen and that from a distinct plant were placed side by side, and in five days' time the latter was perfectly fresh, whilst the plant's own pollen was brown. On the other hand, when the pollen of a distinct plant of the _Oncidium flexuosum_, and of the _Epidendrum zebra_ (_nov. spec.?_), were placed together on the same stigma, they behaved in exactly the same manner, the grains separating, emitting tubes, and penetrating the stigma, so that the two {135} pollen-masses, after an interval of eleven days, could not be distinguished except by the difference of their caudicles, which, of course, undergo no change. Fritz Müller has, moreover, made a large number of crosses between orchids belonging to distinct species and genera, and he finds that in all cases when the flowers are not fertilised their footstalks first begin to wither; and the withering slowly spreads upwards until the germens fall off, after an interval of one or two weeks, and in one instance of between six and seven weeks; but even in this latter case, and in most other cases, the pollen and stigma remained in appearance fresh. Occasionally, however, the pollen becomes brownish, generally on the external surface, and not in contact with the stigma, as is invariably the case when the plant's own pollen is applied. Fritz Müller observed the poisonous action of the plant's own pollen in the above-mentioned _Oncidium flexuosum_, _O. unicorne, pubes_ (_?_), and in two other unnamed species. Also in two species of Rodriguezia, in two of Notylia, in one of Burlingtonia, and of a fourth genus in the same group. In all these cases, except the last, it was proved that the flowers were, as might have been expected, fertile with pollen from a distinct plant of the same species. Numerous flowers of one species of Notylia were fertilized with pollen from the same raceme; in two days' time they all withered, the germens began to shrink, the pollen-masses became dark brown, and not one pollen-grain emitted a tube. So that in this orchid the injurious action of the plant's own pollen is more rapid than with _Oncidium flexuosum_. Eight other flowers on the same raceme were fertilized with pollen from a distinct plant of the same species: two of these were dissected, and their stigmas were found to be penetrated by numberless pollen-tubes; and the germens of the other six flowers became well developed. On a subsequent occasion many other flowers were fertilized with their own pollen, and all fell off dead in a few days; whilst some flowers on the same raceme which had been left simply unfertilised adhered and long remained fresh. We have seen that in cross-unions between extremely distinct orchids the pollen long remains undecayed; but Notylia behaved in this respect differently; for when its pollen was placed on the stigma of _Oncidium flexuosum_, both the stigma and pollen quickly became dark brown, in the same manner as if the plant's own pollen had been applied. Fritz Müller suggests that, as in all these cases the plant's own pollen is not only impotent (thus effectually preventing self-fertilization), but likewise prevents, as was ascertained in the case of the Notylia and _Oncidium flexuosum_, the action of subsequently applied pollen from a distinct individual, it would be an advantage to the plant to have its own pollen rendered more and more deleterious; for the germens would thus quickly be killed, and, dropping off, there would be no further waste in nourishing a part which ultimately could be of no avail. Fritz Müller's discovery that a plant's own pollen and stigma in some cases act on each other as if mutually poisonous, is certainly most remarkable. We now come to cases closely analogous with those just {136} given, but different, inasmuch as individual plants alone of the species are self-impotent. This self-impotence does not depend on the pollen or ovules being in a state unfit for fertilisation, for both have been found effective in union with other plants of the same or of a distinct species. The fact of these plants having spontaneously acquired so peculiar a constitution, that they can be fertilised more readily by the pollen of a distinct species than by their own, is remarkable. These abnormal cases, as well as the foregoing normal cases, in which certain orchids, for instance, can be much more easily fertilised by the pollen of a distinct species than by their own, are exactly the reverse of what occurs with all ordinary species. For in these latter the two sexual elements of the same individual plant are capable of freely acting on each other; but are so constituted that they are more or less impotent when brought into union with the sexual elements of a distinct species, and produce more or less sterile hybrids. It would appear that the pollen or ovules, or both, of the individual plants which are in this abnormal state, have been affected in some strange manner by the conditions to which they themselves or their parents have been exposed; but whilst thus rendered self-sterile, they have retained the capacity common to most species of partially fertilizing and being partially fertilized by allied forms. However this may be, the subject, to a certain extent, is related to our general conclusion that good is derived from the act of crossing. Gärtner experimented on two plants of _Lobelia fulgens_, brought from separate places, and found[308] that their pollen was good, for he fertilised with it _L. cardinalis_ and _syphilitica_; their ovules were likewise good, for they were fertilised by the pollen of these same two species; but these two plants of _L. fulgens_ could not be fertilised by their own pollen, as can generally be effected with perfect ease with this species. Again, the pollen of a plant of _Verbascum nigrum_ grown in a pot was found by Gärtner[309] capable of fertilising _V. lychnitis_ and _V. Austriacum_; the ovules could be fertilised by the pollen of _V. thapsus_; but the flowers could not be fertilised by their own pollen. Kölreuter, also,[310] gives the case of three {137} garden plants of _Verbascum phoeniceum_, which bore during two years many flowers; these he successfully fertilised by the pollen of no less than four distinct species, but they produced not a seed with their own apparently good pollen; subsequently these same plants, and others raised from seed, assumed a strangely fluctuating condition, being temporarily sterile on the male or female side, or on both sides, and sometimes fertile on both sides; but two of the plants were perfectly fertile throughout the summer. It appears[311] that certain flowers on certain plants of _Lilium candidum_ can be fertilised more easily by pollen from a distinct individual than by their own. So, again, with the varieties of the potato. Tinzmann,[312] who made many trials with this plant, says that pollen from another variety sometimes "exerts a powerful influence, and I have found sorts of potatoes which would not bear seed from impregnation with the pollen of their own flowers, would bear it when impregnated with other pollen." It does not, however, appear to have been proved that the pollen which failed to act on the flower's own stigma was in itself good. In the genus Passiflora it has long been known that several species do not produce fruit, unless fertilised by pollen taken from distinct species: thus, Mr. Mowbray[313] found that he could not get fruit from _P. alata_ and _racemosa_ except by reciprocally fertilising them with each other's pollen. Similar facts have been observed in Germany and France;[314] and I have received two authentic accounts of _P. quadrangularis_, which never produced fruit with its own pollen, but would do so freely when fertilised in one case with the pollen of _P. coerulea_, and in another case with that of _P. edulis_. So again, with respect to _P. laurifolia_, a cultivator of much experience has recently remarked[315] that the flowers "must be fertilised with the pollen of _P. coerulea_, or of some other common kind, as their own pollen will not fertilise them." But the fullest details on this subject have been given by Mr. Scott:[316] plants of _Passiflora racemosa_, _coerulea_, and _alata_ flowered profusely during many years in the Botanic Gardens of Edinburgh, and, though repeatedly fertilised by Mr. Scott and by others with their own pollen, never produced any seed; yet this occurred at once with all three species when they were crossed together in various ways. But in the case of _P. coerulea_, three plants, two of which grew in the Botanic Gardens, were all rendered fertile, merely by impregnating the one with pollen of the other. The same result was attained in the same manner with _P. alata_, but only with one plant out of three. As so many self-sterile species have been mentioned, it may be stated that in the case of _P. gracilis_, which is an annual, the flowers are nearly as fertile with their own pollen as with that from a distinct plant; thus sixteen flowers {138} spontaneously self-fertilised produced fruit, each containing on an average 21.3 seed, whilst fruit from fourteen crossed flowers contained 24.1 seed. Returning to _P. alata_, I have received (1866) some interesting details from Mr. Robinson Munro. Three plants, including one in England, have already been mentioned which were inveterately self-sterile, and Mr. Munro informs me of several others which, after repeated trials during many years, have been found in the same predicament. At some other places, however, this species fruits readily when fertilised with its own pollen. At Taymouth Castle there is a plant which was formerly grafted by Mr. Donaldson on a distinct species, name unknown, and ever since the operation it has produced fruit in abundance by its own pollen; so that this small and unnatural change in the state of this plant has restored its self-fertility! Some of the seedlings from the Taymouth Castle plant were found to be not only sterile with their own pollen, but with each other's pollen, and with the pollen of distinct species. Pollen from the Taymouth plant failed to fertilise certain plants of the same species, but was successful on one plant in the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens. Seedlings were raised from this latter union, and some of their flowers were fertilised by Mr. Munro with their own pollen; but they were found to be as self-impotent as the mother-plant had always proved, except when fertilised by the grafted Taymouth plant, and except, as we shall see, when fertilised by her own seedlings. For Mr. Munro fertilised eighteen flowers on the self-impotent mother-plant with pollen from these her own self-impotent seedlings, and obtained, remarkable as the fact is, eighteen fine capsules full of excellent seed! I have met with no case in regard to plants which shows so well as this of _P. alata_, on what small and mysterious causes complete fertility or complete sterility depends. The facts hitherto given relate to the much-lessened or completely destroyed fertility of pure species when impregnated with their own pollen, in comparison with their fertility when impregnated by distinct individuals or distinct species; but closely analogous facts have been observed with hybrids. Herbert states[317] that having in flower at the same time nine hybrid Hippeastrums, of complicated origin, descended from several species, he found that "almost every flower touched with pollen from another cross produced seed abundantly, and those which were touched with their own pollen either failed entirely, or formed slowly a pod of inferior size, with fewer seeds." In the 'Horticultural Journal' he adds that, "the admission of the pollen of another cross-bred Hippeastrum (however complicated the cross) to any _one_ flower of the number, is almost sure to check the fructification of the others." In a letter written to me in 1839, Dr. Herbert says that he had already tried these experiments during five consecutive years, and he subsequently repeated them, with the same invariable result. {139} He was thus led to make an analogous trial on a pure species, namely, on the _Hippeastrum aulicum_, which he had lately imported from Brazil: this bulb produced four flowers, three of which were fertilised by their own pollen, and the fourth by the pollen of a triple cross between _H. bulbulosum_, _reginæ_, and _vittatum_; the result was, that "the ovaries of the three first flowers soon ceased to grow, and after a few days perished entirely: whereas the pod impregnated by the hybrid made vigorous and rapid progress to maturity, and bore good seed, which vegetated freely." This is, indeed, as Herbert remarks, "a strange truth," but not so strange as it then appeared. As a confirmation of these statements, I may add that Mr. M. Mayes,[318] after much experience in crossing the species of Amaryllis (Hippeastrum), says, "neither the species nor the hybrids will, we are well aware, produce seed so abundantly from their own pollen as from that of others." So, again, Mr. Bidwell, in New South Wales,[319] asserts that _Amaryllis belladonna_ bears many more seeds when fertilised by the pollen of _Brunswigia_ (_Amaryllis_ of some authors) _Josephinæ_ or of _B. multiflora_, than when fertilised by its own pollen. Mr. Beaton dusted four flowers of a Cyrtanthus with their own pollen, and four with the pollen of _Vallota_ (_Amaryllis_) _purpurea_; on the seventh day "those which received their own pollen slackened their growth, and ultimately perished; those which were crossed with the Vallota held on."[320] These latter cases, however, relate to uncrossed species, like those before given with respect to Passiflora, Orchids, &c., and are here referred to only because the plants belong to the same group of Amaryllidaceæ. In the experiments on the hybrid Hippeastrums, if Herbert had found that the pollen of two or three kinds alone had been more efficient on certain kinds than their own pollen, it might have been argued that these, from their mixed parentage, had a closer mutual affinity than the others; but this explanation is inadmissible, for the trials were made reciprocally backwards and forwards on nine different hybrids; and a cross, whichever way taken, always proved highly beneficial. I can add a striking and analogous case from experiments made by the Rev. A. Rawson, of Bromley Common, with some complex hybrids of Gladiolus. This skilful horticulturist possessed a number of French varieties, differing from each other only in the colour and size of the flowers, all descended from Gandavensis, a well-known old hybrid, said to be descended from _G. Natalensis_ by the pollen of _G. oppositiflorus_.[321] Mr. Rawson, after repeated trials, found that none of the varieties would set seed with their own pollen, although {140} taken from distinct plants of the same variety, which had, of course, been propagated by bulbs, but that they all seeded freely with pollen from any other variety. To give two examples: Ophir did not produce a capsule with its own pollen, but when fertilised with that of Janire, Brenchleyensis, Vulcain, and Linné, it produced ten fine capsules; but the pollen of Ophir was good, for when Linné was fertilised by it seven capsules were produced. This later variety, on the other hand, was utterly barren with its own pollen, which we have seen was perfectly efficient on Ophir. Altogether, Mr. Rawson, in the year 1861, fertilised twenty-six flowers borne by four varieties with pollen taken from other varieties, and every single flower produced a fine seed-capsule; whereas fifty-two flowers on the same plants, fertilised at the same time with their own pollen, did not yield a single seed-capsule. Mr. Rawson fertilised, in some cases, the alternate flowers, and in other cases all those down one side of the spike, with pollen of other varieties, and the remaining flowers with their own pollen; I saw these plants when the capsules were nearly mature, and their curious arrangement at once brought full conviction to the mind that an immense advantage had been derived from crossing these hybrids. Lastly, I have heard from Dr. E. Bornet, of Antibes, who has made numerous experiments in crossing the species of Cistus, but as not yet published the results, that, when any of these hybrids are fertile, they may be said to be, in regard to function, dioecious; "for the flowers are always sterile when the pistil is fertilised by pollen taken from the same flower or from flowers on the same plant. But they are often fertile if pollen be employed from a distinct individual of the same hybrid nature, or from a hybrid made by a reciprocal cross." _Conclusion._--The facts just given, which show that certain plants are self-sterile, although both sexual elements are in a fit state for reproduction when united with distinct individuals of the same or other species, appear at first sight opposed to all analogy. The sexual elements of the same flower have become, as already remarked, differentiated in relation to each other, almost like those of two distinct species. With respect to the species which, whilst living under their natural conditions, have their reproductive organs in this peculiar state, we may conclude that it has been naturally acquired for the sake of effectually preventing self-fertilisation. The case is closely analous with dimorphic and trimorphic plants, which can be fully fertilised only by plants belong to the opposite form, and not, as in the foregoing cases, in differently by any other plant. Some of these dimorphic plants are completely sterile with pollen taken from the same plant or from the same {141} form. It is interesting to observe the graduated series from plants which, when fertilised by their own pollen, yield the full number of seed, but with the seedlings a little dwarfed in stature--to plants which when self-fertilised yield few seeds--to those with yield none--and, lastly, to those in which the plant's own pollen and stigma act on each other like poison. This peculiar state of the reproductive organs, when occurring in certain individuals alone, is evidently abnormal; and as it chiefly affects exotic plants, or indigenous plants cultivated in pots, we may attribute it to some change in the conditions of life, acting on the plants themselves or on their parents. The self-impotent _Passiflora alata_, which recovered its self-fertility after having been grafted on a distinct stock, shows how small a change is sufficient to act powerfully on the reproductive system. The possibility of a plant becoming under culture self-impotent is interesting as throwing light on the occurrence of this same condition in natural species. A cultivated plant in this state generally remains so during its whole life; and from this fact we may infer that the state is probably congenital. Kölreuter, however, has described some plants of Verbascum which varied in this respect even during the same season. As in all the normal cases, and in many, probably in most, of the abnormal cases, any two self-impotent plants can reciprocally fertilize each other, we may infer that a very slight difference in the nature of their sexual elements suffices to give fertility; but in other instances, as with some Passifloras and the hybrid Gladioli, a greater degree of differentiation appears to be necessary, for with these plants fertility is gained only by the union of distinct species, or of hybrids of distinct parentage. These facts all point to the same general conclusion, namely, that good is derived from a cross between individuals, which either innately, or from exposure to dissimilar conditions, have come to differ in sexual constitution. Exotic animals confined in menageries are sometimes in nearly the same state as the above-described self-impotent plants; for, as we shall see in the following chapter, certain monkeys, the larger carnivora, several finches, geese, and pheasants, cross together, quite as freely as, or even more freely than, the individuals of the same species breed together. Cases will, {142} also, be given of sexual incompatibility between certain male and female domesticated animals, which, nevertheless, are fertile when matched with any other individual of the same kind. In the early part of this chapter it was shown that the crossing of distinct forms, whether closely or distantly allied, gives increased size and constitutional vigour, and, except in the case of crossed species, increased fertility, to the offspring. The evidence rests on the universal testimony of breeders (for it should be observed that I am not here speaking of the evil results of close interbreeding), and is practically exemplified in the higher value of cross-bred animals for immediate consumption. The good results of crossing have also been demonstrated, in the case of some animals and of numerous plants, by actual weight and measurement. Although animals of pure blood will obviously be deteriorated by crossing, as far as their characteristic qualities are concerned, there seems to be no exception to the rule that advantages of the kind just mentioned are thus gained, even when there has not been any previous close interbreeding. The rule applies to all animals, even to cattle and sheep, which can long resist breeding in-and-in between the nearest blood-relations. It applies to individuals of the same sub-variety but of distinct families, to varieties or races, to sub-species, as well as to quite distinct species. In this latter case, however, whilst size, vigour, precocity, and hardiness are, with rare exceptions, gained, fertility, in a greater or less degree, is lost; but the gain cannot be exclusively attributed to the principle of compensation; for there is no close parallelism between the increased size and vigour of the offspring and their sterility. Moreover it has been clearly proved that mongrels which are perfectly fertile gain these same advantages as well as sterile hybrids. The evil consequences of long-continued close interbreeding are not so easily recognised as the good effects from crossing, for the deterioration is gradual. Nevertheless it is the general opinion of those who have had most experience, especially with animals which propagate quickly, that evil does inevitably follow sooner or later, but at different rates with different animals. No doubt a false belief may widely prevail like a superstition; yet it is difficult to suppose that so many acute and original {143} observers have all been deceived at the expense of much cost and trouble. A male animal may sometimes be paired with his daughter, granddaughter, and so on, even for seven generations, without any manifest bad result; but the experiment has never been tried of matching brothers and sisters, which is considered the closest form of interbreeding, for an equal number of generations. There is good reason to believe that by keeping the members of the same family in distinct bodies, especially if exposed to somewhat different conditions of life, and by occasionally crossing these families, the evil results may be much diminished, or quite eliminated. These results are loss of constitutional vigour, size, and fertility; but there is no necessary deterioration in the general form of the body, or in other good qualities. We have seen that with pigs first-rate animals have been produced after long-continued close interbreeding, though they had become extremely infertile when paired with their near relations. The loss of fertility, when it occurs, seems never to be absolute, but only relative to animals of the same blood; so that this sterility is to a certain extent analogous with that of self-impotent plants which cannot be fertilised by their own pollen, but are perfectly fertile with pollen of any other plant of the same species. The fact of infertility of this peculiar nature being one of the results of long-continued interbreeding, shows that interbreeding does not act merely by combining and augmenting various morbid tendencies common to both parents; for animals with such tendencies, if not at the time actually ill, can generally propagate their kind. Although offspring descended from the nearest blood-relations are not necessarily deteriorated in structure, yet some authors[322] believe that they are eminently liable to malformations; and this is not improbable, as everything which lessens the vital powers acts in this manner. Instances of this kind have been recorded in the case of pigs, bloodhounds, and some other animals. Finally, when we consider the various facts now given which plainly show that good follows from crossing, and less plainly {144} that evil follows from close interbreeding, and when we bear in mind that throughout the whole organic world elaborate provision has been made for the occasional union of distinct individuals, the existence of a great law of nature is, if not proved, at least rendered in the highest degree probable; namely, that the crossing of animals and plants which are not closely related to beach other is highly beneficial or even necessary, and that interbreeding prolonged during many generations is highly injurious. * * * * * {145} CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE: STERILITY FROM VARIOUS CAUSES. ON THE GOOD DERIVED FROM SLIGHT CHANGES IN THE CONDITIONS OF LIFE--STERILITY FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS, IN ANIMALS, IN THEIR NATIVE COUNTRY AND IN MENAGERIES--MAMMALS, BIRDS, AND INSECTS--LOSS OF SECONDARY SEXUAL CHARACTERS AND OF INSTINCTS--CAUSES OF STERILITY--STERILITY OF DOMESTICATED ANIMALS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS--SEXUAL INCOMPATIBILITY OF INDIVIDUAL ANIMALS--STERILITY OF PLANTS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--CONTABESCENCE OF THE ANTHERS--MONSTROSITIES AS A CAUSE OF STERILITY--DOUBLE FLOWERS--SEEDLESS FRUIT--STERILITY FROM THE EXCESSIVE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGANS OF VEGETATION--FROM LONG-CONTINUED PROPAGATION BY BUDS--INCIPIENT STERILITY THE PRIMARY CAUSE OF DOUBLE FLOWERS AND SEEDLESS FRUIT. _On the Good derived from slight Changes in the Conditions of Life._--In considering whether any facts were known which might throw light on the conclusion arrived at in the last chapter, namely, that benefits ensue from crossing, and that it is a law of nature that all organic beings should occasionally cross, it appeared to me probable that the good derived from slight changes in the conditions of life, from being an analogous phenomenon, might serve this purpose. No two individuals, and still less no two varieties, are absolutely alike in constitution and structure; and when the germ of one is fertilised by the male element of another, we may believe that it is acted on in a somewhat similar manner as an individual when exposed to slightly changed conditions. Now, every one must have observed the remarkable influence on convalescents of a change of residence, and no medical man doubts the truth of this fact. Small farmers who hold but little land are convinced that their cattle derive great benefit from a change of pasture. In the case of plants, the evidence is strong that a great advantage is derived from exchanging seeds, tubers, bulbs, and cuttings from one soil or place to another as different as possible. {146} The belief that plants are thus benefited, whether or not well founded, has been firmly maintained from the time of Columella, who wrote shortly after the Christian era, to the present day; and it now prevails in England, France, and Germany.[323] A sagacious observer, Bradley, writing in 1724,[324] says, "When we once become Masters of a good Sort of Seed, we should at least put it into Two or Three Hands, where the Soils and Situations are as different as possible; and every Year the Parties should change with one another; by which Means, I find the Goodness of the Seed will be maintained for several Years. For Want of this Use many Farmers have failed in their Crops and been great Losers." He then gives his own practical experience on this head. A modern writer[325] asserts, "Nothing can be more clearly established in agriculture than that the continual growth of any one variety in the same district makes it liable to deterioration either in quality or quantity." Another writer states that he sowed close together in the same field two lots of wheat-seed, the product of the same original stock, one of which had been grown on the same land, and the other at a distance, and the difference in favour of the crop from the latter seed was remarkable. A gentleman in Surrey who has long made it his business to raise wheat to sell for seed, and who has constantly realised in the market higher prices than others, assures me that he finds it indispensable continually to change his seed; and that for this purpose he keeps two farms differing much in soil and elevation. With respect to the tubers of the potato, I find that at the present day the practice of exchanging sets is almost everywhere followed. The great growers of potatoes in Lancashire formerly used to get tubers from Scotland, but they found that "a change from the moss-lands, and _vice versâ_, was generally sufficient." In former times in France the crop of potatoes in the Vosges had become reduced in the course of fifty or sixty years in the proportion from 120-150 to 30-40 bushels; and the famous Oberlin attributed the surprising good which he effected in large part to changing the sets.[326] A well-known practical gardener, Mr. Robson[327] positively states that he has himself witnessed decided advantage from obtaining bulbs of the onion, tubers of the potato, and various seeds, all of the same kind, from different soils and distant parts of England. He further states that with {147} plants propagated by cuttings, as with the Pelargonium, and especially the Dahlia, manifest advantage is derived from getting plans of the same variety, which have been cultivated in another place; or, "where the extent of the place allows, to take cuttings from one description of soil to plant on another, so as to afford the change that seems so necessary to the well-being of the plants." He maintains that after a time an exchange of this nature is "forced on the grower, whether he be prepared for it or not." Similar remarks have been made by another excellent gardener, Mr. Fish, namely, that cuttings of the same variety of Calceolaria, which he obtained from a neighbour, "showed much greater vigour than some of his own that were treated in exactly the same manner," and he attributed this solely to his own plants having become "to a certain extent worn out or tired of their quarters." Something of this kind apparently occurs in grafting and budding fruit-trees; for, according to Mr. Abbey, grafts or buds generally take on a distinct variety or even species, or on a stock previously grafted, with greater facility than on stocks raised from seeds of the variety which is to be grafted; and he believes this cannot be altogether explained by the stocks in question being better adapted to the soil and climate of the place. It should, however, be added, that varieties grafted or budded on very distinct kinds, though they may take more readily and grow at first more vigorously than when grafted on closely allied stocks, afterwards often become unhealthy. I have studied M. Tessier's careful and elaborate experiments,[328] made to disprove the common belief that good is derived from a change of seed; and he certainly shows that the same seed may with care be cultivated on the same farm (it is not stated whether on exactly the same soil) for ten consecutive years without loss. Another excellent observer, Colonel Le Couteur,[329] has come to the same conclusion; but then he expressly adds, if the same seed be used, "that which is grown on land manured from the mixen one year becomes seed for land prepared with lime, and that again becomes seed for land dressed with ashes, then for land dressed with mixed manure, and so on." But this in effect is a systematic exchange of seed, within the limits of the same farm. On the whole the belief, which has long been held by many skilful cultivators, that good follows from exchanging seed, tubers, &c., seems to be fairly well founded. Considering the small size of most seeds, it seems hardly credible that the advantage thus derived can be due to the seeds obtaining in one soil some chemical element deficient in the other soil. As plants after once germinating naturally become fixed to the same spot, it might have been anticipated that they would show the good effects of a change more plainly than animals, which continually wander about; and this apparently is the {148} case. Life depending on, or consisting in, an incessant play of the most complex forces, it would appear that their action is in some way stimulated by slight changes in the circumstances to which each organism is exposed. All forces throughout nature, as Mr. Herbert Spencer[330] remarks, tend towards an equilibrium, and for the life of each being it is necessary that this tendency should be checked. If these views and the foregoing facts can be trusted, they probably throw light, on the one hand, on the good effects of crossing the breed, for the germ will be thus slightly modified or acted on by new forces; and on the other hand, on the evil effects of close interbreeding prolonged during many generations, during which the germ will be acted on by a male having almost identically the same constitution. _Sterility from changed Conditions of Life._ I will now attempt to show that animals and plants, when removed from their natural conditions, are often rendered in some degree infertile or completely barren; and this occurs even when the conditions have not been greatly changed. This conclusion is not necessarily opposed to that at which we have just arrived, namely, that lesser changes of other kinds are advantageous to organic beings. Our present subject is of some importance, from having an intimate connexion with the causes of variability. Indirectly it perhaps bears on the sterility of species when crossed: for as, on the one hand, slight changes in the conditions of life are favourable to plants and animals, and the crossing of varieties adds to the size, vigour, and fertility of their offspring; so, on the other hand, certain other changes in the conditions of life cause sterility; and as this likewise ensues from crossing much-modified forms or species, we have a parallel and double series of facts, which apparently stand in close relation to each other. It is notorious that many animals, though perfectly tamed, {149} refuse to breed in captivity. Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire[331] consequently has drawn a broad distinction between tamed animals which will not breed under captivity, and truly domesticated animals which breed freely--generally more freely, as shown in the sixteenth chapter, than in a state of nature. It is possible and generally easy to tame most animals; but experience has shown that it is difficult to get them to breed regularly, or even at all. I shall discuss this subject in detail; but will give only those cases which seem most illustrative. My materials are derived from notices scattered through various works, and especially from a Report, drawn up for me by the kindness of the officers of the Zoological Society of London, which has especial value, as it records all the cases, during nine years from 1838-46, in which the animals were seen to couple but produced no offspring, as well as the cases in which they never, as far as known, coupled. This MS. Report I have corrected by the annual Reports subsequently published. Many facts are given on the breeding of the animals in that magnificent work, 'Gleanings from the Menageries of Knowsley Hall,' by Dr. Gray. I made, also, particular inquiries from the experienced keeper of the birds in the old Surrey Zoological Gardens. I should premise that a slight change in the treatment of animals sometimes makes a great difference in their fertility; and it is probable that the results observed in different menageries would differ. Indeed some animals in our Zoological Gardens have become more productive since the year 1846. It is, also, manifest from F. Cuvier's account of the Jardin des Plantes,[332] that the animals formerly bred much less freely there than with us; for instance, in the Duck tribe, which is highly prolific, only one species had at that period produced young. The most remarkable cases, however, are afforded by animals kept in their native country, which, though perfectly tamed, quite healthy, and allowed some freedom, are absolutely incapable of breeding. Rengger,[333] who in Paraguay particularly attended to this subject, specifies six quadrupeds in this condition; and he mentions two or three others which most rarely {150} breed. Mr. Bates, in his admirable work on the Amazons, strongly insists on similar cases;[334] and he remarks, that the fact of thoroughly tamed native mammals and birds not breeding when kept by the Indians, cannot be wholly accounted for by their negligence or indifference, for the turkey is valued by them, and the fowl has been adopted by the remotest tribes. In almost every part of the world--for instance, in the interior of Africa, and in several of the Polynesian islands--the natives are extremely fond of taming the indigenous quadrupeds and birds; but they rarely or never succeed in getting them to breed. The most notorious case of an animal not breeding in captivity is that of the elephant. Elephants are kept in large numbers in their native Indian home, live to old age, and are vigorous enough for the severest labour; yet, with one or two exceptions, they have never been known even to couple, though both males and females have their proper periodical seasons. If, however, we proceed a little eastward to Ava, we hear from Mr. Crawfurd[335] that their "breeding in the domestic state, or at least in the half-domestic state in which the female elephants are generally kept, is of every-day occurrence;" and Mr. Crawfurd informs me that he believes that the difference must be attributed solely to the females being allowed to roam the forests with some degree of freedom. The captive rhinoceros, on the other hand, seems from Bishop Heber's account[336] to breed in India far more readily than the elephant. Four wild species of the horse genus have bred in Europe, though here exposed to a great change in their natural habits of life; but the species have generally been crossed one with another. Most of the members of the pig family breed readily in our menageries: even the Red River hog (_Potamochoerus penicillatus_), from the sweltering plains of West Africa, has bred twice in the Zoological Gardens. Here also the Peccary (_Dicotyles torquatus_) has bred several times; but another species, the _D. labiatus_, though rendered so tame as to be half-domesticated, breeds so rarely in its native country of Paraguay, that according to Rengger[337] the fact requires confirmation. Mr. Bates remarks that the tapir, though often kept tame in Amazonia by the Indians, never breeds. Ruminants generally breed quite freely in England, though brought from widely different climates, as may be seen in the Annual Reports of the Zoological Gardens, and in the Gleanings from Lord Derby's menagerie. The Carnivora, with the exception of the Plantigrade division, generally breed (though with capricious exceptions) almost as freely as ruminants. Many species of Felidæ have bred in various menageries, although imported from various climates and closely confined. Mr. Bartlett, the present superintendent of the Zoological Gardens,[338] remarks that the lion appears to breed more frequently and to bring forth more young at a birth than any other species of the family. He adds that the tiger has rarely bred; {151} "but there are several well-authenticated instances of the female tiger breeding with the lion." Strange as the fact may appear, many animals under confinement unite with distinct species and produce hybrids quite as freely as, or even more freely than, with their own species. On inquiring from Dr. Falconer and others, it appears that the tiger when confined in India does not breed, though it has been known to couple. The cheetah (_Felis jubata_) has never been known by Mr. Bartlett to breed in England, but it has bred at Frankfort; nor does it breed in India, where it is kept in large numbers for hunting; but no pains would be taken to make them breed, as only those animals which have hunted for themselves in a state of nature are serviceable and worth training.[339] According to Rengger, two species of wild cats in Paraguay, though thoroughly tamed, have never bred. Although so many of the Felidæ breed readily in the Zoological Gardens, yet conception by no means always follows union: in the nine-year Report, various species are specified which were observed to couple seventy-three times, and no doubt this must have passed many times unnoticed; yet from the seventy-three unions only fifteen births ensued. The Carnivora in the Zoological Gardens were formerly less freely exposed to the air and cold than at present, and this change of treatment, as I was assured by the former superintendent, Mr. Miller, greatly increased their fertility. Mr. Bartlett, and there cannot be a more capable judge, says, "it is remarkable that lions breed more freely in travelling collections than in the Zoological Gardens; probably the constant excitement and irritation produced by moving from place to place, or change of air, may have considerable influence in the matter." Many members of the Dog family breed readily when confined. The Dhole is one of the most untameable animals in India, yet a pair kept there by Dr. Falconer produced young. Foxes, on the other hand, rarely breed, and I have never heard of such an occurrence with the European fox: the silver fox of North America (_Canis argentatus_), however, has bred several times in the Zoological Gardens. Even the otter has bred there. Every one knows how readily the semi-domesticated ferret breeds, though shut up in miserably small cages; but other species of Viverra and Paradoxurus absolutely refuse to breed in the Zoological Gardens. The Genetta has bred both here and in the Jardin des Plantes, and produced hybrids. The _Herpestes fasciatus_ has likewise bred; but I was formerly assured that the _H. griseus_, though many were kept in the Gardens, never bred. The Plantigrade Carnivora breed under confinement much less freely, without our being able to assign any reason, than other members of the group. In the nine-year Report it is stated that the bears had been seen in the Zoological Gardens to couple freely, but previously to 1848 had most rarely conceived. In the Reports published since this date three species have produced young (hybrids in one case), and, wonderful to relate, the white Polar bear has produced young. The badger (_Meles taxus_) has bred several times in the Gardens; but I have not heard of this {152} occurring elsewhere in England, and the event must be very rare, for an instance in Germany has been thought worth recording.[340] In Paraguay the native Nasua, though kept in pairs during many years and perfectly tamed, has never been known, according to Rengger, to breed or show any sexual passion; nor, as I hear from Mr. Bates, does this animal, or the Cercoleptes, breed in the region of the Amazons. Two other plantigrade genera, Procyon and Gulo, though often kept tame in Paraguay, never breed there. In the Zoological Gardens species of Nasua and Procyon have been seen to couple; but they did not produce young. As domesticated rabbits, guinea-pigs, and white mice breed so abundantly when closely confined under various climates, it might have been thought that most other members of the Rodent order would have bred in captivity, but this is not the case. It deserves notice, as showing how the capacity to breed sometimes goes by affinity, that the one native rodent of Paraguay, which there breeds _freely_ and has yielded successive generations, is the _Cavia aperea_; and this animal is so closely allied to the guinea-pig, that it has been erroneously thought to be the parent-form.[341] In the Zoological Gardens, some rodents have coupled, but have never produced young; some have neither coupled nor bred; but a few have bred, as the porcupine more than once, the Barbary mouse, lemming, chinchilla, and the agouti (_Dasyprocta aguti_), several times. This latter animal has also produced young in Paraguay, though they were born dead and ill-formed; but in Amazonia, according to Mr. Bates, it never breeds, though often kept tame about the houses. Nor does the paca (_Coelogenys paca_) breed there. The common hare when confined has, I believe, never bred in Europe;[342] though, according to a recent statement, it has crossed with the rabbit. I have never heard of the dormouse breeding in confinement. But squirrels offer a more curious case: with one exception, no species has ever bred in the Zoological Gardens, yet as many as fourteen individuals of _S. palmarum_ were kept together during several years. The _S. cinerea_ has been seen to couple, but it did not produce young; nor has this species, when rendered extremely tame in its native country, North America, been ever known to breed.[343] At Lord Derby's menagerie squirrels of many kinds were kept in numbers, but Mr. Thompson, the superintendent, told me that none had ever bred there, or elsewhere as far as he knew. I have never heard of the English squirrel breeding in confinement. But the species which has bred more than once in the Zoological Gardens is the one which perhaps might have been least expected, namely, the flying squirrel (_Sciuropterus volucella_): it has, also, bred several times {153} near Birmingham; but the female never produced more than two young at a birth, whereas in its native American home she bears from three to six young.[344] Monkeys, in the nine-year Report from the Zoological Gardens, are stated to unite most freely, but during this period, though many individuals were kept, there were only seven births. I have heard of one American monkey alone, the Ouistiti, breeding in Europe.[345] A Macacus, according to Flourens, bred in Paris; and more than one species of this genus has produced young in London, especially the _Macacus rhesus_, which everywhere shows a special capacity to breed under confinement. Hybrids have been produced both in Paris and London from this same genus. The Arabian baboon, or _Cynocephalus hamadryas_,[346] and a Cercopithecus have bred in the Zoological Gardens, and the latter species at the Duke of Northumberland's. Several members of the family of Lemurs have produced hybrids in the Zoological Gardens. It is much more remarkable that monkeys very rarely breed when confined in their native country; thus the Cay (_Cebus azaræ_) is frequently and completely tamed in Paraguay, but Rengger[347] says that it breeds so rarely, that he never saw more than two females which had produced young. A similar observation has been made with respect to the monkeys which are frequently tamed by the aborigines in Brazil.[348] In the region of the Amazons, these animals are so often kept in a tame state, that Mr. Bates in walking through the streets of Parà counted thirteen species; but, as he asserts, they have never been known to breed in captivity.[349] _Birds._ Birds offer in some respects better evidence than quadrupeds, from their breeding more rapidly and being kept in greater numbers. We have seen that carnivorous animals are more fertile under confinement than most other mammals. The reverse holds good with carnivorous birds. It is said[350] that as many as eighteen species have been used in Europe for hawking, and several others in Persia and India;[351] they have been kept in their native country in the finest condition, and have been flown during six, eight, or nine years;[352] yet there is no record of their having ever produced young. As these birds were formerly caught whilst young, at great expense, being imported from Iceland, Norway, and Sweden, there can {154} be little doubt that, if possible, they would have been propagated. In the Jardin des Plantes, no bird of prey has been known to couple.[353] No hawk, vulture, or owl has ever produced fertile eggs in the Zoological Gardens, or in the old Surrey Gardens, with the exception, in the former place on one occasion, of a condor and a kite (_Milvus niger_). Yet several species, namely, the _Aquila fusca_, _Haliætus leucocephalus_, _Falco tinnunculus_, _F. subbuteo_, and _Buteo vulgaris_, have been seen to couple in the Zoological Gardens. Mr. Morris[354] mentions as a unique fact that a kestrel (_Falco tinnunculus_) bred in an aviary. The one kind of owl which has been known to couple in the Zoological Gardens was the Eagle Owl (_Bubo maximus_); and this species shows a special inclination to breed in captivity; for a pair at Arundel Castle, kept more nearly in a state of nature "than ever fell to the lot of an animal deprived of its liberty,"[355] actually reared their young. Mr. Gurney has given another instance of this same owl breeding in confinement; and he records the case of a second species of owl, the _Strix passerina_, breeding in captivity.[356] Of the smaller graminivorous birds, many kinds have been kept tame in their native countries, and have lived long; yet, as the highest authority on cage-birds[357] remarks, their propagation is "uncommonly difficult." The canary-bird shows that there is no inherent difficulty in these birds breeding freely in confinement; and Audubon says[358] that the _Fringilla_ (_Spiza_) _ciris_ of North America breeds as perfectly as the canary. The difficulty with the many finches which have been kept in confinement is all the more remarkable as more than a dozen species could be named which have yielded hybrids with the canary; but hardly any of these, with the exception of the siskin (_Fringilla spinus_), have reproduced their own kind. Even the bullfinch (_Loxia pyrrhula_) has bred as frequently with the canary, though belonging to a distinct genus, as with its own species.[359] With respect to the skylark (_Alauda arvensis_), I have heard of birds living for seven years in an aviary, which never produced young; and a great London bird-fancier assured me that he had never known an instance of their breeding; nevertheless one case has been recorded.[360] In the nine-year Report from the Zoological Society, twenty-four incessorial species are enumerated which had not bred, and of these only four were known to have coupled. Parrots are singularly long-lived birds; and Humboldt mentions the curious fact of a parrot in South America, which spoke the language of {155} an extinct Indian tribe, so that this bird preserved the sole relic of a lost language. Even in this country there is reason to believe[361] that parrots have lived to the age of nearly one hundred years; yet, though many have been kept in Europe, they breed so rarely that the event has been thought worth recording in the gravest publications.[362] According to Bechstein[363] the African _Psittacus erithacus_ breeds oftener than any other species: the _P. macoa_ occasionally lays fertile eggs, but rarely succeeds in hatching them; this bird, however, has the instinct of incubation sometimes so strongly developed, that it will hatch the eggs of fowls or pigeons. In the Zoological Gardens and in the old Surrey Gardens some few species have coupled, but, with the exception of three species of parrakeets, none have bred. It is a much more remarkable fact that in Guiana parrots of two kinds, as I am informed by Sir E. Schomburgk, are often taken from the nests by the Indians and reared in large numbers; they are so tame that they fly freely about the houses, and come when called to be fed, like pigeons; yet he has never heard of a single instance of their breeding.[364] In Jamaica, a resident naturalist, Mr. R. Hill,[365] says, "no birds more readily submit to human dependence than the parrot-tribe, but no instance of a parrot breeding in this tame life has been known yet." Mr. Hill specifies a number of other native birds kept tame in the West Indies, which never breed in this state. The great pigeon family offers a striking contrast with parrots: in the nine-year Report thirteen species are recorded as having bred, and, what is more noticeable, only two were seen to couple without any result. Since the above date every annual Report gives many cases of various pigeons breeding. The two magnificent crowned pigeons (_Goura coronata_ and _Victoriæ_) produced hybrids; nevertheless, of the former species more than a dozen birds were kept, as I am informed by Mr. Crawfurd, in a park at Penang, under a perfectly well-adapted climate, but never once bred. The _Columba migratoria_ in its native country, North America, invariably lays two eggs, but in Lord Derby's menagerie never more than one. The same fact has been observed with the _C. leucocephala_.[366] Gallinaceous birds of many genera likewise show an eminent capacity for breeding under captivity. This is particularly the case with pheasants; yet our English species seldom lays more than ten eggs in confinement; whilst from eighteen to twenty is the usual number in the wild state.[367] With the Gallinaceæ, as with all other orders, there are marked and {156} inexplicable exceptions in regard to the fertility of certain species and genera under confinement. Although many trials have been made with the common partridge, it has rarely bred, even when reared in large aviaries; and the hen will never hatch her own eggs.[368] The American tribe of Guans or Cracidæ are tamed with remarkable ease, but are very shy breeders in this country;[369] but with care various species were formerly made to breed rather freely in Holland.[370] Birds of this tribe are often kept in a perfectly tamed condition in their native country by the Indians, but they never breed.[371] It might have been expected that grouse from their habits of life would not have bred in captivity, more especially as they are said soon to languish and die.[372] But many cases are recorded of their breeding: the capercailzie (_Tetrao urogallus_) has bred in the Zoological Gardens; it breeds without much difficulty when confined in Norway, and in Russia five successive generations have been reared: _Tetrao tetrix_ has likewise bred in Norway; _T. Scoticus_ in Ireland; _T. umbellus_ at Lord Derby's; and _T. cupido_ in North America. It is scarcely possible to imagine a greater change in habits than that which the members of the ostrich family must suffer, when cooped up in small enclosures under a temperate climate, after freely roaming over desert and tropical plains or entangled forests. Yet almost all the kinds, even the mooruk (_Casuarius Bennettii_) from New Ireland, has frequently produced young in the various European menageries. The African ostrich, though perfectly healthy and living long in the South of France, never lays more than from twelve to fifteen eggs, though in its native country it lays from twenty-five to thirty.[373] Here we have another instance of fertility impaired, but not lost, under confinement, as with the flying squirrel, the hen-pheasant, and two species of American pigeons. Most Waders can be tamed, as the Rev. E. S. Dixon informs me, with remarkable facility; but several of them are short-lived under confinement, so that their sterility in this state is not surprising. The cranes breed more readily than other genera: _Grus montigresia_ has bred several times in Paris and in the Zoological Gardens, as has _G. cinerea_ at the latter place, and _G. antigone_ at Calcutta. Of other members of this great order, _Tetrapteryx paradisea_ has bred at Knowsley, a Porphyrio in Sicily, and the _Gallinula chloropus_ in the Zoological Gardens. On the other hand, several {157} birds belonging to this order will not breed in their native country, Jamaica; and the Psophia, though often kept by the Indians of Guiana about their houses, "is seldom or never known to breed."[374] No birds breed with such complete facility under confinement as the members of the great Duck family; yet, considering their aquatic and wandering habits, and the nature of their food, this could not have been anticipated. Even some time ago above two dozen species had bred in the Zoological Gardens; and M. Selys-Longchamps has recorded the production of hybrids from forty-four different members of the family; and to these Professor Newton has added a few more cases.[375] "There is not," says Mr. Dixon,[376] "in the wide world, a goose which is not in the strict sense of the word domesticable;" that is, capable of breeding under confinement; but this statement is probably too bold. The capacity to breed sometimes varies in individuals of the same species; thus Audubon[377] kept for more than eight years some wild geese (_Anser Canadensis_), but they would not mate; whilst other individuals of the same species produced young during the second year. I know of but one instance in the whole family of a species which absolutely refuses to breed in captivity, namely, the _Dendrocygna viduata_, although, according to Sir R. Schomburgk,[378] it is easily tamed, and is frequently kept by the Indians of Guiana. Lastly, with respect to Gulls, though many have been kept in the Zoological Gardens and in the old Surrey Gardens, no instance was known before the year 1848 of their coupling or breeding; but since that period the herring gull (_Larus argentatus_) has bred many times in the Zoological Gardens and at Knowsley. There is reason to believe that insects are affected by confinement like the higher animals. It is well known that the Sphingidæ rarely breed when thus treated. An entomologist[379] in Paris kept twenty-five specimens of _Saturnia pyri_, but did not succeed in getting a single fertile egg. A number of females of _Orthosia munda_ and of _Mamestra suasa_ reared in confinement were unattractive to the males.[380] Mr. Newport kept nearly a hundred individuals of two species of Vanessa, but not one paired; this, however, might have been due to their habit of coupling on the wing.[381] Mr. Atkinson could never succeed in India in making the Tarroo silk-moth breed in confinement.[382] It appears that a number of moths, especially the Sphingidæ, when hatched in the autumn out of their proper season, {158} are completely barren; but this latter case is still involved in some obscurity.[383] Independently of the fact of many animals under confinement not coupling, or, if they couple, not producing young, there is evidence of another kind, that their sexual functions are thus disturbed. For many cases have been recorded of the loss by male birds when confined of their characteristic plumage. Thus the common linnet (_Linota cannabina_) when caged does not acquire the fine crimson colour on its breast, and one of the buntings (_Emberiza passerina_) loses the black on its head. A Pyrrhula and an Oriolus have been observed to assume the quiet plumage of the hen-bird; and the _Falco albidus_ returned to the dress of an earlier age.[384] Mr. Thomson, the superintendent of the Knowsley menagerie, informed me that he had often observed analogous facts. The horns of a male deer (_Cervus Canadensis_) during the voyage from America were badly developed; but subsequently in Paris perfect horns were produced. When conception takes place under confinement, the young are often born dead, or die soon, or are ill-formed. This frequently occurs in the Zoological Gardens, and, according to Rengger, with native animals confined in Paraguay. The mother's milk often fails. We may also attribute to the disturbance of the sexual functions the frequent occurrence of that monstrous instinct which leads the mother to devour her own offspring,--a mysterious case of perversion, as it at first appears. Sufficient evidence has now been advanced to prove that animals when first confined are eminently liable to suffer in their reproductive systems. We feel at first naturally inclined to attribute the result to loss of health, or at least to loss of vigour; but this view can hardly be admitted when we reflect how healthy, long-lived, and vigorous many animals are under {159} captivity, such as parrots, and hawks when used for hawking, chetahs when used for hunting, and elephants. The reproductive organs themselves are not diseased; and the diseases, from which animals in menageries usually perish, are not those which in any way affect their fertility. No domestic animal is more subject too disease than the sheep, yet it is remarkably prolific. The failure of animals to breed under confinement has been sometimes attributed exclusively to a failure in their sexual instincts: this may occasionally come into play, but there is no obvious reason why this instinct should be especially liable to be affected with perfectly tamed animals, except indeed indirectly through the reproductive system itself being disturbed. Moreover, numerous cases have been given of various animals which couple freely under confinement, but never conceive; or, if they conceive and produce young, these are fewer in number than is natural to the species. In the vegetable kingdom instinct of course can play no part; and we shall presently see that plants when removed from their natural conditions are affected in nearly the same manner as animals. Change of climate cannot be the cause of the loss of fertility, for, whilst many animals imported into Europe from extremely different climates breed freely, many others when confined in their native land are completely sterile. Change of food cannot be the chief cause; for ostriches, ducks, and many other animals, which must have undergone a great change in this respect, breed freely. Carnivorous birds when confined are extremely sterile; whilst most carnivorous mammals, except plantigrades, are moderately fertile. Nor can the amount of food be the cause; for a sufficient supply will certainly be given to valuable animals; and there is no reason to suppose that much more food would be given to them, than to our choice domestic productions which retain their full fertility. Lastly, we may infer from the case of the elephant, chetah, various hawks, and of many animals which are allowed to lead an almost free life in their native land, that want of exercise is not the sole cause. It would appear that any change in the habits of life, whatever these habits may be, if great enough, tends to affect in an inexplicable manner the powers of reproduction. The result {160} depends more on the constitution of the species than on the nature of the change; for certain whole groups are affected more than others; but exceptions always occur, for some species in the most fertile groups refuse to breed, and some in the most sterile groups breed freely. Those animals which usually breed freely under confinement, rarely breed, as I was assured, in the Zoological Gardens, within a year or two after their first importation. When an animal which is generally sterile under confinement happens to breed, the young apparently do not inherit this power; for had this been the case, various quadrupeds and birds, which are valuable for exhibition, would have become common. Dr. Broca even affirms[385] that many animals in the Jardin des Plantes, after having produced young for three or four successive generations, become sterile; but this may be the result of too close interbreeding. It is a remarkable circumstance that many mammals and birds have produced hybrids under confinement quite as readily as, or even more readily than, they have procreated their own kind. Of this fact many instances have been given;[386] and we are thus reminded of those plants which when cultivated refuse to be fertilised by their own pollen, but can easily be fertilised by that of a distinct species. Finally, we must conclude, limited as the conclusion is, that changed conditions of life have an especial power of acting injuriously on the reproductive system. The whole case is quite peculiar, for these organs, though not diseased, are thus rendered incapable of performing their proper functions, or perform them imperfectly. _Sterility of Domesticated Animals from changed conditions._--With respect to domesticated animals, as their domestication mainly depends on the accident of their breeding freely under captivity, we ought not to expect that their reproductive system would be affected by any moderate degree of change. Those orders of quadrupeds and birds, of which the wild species breed most readily in our menageries, have afforded us the greatest number of domesticated productions. Savages in most parts of the world are fond of taming animals;[387] and if any of these regularly produced {161} young, and were at the same time useful, they would be at once domesticated. If, when their masters migrated into other countries, they were in addition found capable of withstanding various climates, they would be still more valuable; and it appears that the animals which breed readily in captivity can generally withstand different climates. Some few domesticated animals, such as the reindeer and camel, offer an exception to this rule. Many of our domesticated animals can bear with undiminished fertility the most unnatural conditions; for instance, rabbits, guinea-pigs, and ferrets breed in miserably confined hutches. Few European dogs of any kind withstand without degeneration the climate of India; but as long as they survive, they retain, as I hear from Mr. Falconer, their fertility; so it is, according to Dr. Daniell, with English dogs taken to Sierra Leone. The fowl, a native of the hot jungles of India, becomes more fertile than its parent-stock in every quarter of the world, until we advance as far north as Greenland and Northern Siberia, where this bird will not breed. Both fowls and pigeons, which I received during the autumn direct from Sierra Leone, were at once ready to couple.[388] I have, also, seen pigeons breeding as freely as the common kinds within a year after their importation from the Upper Nile. The guinea-fowl, an aboriginal of the hot and dry deserts of Africa, whilst living under our damp and cool climate, produces a large supply of eggs. Nevertheless, our domesticated animals under new conditions occasionally show signs of lessened fertility. Roulin asserts that in the hot valleys of the equatorial Cordillera sheep are not fully fecund;[389] and according to Lord Somerville,[390] the merino-sheep which he imported from Spain were not at first perfectly fertile. It is said[391] that mares brought up on dry food in the stable, and turned out to grass, do not at first breed. The peahen, as we have seen, is said not to lay so many eggs in England as in India. It was long before the canary-bird was fully fertile, and even now first-rate breeding birds are not common.[392] In the hot and dry province of Delhi, the eggs of the turkey, as I hear from Dr. Falconer, though placed under a hen, are extremely liable to fail. According to Roulin, geese taken within a recent period to the lofty plateau of Bogota, at first laid seldom, and then only a few eggs; of these scarcely a fourth were hatched, and half the young birds died: in the second generation they were more fertile; and when Roulin wrote they were becoming as {162} fertile as our geese in Europe. In the Philippine Archipelago the goose, it is asserted, will not breed or even lay eggs.[393] A more curious case is that of the fowl, which, according to Roulin, when first introduced would not breed at Cusco in Bolivia, but subsequently became quite fertile; and the English Game fowl, lately introduced, had not as yet arrived a its full fertility, for to raise two or three chickens from a nest of eggs was thought fortunate. In Europe close confinement has a marked effect on the fertility of the fowl: it has been found in France that with fowls allowed considerable freedom only twenty per cent. of the eggs failed; when allowed less freedom forty per cent. failed; and in close confinement sixty out of the hundred were not hatched.[394] So we see that unnatural and changed conditions of life produce some effect on the fertility of our most thoroughly domesticated animals, in the same manner, though in a far less degree, as with captive wild animals. It is by no means rare to find certain males and females which will not breed together, though both are known to be perfectly fertile with other males and females. We have no reason to suppose that this is caused by these animals having been subjected to any change in their habits of life; therefore such cases are hardly related to our present subject. The cause apparently lies in an innate sexual incompatibility of the pair which are matched. Several instances have been communicated to me by Mr. W. C. Spooner (well known for his essay on Cross-breeding), by Mr. Eyton of Eyton, by Mr. Wicksted and othe breeders, and especially by Mr. Waring of Chelsfield, in relation to horses, cattle, pigs, foxhounds, other dogs, and pigeons.[395] In these cases, females, which either previously or subsequently were proved to be fertile, failed to breed with certain males, with whom it was particularly desired to match them. A change in the constitution of the female may sometimes have occurred before she was put to the second male; but in other cases this explanation is hardly tenable, for a female, known not to be barren, has been unsuccessfully paired seven or eight times with the same male likewise known to be perfectly fertile. With cart-mares, which sometimes will not breed with stallions of pure blood, but subsequently have bred with cart-stallions, Mr. Spooner is inclined to attribute the failure to the lesser sexual power of the race-horse. But I have heard from the greatest breeder of race-horses at the present day, through Mr. Waring, that "it frequently occurs with a mare to be put several times during one or two seasons to a particular stallion of acknowledged power, and yet prove barren; the mare afterwards breeding at once with some other horse." These facts are worth recording, as they show, like so many previous facts, on what slight constitutional differences the fertility of an animal often depends. {163} _Sterility of Plants from changed Conditions of Life, and from other causes._ In the vegetable kingdom cases of sterility frequently occur, analogous with those previously given in the animal kingdom. But the subject is obscured by several circumstances, presently to be discussed, namely, the contabescence of the anthers, as Gärtner has named a certain affection--monstrosities--doubleness of the flower--much-enlarged fruit--and long-continued or excessive propagation by buds. It is notorious that many plants in our gardens and hot-houses, though preserved in the most perfect health, rarely or never produce seed. I do not allude to plants which run to leaves, from being kept too damp, or too warm, or too much manured; for these do not produce the reproductive individual or flower, and the case may be wholly different. Nor do I allude to fruit not ripening from want of heat, or rotting from too much moisture. But many exotic plants, with their ovules and pollen appearing perfectly sound, will not set any seed. The sterility in many cases, as I know from my own observation, is simply due to the absence of the proper insects for carrying the pollen to the stigma. But after excluding the several cases just specified, there are many plants in which the reproductive system has been seriously affected by the altered conditions of life to which they have been subjected. It would be tedious to enter on many details. Linnæus long ago observed[396] that Alpine plants, although naturally laded with seed, produce either few or none when cultivated in gardens. But exceptions often occur: the _Draba sylvestris_, one of our most thoroughly Alpine plants, multiplies itself by seed in Mr. H. C. Watson's garden, near London; and Kerner, who has particularly attended to the cultivation of Alpine plants, found that various kinds, when cultivated, spontaneously sowed themselves.[397] Many plants which naturally grow in peat-earth are entirely sterile in our gardens. I have noticed the same fact with several liliaceous plants, which nevertheless grew vigorously. Too much manure renders some kinds utterly sterile, as I have myself observed. The tendency to sterility from this cause runs in families; thus, according to Gärtner,[398] it is hardly possible to give too much manure to most Gramineæ, Cruciferæ, and Leguminosæ, whilst succulent and bulbous-rooted plants are easily affected. Extreme poverty of soil is less {164} apt to induce sterility; but dwarfed plants of _Trifolium minus_ and _repens_, growing on a lawn often mown and never manured, did not produce any seed. The temperature of the soil, and the season at which plants are watered, often have a marked effect on their fertility, as was observed by Kölreuter in the case of Mirabilis.[399] Mr. Scott in the Botanic Gardens of Edinburgh observed that _Oncidium divaricatum_ would not set seed when grown in a basket in which it throve, but was capable of fertilisation in a pot where it was a little damper. _Pelargonium fulgidum_, for many years after its introduction, seeded freely; it then became sterile; now it is fertile[400] if kept in a dry stove during the winter. Other varieties of pelargonium are sterile and others fertile without our being able to assign any cause. Very slight changes in the position of a plant, whether planted on a bank or at its base, sometimes make all the difference in its producing seed. Temperature apparently has a much more powerful influence on the fertility of plants than on that of animals. Nevertheless it is wonderful what changes some few plants will withstand with undiminished fertility: thus the _Zephyranthes candida_, a native of the moderately warm banks of the Plata, sows itself in the hot dry country near Lima, and in Yorkshire resists the severest frosts, and I have seen seeds gathered from pods which had been covered with snow during three weeks.[401] _Berberis Wallichii_, from the hot Khasia range in India, is uninjured by our sharpest frosts, and ripens its fruit under our cool summers. Nevertheless I presume we must attribute to change of climate the sterility of many foreign plants; thus the Persian and Chinese lilacs (_Syringa Persica_ and _Chinensis_), though perfectly hardly, never here produce a seed; the common lilac (_S. vulgaris_) seeds with us moderately well, but in parts of Germany the capsules never contain seed.[402] Some of the cases, given in the last chapter, of self-impotent plants, which are fertile both on the male and female side when united with distinct individuals or species, might have been here introduced; for as this peculiar form of sterility generally occurs with exotic plants or with endemic plants cultivated in pots, and as it disappeared in the _Passiflora alata_ when grafted, we may conclude that in these cases it is the result of the treatment to which the plants or their parents have been exposed. The liability of plants to be affected in their fertility by slightly changed conditions is the more remarkable, as the pollen when once in process of formation is not easily injured; a plant may be transplanted, or a branch with flower-buds be cut off and placed in water, and the pollen will be matured. Pollen, also, when once mature, may be kept for weeks or even months.[403] The female organs are more sensitive, for Gärtner[404] found that dicotyledonous plants, when carefully removed so that they did not in the least flag, could seldom be fertilised; this occurred even with potted {165} plants if the roots had grown out of the hole at the bottom. In some few cases, however, as with Digitalis, transplantation did not prevent fertilisation; and according to the testimony of Mawz, _Brassica rapa_, when pulled up by its roots and placed in water, ripened its seed. Flower-stems of several monocotyledonous plants when cut off and placed in water likewise produce seed. But in these cases I presume that the flowers had been already fertilised, for Herbert[405] found with the Crocus that the plants might be removed or mutilated after the act of fertilisation, and would still perfect their seeds; but that, if transplanted before being fertilised, the application of pollen was powerless. Plants which have been long cultivated can generally endure with undiminished fertility various and great changes; but not in most cases so great a change of climate as domesticated animals. It is remarkable that many plants under these circumstances are so much affected that the proportions and the nature of their chemical ingredients are modified, yet their fertility is unimpaired. Thus, as Dr. Falconer informs me, there is a great difference in the character of the fibre in hemp, in the quantity of oil in the seed of the Linum, in the proportion of narcotin to morphine in the poppy, in gluten to starch in wheat, when these plants are cultivated on the plains and on the mountains of India; nevertheless, they all remain fully fertile. _Contabescence._--Gärtner has designated by this term a peculiar condition of the anthers in certain plants, in which they are shrivelled, or become brown and tough, and contain no good pollen. When in this state they exactly resemble the anthers of the most sterile hybrids. Gärtner,[406] in his discussion on this subject, has shown that plants of many orders are occasionally thus affected; but the Caryophyllaceæ and Liliaceæ suffer most, and to these orders, I think, the Ericaceæ may be added. Contabescence varies in degree, but on the same plant all the flowers are generally affected to nearly the same extent. The anthers are affected at a very early period in the flower-bud, and remain in the same state (with one recorded exception) during the life of the plant. The affection cannot be cured by any change of treatment, and is propagated by layers, cuttings, &c., and perhaps even by seed. In contabescent plants the female organs are seldom affected, or merely become precocious in their development. The cause of this affection is doubtful, and is different in different cases. Until I read Gärtner's discussion I attributed it, as apparently did Herbert, to the unnatural treatment of the plants; but its permanence under changed conditions, and the female organs not being affected, seem incompatible with this view. The fact of several endemic plants becoming contabescent in our gardens seems, at first sight, equally incompatible with this view; but Kölreuter believes that this is the result of their transplantation. The contabescent plants of Dianthus and Verbascum, found wild by Wiegmann, grew on a dry and sterile bank. The fact that exotic {166} plants are eminently liable to this affection also seems to show that it is in some manner caused by their unnatural treatment. In some instances, as with Silene, Gärtner's view seems the most probable, namely, that it is caused by an inherent tendency in the species to become dioecious. I can add another cause, namely, the illegitimate unions of reciprocally dimorphic or trimorphic plants, for I have observed seedlings of three species of Primula and of _Lythrum salicaria_, which had been raised from plants illegitimately fertilised by their own-form pollen, with some or all their anthers in a contabescent state. There is perhaps an additional cause, namely, self-fertilisation; for many plants of Dianthus and Lobelia, which had been raised from self-fertilised seeds, had their anthers in this state; but these instances are not conclusive, as both genera are liable from other causes to this affection. Cases of an opposite nature likewise occur, namely, plants with the female organs struck with sterility, whilst the male organs remain perfect. _Dianthus Japonicus_, a Passiflora, and Nicotiana, have been described by Gärtner[407] as being in this unusual condition. _Monstrosities as a cause of Sterility._--Great deviations of structure, even when the reproductive organs themselves are not seriously affected, sometimes cause plants to become sterile. But in other cases plants may become monstrous to an extreme degree and yet retain their full fertility. Gallesio, who certainly had great experience,[408] often attributes sterility to this cause; but it may be suspected that in some of his cases sterility was the cause, and not the result, of the monstrous growths. The curious St. Valery apple, although it bears fruit, rarely produces seed. The wonderfully anomalous flowers of _Begonia frigida_, formerly described, though they appear fit for fructification, are sterile.[409] Species of Primulæ, in which the calyx is brightly coloured, are said[410] to be often sterile, though I have known them to be fertile. On the other hand, Verlot gives several cases of proliferous flowers which can be propagated by seed. This was the case with a poppy, which had become monopetalous by the union of its petals.[411] Another extraordinary poppy, with the stamens replaced by numerous small supplementary capsules, likewise reproduces itself by seed. This has also occurred with a plant of _Saxifraga geum_, in which a series of adventitious carpels, bearing ovules on their margins, had been developed between the stamens and the normal carpels.[412] Lastly, with respect to peloric flowers, which depart wonderfully from the natural structure,--those of _Linaria vulgaris_ seem generally to be more or less sterile, whilst those before described of _Antirrhinum majus_, when artificially fertilised with their own pollen, are perfectly {167} fertile, though sterile when left to themselves, for bees are unable to crawl into the narrow tubular flower. The peloric flowers of _Corydalis solida_, according to Godron,[413] are barren; whilst those of Gloxinia are well known to yield plenty of seed. In our greenhouse Pelargoniums, the central flower of the truss is often peloric, and Mr. Masters informs me that he tried in vain during several years to get seed from these flowers. I likewise made many vain attempts, but sometimes succeeded in fertilising them with pollen from a normal flower of another variety; and conversely I several times fertilised ordinary flowers with peloric pollen. Only once I succeeded in raising a plant from a peloric flower fertilised by pollen from a peloric flower borne by another variety; but the plant, it may be added, presented nothing particular in its structure. Hence we may conclude that no general rule can be laid down; but any great deviation from the normal structure, even when the reproductive organs themselves are not seriously affected, certainly often leads to sexual impotence. _Double Flowers._--When the stamens are converted into petals, the plant becomes on the male side sterile; when both stamens and pistils are thus changed, the plant becomes completely barren. Symmetrical flowers having numerous stamens and petals are the most liable to become double, as perhaps follows from all multiple organs being the most subject to variability. But flowers furnished with only a few stamens, and others which are asymmetrical in structure, sometimes become double, as we see with the double gorse or Ulex, Petunia, and Antirrhinum. The Compositæ bear what are called double flowers by the abnormal development of the corolla of their central florets. Doubleness is sometimes connected with prolification,[414] or the continued growth of the axis of the flower. Doubleness is strongly inherited. No one has produced, as Lindley remarks,[415] double flowers by promoting the perfect health of the plant. On the contrary, unnatural conditions of life favour their production. There is some reason to believe that seeds kept during many years, and seeds believed to be imperfectly fertilised, yield double flowers more freely than fresh and perfectly fertilised seed.[416] Long-continued cultivation in rich soil seems to be the commonest exciting cause. A double narcissus and a double _Anthemis nobilis_, transplanted into very poor soil, have been observed to become single;[417] and I have seen a completely double white primrose rendered permanently single by being divided and transplanted whilst in full flower. It has been observed by Professor Morren that doubleness of the flowers and variegation of the leaves are antagonistic states; but so many exceptions to the rule have lately been recorded,[418] that, though general, it cannot be looked at as invariable. {168} Variegation seems generally to result from a feeble or atrophied condition of the plant, and a large proportion of the seedlings raised from parents both of which are variegated usually perish at an early age; hence we may perhaps infer that doubleness, which is the antagonistic state, commonly arises from a plethoric condition. On the other hand, extremely poor soil sometimes, though rarely, appears to cause doubleness: I formerly described[419] some completely double, bud-like, flowers produced in large numbers by stunted wild plants of _Gentiana amarella_ growing on a poor chalky bank. I have also noticed a distinct tendency to doubleness in the flowers of a Ranunculus, Horse-chesnut, and Bladder-nut (_Ranunculus repens_, _Æsculus pavia_, and _Staphylea_), growing under very unfavourable conditions. Professor Lehman[420] found several wild plants growing near a hot spring with double flowers. With respect to the cause of doubleness, which arises, as we see, under widely different circumstances, I shall presently attempt to show that the most probable view is that unnatural conditions first give a tendency to sterility, and that then, on the principle of compensation, as the reproductive organs do not perform their proper functions, they either become developed into petals, or additional petals are formed. This view has lately been supported by Mr. Laxton,[421] who advances the case of some common peas, which, after long-continued heavy rain, flowered a second time, and produced double flowers. _Seedless Fruit._--Many of our most valuable fruits, although consisting in a homological sense of widely different organs, are either quite sterile, or produce extremely few seeds. This is notoriously the case with our best pears, grapes, and figs, with the pine-apple, banana, bread-fruit, pomegranate, azarole, date-palms, and some members of the orange-tribe. Poorer varieties of these same fruits either habitually or occasionally yield seed.[422] Most horticulturists look at the great size and anomalous development of the fruit as the cause, and sterility as the result; but the opposite view, as we shall presently see, is more probable. _Sterility from the excessive development of the Organs of Growth or Vegetation._--Plants which from any cause grow too luxuriantly, and produce leaves, stems, runners, suckers, tubers, bulbs, &c., in excess, sometimes do not flower, or if they flower do not yield seed. To make European vegetables under the hot climate of India yield seed, it is necessary to check their growth; and, when one-third grown, they are taken up, and their stems and {169} tap-roots are cut or mutilated.[423] So it is with hybrids; for instance, Prof. Lecoq[424] had three plants of Mirabilis, which, though they grew luxuriantly and flowered, were quite sterile; but after beating one with a stick until a few branches alone were left, these at once yielded good seed. The sugar-cane, which grows vigorously and produces a large supply of succulent stems, never, according to various observers, bears seed in the West Indies, Malaga, India, Cochin China, or the Malay Archipelago.[425] Plants which produce a large number of tubers are apt to be sterile, as occurs, to a certain extent, with the common potato; and Mr. Fortune informs me that the sweet potato (_Convolvulus batatas_) in China never, as far as he has seen, yields seed. Dr. Royle remarks[426] that in India the _Agave vivipara_, when grown in rich soil, invariably produces bulbs, but no seeds; whilst a poor soil and dry climate leads to an opposite result. In China, according to Mr. Fortune, an extraordinary number of little bulbs are developed in the axils of the leaves of the yam, and this plant does not bear seed. Whether in these cases, as in those of double flowers and seedless fruit, sexual sterility from changed conditions of life is the primary cause which leads to the excessive development of the organs of vegetation, is doubtful; though some evidence might be advanced in favour of this view. It is perhaps a more probable view that plants which propagate themselves largely by one method, namely by buds, have not sufficient vital power or organised matter for the other method of sexual generation. Several distinguished botanists and good practical judges believe that long-continued propagation by cuttings, runners, tubers, bulbs, &c., independently of any excessive development of these parts, is the cause of many plants failing to produce flowers and of others failing to produce fertile flowers,--it is as if they had lost the habit of sexual generation.[427] That many plants when thus propagated are sterile there can be no doubt, but whether the long continuance of this form of propagation is the actual cause of their sterility, I will not venture, from the want of sufficient evidence, to express an opinion. That plants may be propagated for long periods by buds, without the aid of sexual generation, we may safely infer from this being the case with many plants which must have long survived in a state of nature. As I have had occasion before to allude to this subject, I will here give such cases as I have collected. Many alpine plants ascend mountains beyond the height at which they can produce seed.[428] Certain species of {170} Poa and Festuca, when growing on mountain-pastures, propagate themselves, as I hear from Mr. Bentham, almost exclusively by bulblets. Kalm gives a more curious instance[429] of several American trees, which grow so plentifully in marshes or in thick woods, that they are certainly well adapted for these stations, yet scarcely ever produce seeds; but when accidentally growing on the outside of the marsh or wood, are loaded with seed. The common ivy is found in Northern Sweden and Russia, but flowers and fruits only in the southern provinces. The _Acorus calamus_ extends over a large portion of the globe, but so rarely perfects its fruit that this has been seen but by few botanists.[430] The _Hypericum calycinum_, which propagates itself so freely in our shrubberies by rhizomas and is naturalised in Ireland, blossoms profusely, but sets no seed; nor did it set any when fertilised in my garden by pollen from plants growing at a distance. The _Lysimachia nummularia_, which is furnished with long runners, so seldom produces seed-capsules, that Prof. Decaisne,[431] who has especially attended to this plant, has never seen it in fruit. The _Carex rigida_ often fails to perfect its seed in Scotland, Lapland, Greenland, Germany, and New Hampshire in the United States.[432] The periwinkle (_Vinca minor_), which spreads largely by runners, is said scarcely ever to produce fruit in England;[433] but this plant requires insect-aid for its fertilisation, and the proper insects may be absent or rare. The _Jussiæa grandiflora_ has become naturalised in Southern France, and has spread by its rhizomas so extensively as to impede the navigation of the waters, but never produces fertile seed.[434] The horse-radish (_Cochlearia armoracia_) spreads pertinaciously and is naturalised in various parts of Europe; though it bears flowers, these rarely produce capsules: Professor Caspary also informs me that he has watched this plant since 1851, but has never seen its fruit; nor is this surprising, as he finds scarcely a grain of good pollen. The common little _Ranunculus ficaria_ rarely, and some say never, bears seed in England, France, or Switzerland; but in 1863 I observed seeds on several plants growing near my house. According to M. Chatin, there are two forms of this Ranunculus; and it is the bulbiferous form which does not yield seed from producing no pollen.[435] Other cases {171} analogous with the foregoing could be given; for instance, some kinds of mosses and lichens have never been seen to fructify in France. Some of these endemic and naturalised plants are probably rendered sterile from excessive multiplication by buds, and their consequent incapacity to produce and nourish seed. But the sterility of others more probably depends on the peculiar conditions under which they live, as in the case of the ivy in the northern parts of Europe, and of the trees in the swamps of the United States; yet these plants must be in some respects eminently well adapted for the stations which they occupy, for they hold their places against a host of competitors. Finally, when we reflect on the sterility which accompanies the doubling of flowers,--the excessive development of fruit,--and a great increase in the organs of vegetation, we must bear in mind that the whole effect has seldom been caused at once. An incipient tendency is observed, and continued selection completes the work, as is known to be the case with our double flowers and best fruits. The view which seems the most probable, and which connects together all the foregoing facts and brings them within our present subject, is, that changed and unnatural conditions of life first give a tendency to sterility; and in consequence of this, the organs of reproduction being no longer able fully to perform their proper functions, a supply of organised matter, not required for the development of the seed, flows either into these same organs and renders them foliaceous, or into the fruit, stems, tubers, &c., increasing their size and succulency. But I am far from wishing to deny that there exists, independently of any incipient sterility, an antagonism between the two forms of reproduction, namely, by seed and by buds, when either is carried to an extreme degree. That incipient sterility plays an important part in the doubling of flowers, and in the other cases just specified, I infer chiefly from the following facts. When fertility is lost from a wholly different cause, namely, from hybridism, there is a strong tendency, as Gärtner[436] affirms, for flowers to become double, and this tendency is inherited. Moreover it is notorious that with hybrids the male organs become sterile before the female organs, and with double flowers the stamens first become {172} foliaceous. This latter fact is well shown by the male flowers of dioecious plants, which, according to Gallesio,[437] first become double. Again, Gärtner[438] often insists that the flowers of even utterly sterile hybrids, which do not produce any seed, generally yield perfect capsules or fruit,--a fact which has likewise been repeatedly observed by Naudin with the Cucurbitaceæ; so that the production of fruit by plants rendered sterile through any other and distinct cause is intelligible. Kölreuter has also expressed his unbounded astonishment at the size and development of the tubers in certain hybrids; and all experimentalists[439] have remarked on the strong tendency in hybrids to increase by roots, runners, and suckers. Seeing that hybrid plants, which from their nature are more or less sterile, thus tend to produce double flowers; that they have the parts including the seed, that is the fruit, perfectly developed, even when containing no seed; that they sometimes yield gigantic roots; that they almost invariably tend to increase largely by suckers and other such means;--seeing this, and knowing, from the many facts given in the earlier parts of this chapter, that almost all organic beings when exposed to unnatural conditions tend to become more or less sterile, it seems much the most probable view that with cultivated plants sterility is the exciting cause, and double flowers, rich seedless fruit, and in some cases largely-developed organs of vegetation, &c., are the indirect results--these results having been in most cases largely increased through continued selection by man. * * * * * {173} CHAPTER XIX. SUMMARY OF THE FOUR LAST CHAPTERS, WITH REMARKS ON HYBRIDISM. ON THE EFFECTS OF CROSSING--THE INFLUENCE OF DOMESTICATION ON FERTILITY--CLOSE INTERBREEDING--GOOD AND EVIL RESULTS FROM CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--VARIETIES WHEN CROSSED NOT INVARIABLY FERTILE--ON THE DIFFERENCE IN FERTILITY BETWEEN CROSSED SPECIES AND VARIETIES--CONCLUSIONS WITH RESPECT TO HYBRIDISM--LIGHT THROWN ON HYBRIDISM BY THE ILLEGITIMATE PROGENY OF DIMORPHIC AND TRIMORPHIC PLANTS--STERILITY OF CROSSED SPECIES DUE TO DIFFERENCES CONFINED TO THE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM--NOT ACCUMULATED THROUGH NATURAL SELECTION--REASONS WHY DOMESTIC VARIETIES ARE NOT MUTUALLY STERILE--TOO MUCH STRESS HAS BEEN LAID ON THE DIFFERENCE IN FERTILITY BETWEEN CROSSED SPECIES AND CROSSED VARIETIES--CONCLUSION. It was shown in the fifteenth chapter that when individuals of the same variety, or even of a distinct variety, are allowed freely to intercross, uniformity of character is ultimately acquired. Some few characters, however, are incapable of fusion, but these are unimportant, as they are almost always of a semi-monstrous nature, and have suddenly appeared. Hence, to preserve our domesticated breeds true, or to improve them by methodical selection, it is obviously necessary that they should be kept separate. Nevertheless, through unconscious selection, a whole body of individuals may be slowly modified, as we shall see in a future chapter, without separating them into distinct lots. Domestic races have often been intentionally modified by one or two crosses, made with some allied race, and occasionally even by repeated crosses with very distinct races; but in almost all such cases, long-continued and careful selection has been absolutely necessary, owing to the excessive variability of the crossed offspring, due to the principle of reversion. In a few instances, however, mongrels have retained a uniform character from their first production. When two varieties are allowed to cross freely, and one is {174} much more numerous than the other, the former will ultimately absorb the latter. Should both varieties exist in nearly equal numbers, it is probable that a considerable period would elapse before the acquirement of a uniform character; and the character ultimately acquired would largely depend on prepotency of transmission, and on the conditions of life; for the nature of these conditions would generally favour one variety more than another, so that a kind of natural selection would come into play. Unless the crossed offspring were slaughtered by man without the least discrimination, some degree of unmethodical selection would likewise come into action. From these several considerations we may infer, that when two or more closely allied species first came into the possession of the same tribe, their crossing will not have influenced, in so great a degree as has often been supposed, the character of the offspring in future times; although in some cases it probably has had a considerable effect. Domestication, as a general rule, increases the prolificness of animals and plants. It eliminates the tendency to sterility which is common to species when first taken from a state of nature and crossed. On this latter head we have no direct evidence; but as our races of dogs, cattle, pigs, &c., are almost certainly descended from aboriginally distinct stocks, and as these races are now fully fertile together, or at least incomparably more fertile than most species when crossed, we may with much confidence accept this conclusion. Abundant evidence has been given that crossing adds to the size, vigour, and fertility of the offspring. This holds good when there has been no previous close interbreeding. It applies to the individuals of the same variety but belonging to different families, to distinct varieties, sub-species, and partially even to species. In the latter case, though size is often gained, fertility is lost; but the increased size, vigour, and hardiness of many hybrids cannot be accounted for solely on the principle of compensation from the inaction of the reproductive system. Certain plants, both of pure and hybrid origin, though perfectly healthy, have become self-impotent, apparently from the unnatural conditions to which they have been exposed; and such plants, as well as others in their normal state, can be stimulated to {175} fertility only by crossing them with other individuals of the same species or even of a distinct species. On the other hand, long-continued close interbreeding between the nearest relations diminishes the constitutional vigour, size, and fertility of the offspring; and occasionally leads to malformations, but not necessarily to general deterioration of form or structure. This failure of fertility shows that the evil results of interbreeding are independent of the augmentation of morbid tendencies common to both parents, though this augmentation no doubt is often highly injurious. Our belief that evil follows from close interbreeding rests to a large extent on the experience of practical breeders, especially of those who have reared many animals of the kinds which can be propagated quickly; but it likewise rests on several carefully recorded experiments. With some animals close interbreeding may be carried on for a long period with impunity by the selection of the most vigorous and healthy individuals; but sooner or later evil follows. The evil, however, comes on so slowly and gradually that it easily escapes observation, but can be recognised by the almost instantaneous manner in which size, constitutional vigour, and fertility are regained when animals that have long been interbred are crossed with a distinct family. These two great classes of facts, namely, the good derived from crossing, and the evil from close interbreeding, with the consideration of the innumerable adaptations throughout nature for compelling, or favouring, or at least permitting, the occasional union of distinct individuals, taken together, lead to the conclusion that it is a law of nature that organic beings shall not fertilise themselves for perpetuity. This law was first plainly hinted at in 1799, with respect to plants, by Andrew Knight,[440] and, not long afterwards, that sagacious observer Kölreuter, after showing how well the Malvaceæ are adapted for {176} crossing, asks, "an id aliquid in recessu habeat, quod hujuscemodi flores nunquam proprio suo pulvere, sed semper eo aliarum suæ speciei impregnentur, merito quæritur? Certe natura nil facit frustra." Although we may demur to Kölreuter's saying that nature does nothing in vain, seeing how many organic beings retain rudimentary and useless organs, yet undoubtedly the argument from the innumerable contrivances, which favour the crossing of distinct individuals of the same species, is of the greatest weight. The most important result of this law is that it leads to uniformity of character in the individuals of the same species. In the case of certain hermaphrodites, which probably intercross only at long intervals of time, and with unisexual animals inhabiting somewhat separated localities, which can only occasionally come into contact and pair, the greater vigour and fertility of the crossed offspring will ultimately prevail in giving uniformity of character to the individuals of the same species. But when we go beyond the limits of the same species, free intercrossing is barred by the law of sterility. In searching for facts which might throw light on the cause of the good effects from crossing, and of the evil effects from close interbreeding, we have seen that, on the one hand, it is a widely prevalent and ancient belief that animals and plants profit from slight changes in their condition of life; and it would appear that the germ, in a somewhat analogous manner, is more effectually stimulated by the male element, when taken from a distinct individual, and therefore slightly modified in nature, than when taken from a male having the same identical constitution. On the other hand, numerous facts have been given, showing that when animals are first subjected to captivity, even in their native land, and although allowed much liberty, their reproductive functions are often greatly impaired or quite annulled. Some groups of animals are more affected than others, but with apparently capricious exceptions in every group. Some animals never or rarely couple: some couple freely, but never or rarely conceive. The secondary male characters, the maternal functions and instincts, are occasionally affected. With plants, when first subjected to cultivation, analogous facts have been observed. We probably owe our double flowers, rich seedless {177} fruits, and in some cases greatly developed tubers, &c., to incipient sterility of the above nature combined with a copious supply of nutriment. Animals which have long been domesticated, and plants which have long been cultivated, can generally withstand with unimpaired fertility great changes in their conditions of life; though both are sometimes slightly affected. With animals the somewhat rare capacity of breeding freely under confinement has mainly determined, together with their utility, the kinds which have been domesticated. We can in no case precisely say what is the cause of the diminished fertility of an animal when first captured, or of a plant when first cultivated; we can only infer that it is caused by a change of some kind in the natural conditions of life. The remarkable susceptibility of the reproductive system to such changes,--a susceptibility not common to any other organ,--apparently has an important bearing on Variability, as we shall see in a future chapter. It is impossible not to be struck with the double parallelism between the two classes of facts just alluded to. On the one hand, slight changes in the conditions of life, and crosses between slightly modified forms or varieties, are beneficial as far as prolificness and constitutional vigour are concerned. On the other hand, changes in the conditions greater in degree, or of a different nature, and crosses between forms which have been slowly and greatly modified by natural means,--in other words, between species,--are highly injurious, as far as the reproductive system is concerned, and in some few instances as far as constitutional vigour is concerned. Can this parallelism be accidental? Does it not rather indicate some real bond of connection? As a fire goes out unless it be stirred up, so the vital forces are always tending, according to Mr. Herbert Spencer, to a state of equilibrium, unless disturbed and renovated through the action of other forces. In some few cases varieties tend to keep distinct, by breeding at different periods, by great differences in size, or by sexual preference,--in this latter respect more especially resembling species in a state of nature. But the actual crossing of varieties, far from diminishing, generally adds to the fertility of both the first union and the mongrel offspring. Whether all {178} the most widely distinct domestic varieties are invariably quite fertile when crossed, we do not positively know; much time and trouble would be requisite for the necessary experiments, and many difficulties occur, such as the descent of the various races from aboriginally distinct species, and the doubts whether certain forms ought to be ranked as species or varieties. Nevertheless, the wide experience of practical breeders proves that the great majority of varieties, even if some should hereafter prove not to be indefinitely fertile _inter se_, are far more fertile when crossed, than the vast majority of closely allied natural species. A few remarkable cases have, however, been given on the authority of excellent observers, showing that with plants certain forms, which undoubtedly must be ranked as varieties, yield fewer seeds when crossed than is natural to the parent-species. Other varieties have had their reproductive powers so far modified that they are either more or less fertile than are their parents, when crossed with a distinct species. Nevertheless, the fact remains indisputable that domesticated varieties of animals and of plants, which differ greatly from each other in structure, but which are certainly descended from the same aboriginal species, such as the races of the fowl, pigeon, many vegetables, and a host of other productions, are extremely fertile when crossed; and this seems to make a broad and impassable barrier between domestic varieties and natural species. But, as I will now attempt to show, the distinction is not so great and overwhelmingly important as it at first appears. _On the Difference in Fertility between Varieties and Species when crossed._ This work is not the proper place for fully treating the subject of hybridism, and I have already given in my 'Origin of Species' a moderately full abstract. I will here merely enumerate the general conclusions which may be relied on, and which bear on our present point. _Firstly_, the laws governing the production of hybrids are identical, or nearly identical, in the animal and vegetable kingdoms. _Secondly_, the sterility of distinct species when first united, {179} and that of their hybrid offspring, graduates, by an almost infinite number of steps, from zero, when the ovule is never impregnated and a seed-capsule is never formed, up to complete fertility. We can only escape the conclusion that some species are fully fertile when crossed, by determining to designate as varieties all the forms which are quite fertile. This high degree of fertility is, however, rare. Nevertheless plants, which have been exposed to unnatural conditions, sometimes become modified in so peculiar a manner, that they are much more fertile when crossed by a distinct species than when fertilised by their own pollen. Success in effecting a first union between two species, and the fertility of their hybrids, depends in an eminent degree on the conditions of life being favourable. The innate sterility of hybrids of the same parentage and raised from the same seed-capsule often differs much in degree. _Thirdly_, the degree of sterility of a first cross between two species does not always run strictly parallel with that of their hybrid offspring. Many cases are known of species which can be crossed with ease, but yield hybrids excessively sterile; and conversely some which can be crossed with great difficulty, but produce fairly fertile hybrids. This is an inexplicable fact, on the view that species have been specially endowed with mutual sterility in order to keep them distinct. _Fourthly_, the degree of sterility often differs greatly in two species when reciprocally crossed; for the first will readily fertilise the second; but the latter is incapable, after hundreds of trials, of fertilising the former. Hybrids produced from reciprocal crosses between the same two species, likewise sometimes differ in their degree of sterility. These cases also are utterly inexplicable on the view of sterility being a special endowment. _Fifthly_, the degree of sterility of first crosses and of hybrids runs, to a certain extent, parallel with the general or systematic affinity of the forms which are united. For species belonging to distinct genera can rarely, and those belonging to distinct families can never, be crossed. The parallelism, however, is far from complete; for a multitude of closely allied species will not unite, or unite with extreme difficulty, whilst other species, widely different from each other, can be crossed with perfect facility. Nor does the difficulty depend on ordinary {180} constitutional differences, for annual and perennial plants, deciduous and evergreen trees, plants flowering at different seasons, inhabiting different stations, and naturally living under the most opposite climates, can often be crossed with ease. The difficulty or facility apparently depends exclusively on the sexual constitution of the species which are crossed; or on their sexual elective affinity, _i. e._ _Wahlverwandtschaft_ of Gärtner. As species rarely or never become modified in one character, without being at the same time modified in many, and as systematic affinity includes all visible resemblances and dissimilarities, any difference in sexual constitution between two species would naturally stand in more or less close relation with their systematic position. _Sixthly_, the sterility of species when first crossed, and that of hybrids, may possibly depend to a certain extent on distinct causes. With pure species the reproductive organs are in a perfect condition, whilst with hybrids they are often plainly deteriorated. A hybrid embryo which partakes of the constitution of its father and mother is exposed to unnatural conditions, as long as it is nourished within the womb, or egg, or seed of the mother-form; and as we know that unnatural conditions often induce sterility, the reproductive organs of the hybrid might at this early age be permanently affected. But this cause has no bearing on the infertility of first unions. The diminished number of the offspring from first unions may often result, as is certainly sometimes the case, from the premature death of most of the hybrid embryos. But we shall immediately see that a law of an unknown nature apparently exists, which causes the offspring from unions, which are infertile, to be themselves more or less infertile; and this at present is all that can be said. _Seventhly_, hybrids and mongrels present, with the one great exception of fertility, the most striking accordance in all other respects; namely, in the laws of their resemblance to their two parents, in their tendency to reversion, in their variability, and in being absorbed through repeated crosses by either parent-form. Since arriving at the foregoing conclusions, condensed from my former work, I have been led to investigate a subject which throws considerable light on hybridism, namely, the fertility of {181} reciprocally dimorphic and trimorphic plants, when illegitimately united. I have had occasion several times to allude to these plants, and I may here give a brief abstract[441] of my observations. Several plants belonging to distinct orders present two forms, which exist in about equal numbers, and which differ in no respect except in their reproductive organs; one form having a long pistil with short stamens, the other a short pistil with long stamens; both with differently sized pollen-grains. With trimorphic plants there are three forms likewise differing in the lengths of their pistils and stamens, in the size and colour of the pollen-grains, and in some other respects; and as in each of the three forms there are two sets of stamens, there are altogether six sets of stamens and three kinds of pistils. These organs are so proportioned in length to each other that, in any two of the forms, half the stamens in each stand on a level with the stigma of the third form. Now I have shown, and the result has been confirmed by other observers, that, in order to obtain full fertility with these plants, it is necessary that the stigma of the one form should be fertilised by pollen taken from the stamens of corresponding height in the other form. So that with dimorphic species two unions, which may be called legitimate, are fully fertile, and two, which may be called illegitimate, are more or less infertile. With trimorphic species six unions are legitimate or fully fertile, and twelve are illegitimate or more or less infertile. The infertility which may be observed in various dimorphic and trimorphic plants, when they are illegitimately fertilised, that is, by pollen taken from stamens not corresponding in height with the pistil, differs much in degree, up to absolute and utter sterility; just in the same manner as occurs in crossing distinct species. As the degree of sterility in the latter case depends in an eminent degree on the conditions of life being more or less favourable, so I have found it with illegitimate unions. It is well known that if pollen of a distinct species be placed on the stigma of a flower, and its own pollen be afterwards, even {182} after a considerable interval of time, placed on the same stigma, its action is so strongly prepotent that it generally annihilates the effect of the foreign pollen; so it is with the pollen of the several forms of the same species, for legitimate pollen is strongly prepotent over illegitimate pollen, when both are placed on the same stigma. I ascertained this by fertilising several flowers, first illegitimately, and twenty-four hours afterwards legitimately, with pollen taken from a peculiarly coloured variety, and all the seedlings were similarly coloured; this shows that the legitimate pollen, though applied twenty-four hours subsequently, had wholly destroyed or prevented the action of the previously applied illegitimate pollen. Again, as, in making reciprocal crosses between the same two species, there is occasionally a great difference in the result, so something analogous occurs with dimorphic plants; for a short-styled cowslip (_P. veris_) yields more seed when fertilised by the long-styled form, and less seed when fertilised by its own form, compared with a long-styled cowslip when fertilised in the two corresponding methods. In all these respects the forms of the same undoubted species, when illegitimately united, behave in exactly the same manner as do two distinct species when crossed. This led me carefully to observe during four years many seedlings, raised from several illegitimate unions. The chief result is that these illegitimate plants, as they may be called, are not fully fertile. It is possible to raise from dimorphic species, both long-styled and short-styled illegitimate plants, and from trimorphic plants all three illegitimate forms. These can then be properly united in a legitimate manner. When this is done, there is no apparent reason why they should not yield as many seeds as did their parents when legitimately fertilised. But such is not the case; they are all infertile, but in various degrees; some being so utterly and incurably sterile that they did not yield during four seasons a single seed or even seed-capsule. These illegitimate plants, which are so sterile, although united with each other in a legitimate manner, may be strictly compared with hybrids when crossed _inter se_, and it is well known how sterile these latter generally are. When, on the other hand, a hybrid is crossed with either pure parent-species, the sterility is usually much lessened: and so it is when an illegitimate plant is fertilised by {183} a legitimate plant. In the same manner as the sterility of hybrids does not always run parallel with the difficulty of making the first cross between the two parent species, so the sterility of certain illegitimate plants was unusually great, whilst the sterility of the union from which they were derived was by no means great. With hybrids raised from the same seed-capsule the degree of sterility is innately variable, so it is in a marked manner with illegitimate plants. Lastly, many hybrids are profuse and persistent flowerers, whilst other and more sterile hybrids produce few flowers, and are weak, miserable dwarfs; exactly similar cases occur with the illegitimate offspring of various dimorphic and trimorphic plants. Altogether there is the closest identity in character and behaviour between illegitimate plants and hybrids. It is hardly an exaggeration to maintain that the former are hybrids, but produced within the limits of the same species by the improper union of certain forms, whilst ordinary hybrids are produced from an improper union between so-called distinct species. We have already seen that there is the closest similarity in all respects between first illegitimate unions, and first crosses between distinct species. This will perhaps be made more fully apparent by an illustration: we may suppose that a botanist found two well-marked varieties (and such occur) of the long-styled form of the trimorphic _Lythrum salicaria_, and that he determined to try by crossing whether they were specifically distinct. He would find that they yielded only about one-fifth of the proper number of seed, and that they behaved in all the other above-specified respects as if they had been two distinct species. But to make the case sure, he would raise plants from his supposed hybridised seed, and he would find that the seedlings were miserably dwarfed and utterly sterile, and that they behaved in all other respects like ordinary hybrids. He might then maintain that he had actually proved, in accordance with the common view, that his two varieties were as good and as distinct species as any in the world; but he would be completely mistaken. The facts now given on dimorphic and trimorphic plants are important, because they show us, firstly, that the physiological {184} test of lessened fertility, both in first crosses and in hybrids, is no safe criterion of specific distinction; secondly, because we may conclude that there must be some unknown law or bond connecting the infertility of illegitimate unions with that of their illegitimate offspring, and we are thus led to extend this view to first crosses and hybrids; thirdly, because we find, and this seems to me of especial importance, that with trimorphic plants three forms of the same species exist, which when crossed in a particular manner are infertile, and yet these forms differ in no respect from each other, except in their reproductive organs,--as in the relative length of the stamens and pistils, in the size, form, and colour of the pollen-grains, in the structure of the stigma, and in, the number and size of the seeds. With these differences and no others, either in organisation or constitution, we find that the illegitimate unions and the illegitimate progeny of these three forms are more or less sterile, and closely resemble in a whole series of relations the first unions and hybrid offspring of distinct species. From this we may infer that the sterility of species when crossed and of their hybrid progeny is likewise in all probability exclusively due to differences confined to the reproductive system. We have indeed been brought to a similar conclusion by observing that the sterility of crossed species does not strictly coincide with their systematic affinity, that is, with the sum of their external resemblances; nor does it coincide with their similarity in general constitution. But we are more especially led to this same conclusion by considering reciprocal crosses, in which the male of one species cannot be united, or can be united with extreme difficulty, with the female of a second species, whilst the converse cross can be effected with perfect facility; for this difference in the facility of making reciprocal crosses, and in the fertility of their offspring, must be attributed either to the male or female element in the first species having been differentiated with reference to the sexual element of the second species in a higher degree than in the converse case. In so complex a subject as Hybridism it is of considerable importance thus to arrive at a definitive conclusion, namely, that the sterility which almost invariably follows the union of distinct {185} species depends exclusively on differences in their sexual constitution. * * * * * On the principle which makes it necessary for man, whilst he is selecting and improving his domestic varieties, to keep them separate, it would clearly be advantageous to varieties in a state of nature, that is to incipient species, if they could be kept from blending, either through sexual aversion, or by becoming mutually sterile. Hence it at one time appeared to me probable, as it has to others, that this sterility might have been acquired through natural selection. On this view we must suppose that a shade of lessened fertility first spontaneously appeared, like any other modification, in certain individuals of a species when crossed with other individuals of the same species; and that successive slight degrees of infertility, from being advantageous, were slowly accumulated. This appears all the more probable, if we admit that the structural differences between the forms of dimorphic and trimorphic plants, as the length and curvature of the pistil, &c., have been co-adapted through natural selection; for if this be admitted, we can hardly avoid extending the same conclusion to their mutual infertility. Sterility moreover has been acquired through natural selection for other and widely different purposes, as with neuter insects in reference to their social economy. In the case of plants, the flowers on the circumference of the truss in the guelder-rose (_Viburnum opulus_) and those on the summit of the spike in the feather-hyacinth (_Muscari comosum_) have been rendered conspicuous, and apparently in consequence sterile, in order that insects might easily discover and visit the other flowers. But when we endeavour to apply the principle of natural selection to the acquirement by distinct species of mutual sterility, we meet with great difficulties. In the first place, it may be remarked that separate regions are often inhabited by groups of species or by single species, which when brought together and crossed are found to be more or less sterile; now it could clearly have been of no advantage to such separated species to have been rendered mutually sterile, and consequently this could not have been effected through natural selection; but it may perhaps be argued, that, if a species were rendered sterile with {186} some one compatriot, sterility with other species would follow as a necessary consequence. In the second place, it is as much opposed to the theory of natural selection, as to the theory of special creation, that in reciprocal crosses the male element of one form should have been rendered utterly impotent on a second form, whilst at the same time the male element of this second form is enabled freely to fertilise the first form; for this peculiar state of the reproductive system could not possibly be advantageous to either species. In considering the probability of natural selection having come into action in rendering species mutually sterile, one great difficulty will be found to lie in the existence of many graduated steps from slightly lessened fertility to absolute sterility. It may be admitted, on the principle above explained, that it would profit an incipient species if it were rendered in some slight degree sterile when crossed with its parent-form or with some other variety; for thus fewer bastardised and deteriorated offspring would be produced to commingle their blood with the new species in process of formation. But he who will take the trouble to reflect on the steps by which this first degree of sterility could be increased through natural selection to that higher degree which is common to so many species, and which is universal with species which have been differentiated to a generic or family rank, will find the subject extraordinarily complex. After mature reflection it seems to me that this could not have been effected through natural selection; for it could have been of no direct advantage to an individual animal to breed badly with another individual of a different variety, and thus leave few offspring; consequently such individuals could not have been preserved or selected. Or take the case of two species which in their present state, when crossed, produce few and sterile offspring; now, what is there which could favour the survival of those individuals which happened to be endowed in a slightly higher degree with mutual infertility and which thus approached by one small step towards absolute sterility? yet an advance of this kind, if the theory of natural selection be brought to bear, must have incessantly occurred with many species, for a multitude are mutually quite barren. With sterile neuter insects we have reason to {187} believe that modifications in their structure have been slowly accumulated by natural selection, from an advantage having been thus indirectly given to the community to which they belonged over other communities of the same species; but an individual animal, if rendered slightly sterile when crossed with some other variety, would not thus in itself gain any advantage, or indirectly give any advantage to its nearest relatives or to other individuals of the same variety, leading to their preservation. I infer from these considerations that, as far as animals are concerned, the various degrees of lessened fertility which occur with species when crossed cannot have been slowly accumulated by means of natural selection. With plants, it is possible that the case may be somewhat different. With many kinds, insects constantly carry pollen from neighbouring plants to the stigmas of each flower; and with some species this is effected by the wind. Now, if the pollen of a variety, when deposited on the stigma of the same variety, should become by spontaneous variation in ever so slight a degree prepotent over the pollen of other varieties, this would certainly be an advantage to the variety; for its own pollen would thus obliterate the effects of the pollen of other varieties, and prevent deterioration of character. And the more prepotent the variety's own pollen could be rendered through natural selection, the greater the advantage would be. We know from the researches of Gärtner that, with species which are mutually sterile, the pollen of each is always prepotent on its own stigma over that of the other species; but we do not know whether this prepotency is a consequence of the mutual sterility, or the sterility a consequence of the prepotency. If the latter view be correct, as the prepotency became stronger through natural selection, from being advantageous to a species in process of formation, so the sterility consequent on prepotency would at the same time be augmented; and the final result would be various degrees of sterility, such as occurs with existing species. This view might be extended to animals, if the female before each birth received several males, so that the sexual element of the prepotent male of her own variety obliterated the effects of the access of previous males belonging to other varieties; but we have no reason to believe, at least {188} with terrestrial animals, that this is the ease; as most males and females pair for each birth, and some few for life. On the whole we may conclude that with animals the sterility of crossed species has not been slowly augmented through natural selection; and as this sterility follows the same general laws in the vegetable as in the animal kingdom, it is improbable, though apparently possible, that with plants crossed species should have been rendered sterile by a different process. From this consideration, and remembering that species which have never co-existed in the same country, and which therefore could not have received any advantage from having been rendered mutually infertile, yet are generally sterile when crossed; and bearing in mind that in reciprocal crosses between the same two species there is sometimes the widest difference in their sterility, we must give up the belief that natural selection has come into play. As species have not been rendered mutually infertile through the accumulative action of natural selection, and as we may safely conclude, from the previous as well as from other and more general considerations, that they have not been endowed through an act of creation with this quality, we must infer that it has arisen incidentally during their slow formation in connection with other and unknown changes in their organisation. By a quality arising incidentally, I refer to such cases as different species of animals and plants being differently affected by poisons to which they are not naturally exposed; and this difference in susceptibility is clearly incidental on other and unknown differences in their organisation. So again the capacity in different kinds of trees to be grafted on each other, or on a third species, differs much, and is of no advantage to these trees, but is incidental on structural or functional differences in their woody tissues. We need not feel surprise at sterility incidentally resulting from crosses between distinct species,--the modified descendants of a common progenitor,--when we bear in mind how easily the reproductive system is affected by various causes--often by extremely slight changes in the conditions of life, by too close interbreeding, and by other agencies. It is well to bear in mind such cases, as that of the _Passiflora alata_, which recovered its self-fertility from {189} being grafted on a distinct species--the cases of plants which normally or abnormally are self-impotent, but can readily be fertilised by the pollen of a distinct species--and lastly the cases of individual domesticated animals which evince towards each other sexual incompatibility. * * * * * We now at last come to the immediate point under discussion: how is it that, with some few exceptions in the case of plants, domesticated varieties, such as those of the dog, fowl, pigeon, several fruit-trees, and culinary vegetables, which differ from each other in external characters more than many species, are perfectly fertile when crossed, or even fertile in excess, whilst closely allied species are almost invariably in some degree sterile? We can, to a certain extent, give a satisfactory answer to this question. Passing over the fact that the amount of external difference between two species is no sure guide to their degree of mutual sterility, so that similar differences in the case of varieties would be no sure guide, we know that with species the cause lies exclusively in differences in their sexual constitution. Now the conditions to which domesticated animals and cultivated plants have been subjected, have had so little tendency towards modifying the reproductive system in a manner leading to mutual sterility, that we have good grounds for admitting the directly opposite doctrine of Pallas, namely, that such conditions generally eliminate this tendency; so that the domesticated descendants of species, which in their natural state would have been in some degree sterile when crossed, become perfectly fertile together. With plants, so far is cultivation from giving a tendency towards mutual sterility, that in several well-authenticated cases, already often alluded to, certain species have been affected in a very different manner, for they have become self-impotent, whilst still retaining the capacity of fertilising, and being fertilised by, distinct species. If the Pallasian doctrine of the elimination of sterility through long-continued domestication be admitted, and it can hardly be rejected, it becomes in the highest degree improbable that similar circumstances should commonly both induce and eliminate the same tendency; though in certain cases, with species having a peculiar constitution, sterility might occasionally be thus {190} induced. Thus, as I believe, we can understand why with domesticated animals varieties have not been produced which are mutually sterile; and why with plants only a few such cases have been observed, namely, by Gärtner, with certain varieties of maize and verbascum, by other experimentalists with varieties of the gourd and melon, and by Kölreuter with one kind of tobacco. With respect to varieties which have originated in a state of nature, it is almost hopeless to expect to prove by direct evidence that they have been rendered mutually sterile; for if even a trace of sterility could be detected, such varieties would at once be raised by almost every naturalist to the rank of distinct species. If, for instance, Gärtner's statement were fully confirmed, that the blue and red-flowered forms of the pimpernel (_Anagallis arvensis_) are sterile when crossed, I presume that all the botanists who now maintain on various grounds that these two forms are merely fleeting varieties, would at once admit that they were specifically distinct. The real difficulty in our present subject is not, as it appears to me, why domestic varieties have not become mutually infertile when crossed, but why this has so generally occurred with natural varieties as soon as they have been modified in a sufficient and permanent degree to take rank as species. We are far from precisely knowing the cause; nor is this surprising, seeing how profoundly ignorant we are in regard to the normal and abnormal action of the reproductive system. But we can see that species, owing to their struggle for life with numerous competitors, must have been exposed to more uniform conditions during long periods of time, than have been domestic varieties; and this may well make a wide difference in the result. For we know how commonly wild animals and plants, when taken from their natural conditions and subjected to captivity, are rendered sterile; and the reproductive functions of organic beings which have always lived and been slowly modified under natural conditions would probably in like manner be eminently sensitive to the influence of an unnatural cross. Domesticated productions, on the other hand, which, as shown by the mere fact of their domestication, were not originally highly sensitive to changes in their conditions of life, and which can now generally resist {191} with undiminished fertility repeated changes of conditions, might be expected to produce varieties, which would be little liable to have their reproductive powers injuriously affected by the act of crossing with other varieties which had originated in a like manner. Certain naturalists have recently laid too great stress, as it appears to me, on the difference in fertility between varieties and species when crossed. Some allied species of trees cannot be grafted on each other,--all varieties can be so grafted. Some allied animals are affected in a very different manner by the same poison, but with varieties no such case until recently was known, but now it has been proved that immunity from certain poisons stands in some cases in correlation with the colour of the hair. The period of gestation generally differs much with distinct species, but with varieties until lately no such difference had been observed. The time required for the germination of seeds differs in an analogous manner, and I am not aware that any difference in this respect has as yet been detected with varieties. Here we have various physiological differences, and no doubt others could be added, between one species and another of the same genus, which do not occur, or occur with extreme rarity, in the case of varieties; and these differences are apparently wholly or in chief part incidental on other constitutional differences, just in the same manner as the sterility of crossed species is incidental on differences confined to the sexual system. Why, then, should these latter differences, however serviceable they may indirectly be in keeping the inhabitants of the same country distinct, be thought of such paramount importance, in comparison with other incidental and functional differences? No sufficient answer to this question can be given. Hence the fact that the most distinct domestic varieties are, with rare exceptions, perfectly fertile when crossed, and produce fertile offspring, whilst closely allied species are, with rare exceptions, more or less sterile, is not nearly so formidable an objection as it appears at first to the theory of the common descent of allied species. * * * * * {192} CHAPTER XX. SELECTION BY MAN. SELECTION A DIFFICULT ART--METHODICAL, UNCONSCIOUS, AND NATURAL SELECTION--RESULTS OF METHODICAL SELECTION--CARE TAKEN IN SELECTION--SELECTION WITH PLANTS--SELECTION CARRIED ON BY THE ANCIENTS, AND BY SEMI-CIVILIZED PEOPLE--UNIMPORTANT CHARACTERS OFTEN ATTENDED TO--UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--AS CIRCUMSTANCES SLOWLY CHANGE, SO HAVE OUR DOMESTICATED ANIMALS CHANGED THROUGH THE ACTION OF UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--INFLUENCE OF DIFFERENT BREEDERS ON THE SAME SUB-VARIETY--PLANTS AS AFFECTED BY UNCONSCIOUS SELECTION--EFFECTS OF SELECTION AS SHOWN BY THE GREAT AMOUNT OF DIFFERENCE IN THE PARTS MOST VALUED BY MAN. The power of Selection, whether exercised by man, or brought into play under nature through the struggle for existence and the consequent survival of the fittest, absolutely depends on the variability of organic beings. Without variability nothing can be effected; slight individual differences, however, suffice for the work, and are probably the sole differences which are effective in the production of new species. Hence our discussion on the causes and laws of variability ought in strict order to have preceded our present subject, as well as the previous subjects of inheritance, crossing, &c.; but practically the present arrangement has been found the most convenient. Man does not attempt to cause variability; though he unintentionally effects this by exposing organisms to new conditions of life, and by crossing breeds already formed. But variability being granted, he works wonders. Unless some degree of selection be exercised, the free commingling of the individuals of the same variety soon obliterates, as we have previously seen, the slight differences which may arise, and gives to the whole body of individuals uniformity of character. In separated districts, long-continued exposure to different conditions of life may perhaps produce new races without the aid of selection; but to this difficult subject {193} of the direct action of the conditions of life we shall in a future chapter recur. When animals or plants are born with some conspicuous and firmly inherited new character, selection is reduced to the preservation of such individuals, and to the subsequent prevention of crosses; so that nothing more need be said on the subject. But in the great majority of cases a new character, or some superiority in an old character, is at first faintly pronounced, and is not strongly inherited; and then the full difficulty of selection is experienced. Indomitable patience, the finest powers of discrimination, and sound judgment must be exercised during many years. A clearly predetermined object must be kept steadily in view. Few men are endowed with all these qualities, especially with that of discriminating very slight differences; judgment can be acquired only by long experience; but if any of these qualities be wanting, the labour of a life may be thrown away. I have been astonished when celebrated breeders, whose skill and judgment have been proved by their success at exhibitions, have shown me their animals, which appeared all alike, and have assigned their reasons for matching this and that individual. The importance of the great principle of Selection mainly lies in this power of selecting scarcely appreciable differences, which nevertheless are found to be transmissible, and which can be accumulated until the result is made manifest to the eyes of every beholder. The principle of selection may be conveniently divided into three kinds. _Methodical selection_ is that which guides a man who systematically endeavours to modify a breed according to some predetermined standard. _Unconscious selection_ is that which follows from men naturally preserving the most valued and destroying the less valued individuals, without any thought of altering the breed; and undoubtedly this process slowly works great changes. Unconscious selection graduates into methodical, and only extreme cases can be distinctly separated; for he who preserves a useful or perfect animal will generally breed from it with the hope of getting offspring of the same character; but as long as he has not a predetermined purpose to improve the breed, he may be said to be selecting {194} unconsciously.[442] Lastly, we have _Natural selection_, which implies that the individuals which are best fitted for the complex, and in the course of ages changing conditions to which they are exposed, generally survive and procreate their kind. With domestic productions, with which alone we are here strictly concerned, natural selection comes to a certain extent into action, independently of, and even in opposition to, the will of man. * * * * * _Methodical Selection._--What man has effected within recent times in England by methodical selection is clearly shown by our exhibitions of improved quadrupeds and fancy birds. With respect to cattle, sheep, and pigs, we owe their great improvement to a long series of well-known names--Bakewell, Colling, Ellman, Bates, Jonas Webb, Lords Leicester and Western, Fisher Hobbs, and others. Agricultural writers are unanimous on the power of selection: any number of statements to this effect could be quoted; a few will suffice. Youatt, a sagacious and experienced observer, writes,[443] the principle of selection is "that which enables the agriculturist, not only to modify the character of his flock, but to change it altogether." A great breeder of shorthorns[444] says, "In the anatomy of the shoulder modern breeders have made great improvements on the Ketton shorthorns by correcting the defect in the knuckle or shoulder-joint, and by laying the top of the shoulder more snugly into the crop, and thereby filling up the hollow behind it.... The eye has its fashion at different periods: at one time the eye high and outstanding from the head, and at another time the sleepy eye sunk into the head; but these extremes have merged into the medium of a full, clear, and prominent eye with a placid look." Again, hear what an excellent judge of pigs[445] says: "The legs {195} should be no longer than just to prevent the animal's belly from trailing on the ground. The leg is the least profitable portion of the hog, and we therefore require no more of it than is absolutely necessary for the support of the rest." Let any one compare the wild-boar with any improved breed, and he will see how effectually the legs have been shortened. Few persons, except breeders, are aware of the systematic care taken in selecting animals, and of the necessity of having a clear and almost prophetic vision into futurity. Lord Spencer's skill and judgment were well known; and he writes,[446] "It is therefore very desirable, before any man commences to breed either cattle or sheep, that he should make up his mind to the shape and qualities he wishes to obtain, and steadily pursue this object." Lord Somerville, in speaking of the marvellous improvement of the New Leicester sheep, effected by Bakewell and his successors, says, "It would seem as if they had first drawn a perfect form, and then given it life." Youatt[447] urges the necessity of annually drafting each flock, as many animals will certainly degenerate "from the standard of excellence, which the breeder has established in his own mind." Even with a bird of such little importance as the canary, long ago (1780-1790) rules were established, and a standard of perfection was fixed, according to which the London fanciers tried to breed the several sub-varieties.[448] A great winner of prizes at the Pigeon-shows,[449] in describing the Short-faced Almond Tumbler, says, "There are many first-rate fanciers who are particularly partial to what is called the goldfinch-beak, which is very beautiful; others say, take a full-size round cherry, then take a barley-corn, and judiciously placing and thrusting it into the cherry, form as it were your beak; and that is not all, for it will form a good head and beak, provided, as I said before, it is judiciously done; others take an oat; but as I think the goldfinch-beak the handsomest, I would advise the inexperienced fancier to get the head of a goldfinch, and keep it by him for his observation." Wonderfully different as is the beak of the rock-pigeon and goldfinch, undoubtedly, as far as {196} external shape and proportions are concerned, the end has been nearly gained. Not only should our animals be examined with the greatest care whilst alive, but, as Anderson remarks,[450] their carcases should be scrutinised, "so as to breed from the descendants of such only as, in the language of the butcher, cut up well." The "grain of the meat" in cattle, and its being well marbled with fat,[451] and the greater or less accumulation of fat in the abdomen of our sheep, have been attended to with success. So with poultry, a writer,[452] speaking of Cochin-China fowls, which are said to differ much in the quality of their flesh, says, "the best mode is to purchase two young brother-cocks, kill, dress, and serve up one; if he be indifferent, similarly dispose of the other, and try again; if, however, he be fine and well-flavoured, his brother will not be amiss for breeding purposes for the table." The great principle of the division of labour has been brought to bear on selection. In certain districts[453] "the breeding of bulls is confined to a very limited number of persons, who by devoting their whole attention to this department, are able from year to year to furnish a class of bulls which are steadily improving the general breed of the district." The rearing and letting of choice rams has long been, as is well known, a chief source of profit to several eminent breeders. In parts of Germany this principle is carried with merino sheep to an extreme point.[454] "So important is the proper selection of breeding animals considered, that the best flock-masters do not trust to their own judgment, or to that of their shepherds, but employ persons called 'sheep-classifiers,' who make it their special business to attend to this part of the management of several flocks, and thus to preserve, or if possible to improve, the best qualities of both parents in the lambs." In Saxony, "when the lambs are weaned, each in his turn is placed upon a table that his wool and form may be minutely observed. {197} The finest are selected for breeding and receive a first mark. When they are one year old, and prior to shearing them, another close examination of those previously marked takes place: those in which no defect can be found receive a second mark, and the rest are condemned. A few months afterwards a third and last scrutiny is made; the prime rams and ewes receive a third and final mark, but the slightest blemish is sufficient to cause the rejection of the animal." These sheep are bred and valued almost exclusively for the fineness of their wool; and the result corresponds with the labour bestowed on their selection. Instruments have been invented to measure accurately the thickness of the fibres; and "an Austrian fleece has been produced of which twelve hairs equalled in thickness one from a Leicester sheep." Throughout the world, wherever silk is produced, the greatest care is bestowed on selecting the cocoons from which the moths for breeding are to be reared. A careful cultivator[455] likewise examines the moths themselves, and destroys those that are not perfect. But what more immediately concerns us is that certain families in France devote themselves to raising eggs for sale.[456] In China, near Shanghai, the inhabitants of two small districts have the privilege of raising eggs for the whole surrounding country, and that they may give up their whole time to this business, they are interdicted by law from producing silk.[457] The care which successful breeders take in matching their birds is surprising. Sir John Sebright, whose fame is perpetuated by the "Sebright Bantam," used to spend "two and three days in examining, consulting, and disputing with a friend which were the best of five or six birds."[458] Mr. Bult, whose pouter-pigeons won so many prizes and were exported to North America under the charge of a man sent on purpose, told me that he always deliberated for several days before he matched each pair. Hence we can understand the advice of an eminent fancier, who writes,[459] "I would here particularly guard {198} you against having too great a variety of pigeons, otherwise you will know a little of all, but nothing about one as it ought to be known." Apparently it transcends the power of the human intellect to breed all kinds: "it is possible that there may be a few fanciers that have a good general knowledge of fancy pigeons; but there are many more who labour under the delusion of supposing they know what they do not." The excellence of one sub-variety, the Almond Tumbler, lies in the plumage, carriage, head, beak, and eye; but it is too presumptuous in the beginner to try for all these points. The great judge above quoted says, "there are some young fanciers who are over-covetous, who go for all the above five properties at once; they have their reward by getting nothing." We thus see that breeding even fancy pigeons is no simple art: we may smile at the solemnity of these precepts, but he who laughs will win no prizes. What methodical selection has effected for our animals is sufficiently proved, as already remarked, by our Exhibitions. So greatly were the sheep belonging to some of the earlier breeders, such as Bakewell and Lord Western, changed, that many persons could not be persuaded that they had not been crossed. Our pigs, as Mr. Corringham remarks,[460] during the last twenty years have undergone, through rigorous selection together with crossing, a complete metamorphosis. The first exhibition for poultry was held in the Zoological Gardens in 1845; and the improvement effected since that time has been great. As Mr. Baily, the great judge, remarked to me, it was formerly ordered that the comb of the Spanish cock should be upright, and in four or five years all good birds had upright combs; it was ordered that the Polish cock should have no comb or wattles, and now a bird thus furnished would be at once disqualified; beards were ordered, and out of fifty-seven pens lately (1860) exhibited at the Crystal Palace, all had beards. So it has been in many other cases. But in all cases the judges order only what is occasionally produced and what can be improved and rendered constant by selection. The steady increase of weight during the last few years in our {199} fowls, turkeys, ducks, and geese is notorious; "six-pound ducks are now common, whereas four pounds was formerly the average." As the actual time required to make a change has not often been recorded, it may be worth mentioning that it took Mr. Wicking thirteen years to put a clean white head on an almond tumbler's body, "a triumph," says another fancier, "of which he may be justly proud."[461] Mr. Tollet, of Betley Hall, selected cows, and especially bulls, descended from good milkers, for the sole purpose of improving his cattle for the production of cheese; he steadily tested the milk with the lactometer, and in eight years he increased, as I was informed by him, the product in the proportion of four to three. Here is a curious case[462] of steady but slow progress, with the end not as yet fully attained: in 1784 a race of silkworms was introduced into France, in which one hundred out of the thousand failed to produce white cocoons; but now, after careful selection during sixty-five generations, the proportion of yellow cocoons has been reduced to thirty-five in the thousand. With plants selection has been followed with the same good results as with animals. But the process is simpler, for plants in the great majority of cases bear both sexes. Nevertheless, with most kinds it is necessary to take as much care to prevent crosses as with animals or unisexual plants; but with some plants, such as peas, this care does not seem to be necessary. With all improved plants, excepting of course those which are propagated by buds, cuttings, &c., it is almost indispensable to examine the seedlings and destroy those which depart from the proper type. This is called "roguing," and is, in fact, a form of selection, like the rejection of inferior animals. Experienced horticulturists and agriculturists incessantly urge every one to preserve the finest plants for the production of seed. Although plants often present much more conspicuous variations than animals, yet the closest attention is generally requisite to detect each slight and favourable change. Mr. Masters relates[463] how "many a patient hour was devoted," whilst he was {200} young, to the detection of differences in peas intended for seed. Mr. Barnet[464] remarks that the old scarlet American strawberry was cultivated for more than a century without producing a single variety; and another writer observes how singular it was that when gardeners first began to attend to this fruit it began to vary; the truth no doubt being that it had always varied, but that, until slight varieties were selected and propagated by seed, no conspicuous result was obtained. The finest shades of difference in wheat have been discriminated and selected with almost as much care, as we see in Colonel Le Couteur's works, as in the case of the higher animals; but with our cereals the process of selection has seldom or never been long continued. It may be worth while to give a few examples of methodical selection with plants; but in fact the great improvement of all our anciently cultivated plants may be attributed to selection long carried on, in part methodically, and in part unconsciously. I have shown in a former chapter how the weight of the gooseberry has been increased by systematic selection and culture. The flowers of the Heartsease have been similarly increased in size and regularity of outline. With the Cineraria, Mr. Glenny[465] "was bold enough, when the flowers were ragged and starry and ill defined in colour, to fix a standard which was then considered outrageously high and impossible, and which, even if reached, it was said, we should be no gainers by, as it would spoil the beauty of the flowers. He maintained that he was right; and the event has proved it to be so." The doubling of flowers has several times been effected by careful selection: the Rev. W. Williamson,[466] after sowing during several years seed of _Anemone coronaria_, found a plant with one additional petal; he sowed the seed of this, and by perseverance in the same course obtained several varieties with six or seven rows of petals. The single Scotch rose was doubled, and yielded eight good varieties in nine or ten years.[467] The Canterbury bell (_Campanula medium_) was doubled by careful selection in four generations.[468] In four years Mr. Buckman,[469] by culture and {201} careful selection, converted parsnips, raised from wild seed, into a new and good variety. By selection during a long course of years, the early maturity of peas has been hastened from ten to twenty-one days.[470] A more curious case is offered by the beet-plant, which, since its cultivation in France, has almost exactly doubled its yield of sugar. This has been effected by the most careful selection; the specific gravity of the roots being regularly tested, and the best roots saved for the production of seed.[471] _Selection by Ancient and Semi-civilised People._ In attributing so much importance to the selection of animals and plants, it may be objected that methodical selection would not have been carried on during ancient times. A distinguished naturalist considers it as absurd to suppose that semi-civilised people should have practised selection of any kind. Undoubtedly the principle has been systematically acknowledged and followed to a far greater extent within the last hundred years than at any former period, and a corresponding result has been gained; but it would be a great error to suppose, as we shall immediately see, that its importance was not recognised and acted on during the most ancient times, and by semi-civilised people. I should premise that many facts now to be given only show that care was taken in breeding; but when this is the case, selection is almost sure to be practised to a certain extent. We shall hereafter be enabled better to judge how far selection, when only occasionally carried on, by a few of the inhabitants of a country, will slowly produce a great effect. In a well-known passage in the thirtieth chapter of Genesis, rules are given for influencing, as was then thought possible, the colour of sheep; and speckled and dark breeds are spoken of as being kept separate. By the time of David the fleece was likened to snow. Youatt,[472] who has discussed all the passages in relation to breeding in the Old Testament, concludes that {202} at this early period "some of the best principles of breeding must have been steadily and long pursued." It was ordered, according to Moses, that "Thou shalt not let thy cattle gender with a diverse kind;" but mules were purchased,[473] so that at this early period other nations must have crossed the horse and ass. It is said[474] that Erichthonius, some generations before the Trojan war, had many brood-mares, "which by his care and judgment in the choice of stallions produced a breed of horses superior to any in the surrounding countries." Homer (Book v.) speaks of Æneas's horses as bred from mares which were put to the steeds of Laomedon. Plato, in his 'Republic,' says to Glaucus, "I see that you raise at your house a great many dogs for the chase. Do you take care about breeding and pairing them? Among animals of good blood, are there not always some which are superior to the rest?" To which Glaucus answers in the affirmative.[475] Alexander the Great selected the finest Indian cattle to send to Macedonia to improve the breed.[476] According to Pliny,[477] King Pyrrhus had an especially valuable breed of oxen; and he did not suffer the bulls and cows to come together till four years old, that the breed might not degenerate. Virgil, in his Georgics (lib. iii.), gives as strong advice as any modern agriculturist could do, carefully to select the breeding stock; "to note the tribe, the lineage, and the sire; whom to reserve for husband of the herd;"--to brand the progeny;--to select sheep of the purest white, and to examine if their tongues are swarthy. We have seen that the Romans kept pedigrees of their pigeons, and this would have been a senseless proceeding had not great care been taken in breeding them. Columella gives detailed instructions about breeding fowls: "Let the breeding hens therefore be of a choice colour, a robust body, square-built, full-breasted, with large heads, with upright and bright-red combs. Those are believed to be the best bred which have five toes."[478] According to Tacitus, the Celts attended to the races of their domestic animals; {203} and Cæsar states that they paid high prices to merchants for fine imported horses.[479] In regard to plants, Virgil speaks of yearly culling the largest seeds; and Celsus says, "where the corn and crop is but small, we must pick out the best ears of corn, and of them lay up our seed separately by itself."[480] Coming down the stream of time, we may be brief. At about the beginning of the ninth century Charlemagne expressly ordered his officers to take great care of his stallions; and if any proved bad or old, to forewarn him in good time before they were put to the mares.[481] Even in a country so little civilised as Ireland during the ninth century, it would appear from some ancient verses,[482] describing a ransom demanded by Cormac, that animals from particular places, or having a particular character, were valued. Thus it is said,-- Two pigs of the pigs of Mac Lir, A ram and ewe both round and red, I brought with me from Aengus. I brought with me a stallion and a mare From the beautiful stud of Manannan, A bull and a white cow from Druim Cain. Athelstan, in 930, received as a present from Germany, running-horses; and he prohibited the exportation of English horses. King John imported "one hundred chosen stallions from Flanders."[483] On June 16th, 1305, the Prince of Wales wrote to the Archbishop of Canterbury, begging for the loan of any choice stallion, and promising its return at the end of the season.[484] There are numerous records at ancient periods in English history of the importation of choice animals of various kinds, and of foolish laws against their exportation. In the reigns of Henry VII. and VIII. it was ordered that the magistrates, at Michaelmas, should scour the heaths and commons, and destroy all mares beneath a certain size.[485] Some of our earlier kings passed laws against the slaughtering rams of any good breed before they were seven years old, so that they {204} might have time to breed. In Spain Cardinal Ximenes issued, in 1509, regulations on the _selection_ of good rams for breeding.[486] The Emperor Akbar Khan before the year 1600 is said to have "wonderfully improved" his pigeons by crossing the breeds; and this necessarily implies careful selection. About the same period the Dutch attended with the greatest care to the breeding of these birds. Belon in 1555 says that good managers in France examined the colour of their goslings in order to get geese of a white colour and better kinds. Markham in 1631 tells the breeder "to elect the largest and goodliest conies," and enters into minute details. Even with respect to seeds of plants for the flower-garden, Sir J. Hanmer writing about the year 1660[487] says, in "choosing seed, the best seed is the most weighty, and is had from the lustiest and most vigorous stems;" and he then gives rules about leaving only a few flowers on plants for seed; so that even such details were attended to in our flower-gardens two hundred years ago. In order to show that selection has been silently carried on in places where it would not have been expected, I may add that in the middle of the last century, in a remote part of North America, Mr. Cooper improved by careful selection all his vegetables, "so that they were greatly superior to those of any other person. When his radishes, for instance, are fit for use, he takes ten or twelve that he most approves, and plants them at least 100 yards from others that blossom at the same time. In the same manner he treats all his other plants, varying the circumstances according to their nature."[488] In the great work on China published in the last century by the Jesuits, and which is chiefly compiled from ancient Chinese encyclopædias, it is said that with sheep "improving the breed consists in choosing with particular care the lambs which are destined for propagation, in nourishing them well, and in keeping the flocks separate." The same principles were applied by the Chinese to various plants and fruit-trees.[489] An {205} imperial edict recommends the choice of seed of remarkable size; and selection was practised even by imperial hands, for it is said that the Ya-mi, or imperial rice, was noticed at an ancient period in a field by the Emperor Khang-hi, was saved and cultivated in his garden, and has since become valuable from being the only kind which will grow north of the Great Wall.[490] Even with flowers, the tree pæony (_P. moutan_) has been cultivated, according to Chinese traditions, for 1400 years; between 200 and 300 varieties have been raised, which are cherished like tulips formerly were by the Dutch.[491] Turning now to semi-civilised people and to savages: it occurred to me, from what I had seen of several parts of South America, where fences do not exist, and where the animals are of little value, that there would be absolutely no care in breeding or selecting them; and this to a large extent is true. Roulin,[492] however, describes in Colombia a naked race of cattle, which are not allowed to increase, on account of their delicate constitution. According to Azara[493] horses are often born in Paraguay with curly hair; but, as the natives do not like them, they are destroyed. On the other hand, Azara states that a hornless bull, born in 1770, was preserved and propagated its race. I was informed of the existence in Banda Oriental of a breed with reversed hair; and the extraordinary niata cattle first appeared and have since been kept distinct in La Plata. Hence certain conspicuous variations have been preserved, and others have been habitually destroyed, in these countries, which are so little favourable for careful selection. We have also seen that the inhabitants sometimes introduce cattle on their estates to prevent the evil effects of close interbreeding. On the other hand, I have heard on reliable authority that the Gauchos of the Pampas never take any pains in selecting the best bulls or stallions for breeding; and this probably accounts for the cattle and horses being remarkably uniform in character throughout the immense range of the Argentine republic. Looking to the Old World, in the Sahara Desert "The Touareg is as careful in the selection of his breeding Mahari {206} (a fine race of the dromedary) as the Arab is in that of his horse. The pedigrees are handed down, and many a dromedary can boast a genealogy far longer than the descendants of the Darley Arabian."[494] According to Pallas the Mongolians endeavour to breed the Yaks or horse-tailed buffaloes with white tails, for these are sold to the Chinese mandarins as fly-flappers; and Moorcroft, about seventy years after Pallas, found that white-tailed animals were still selected for breeding.[495] We have seen in the chapter on the Dog that savages in different parts of North America and in Guiana cross their dogs with wild Canidæ, as did the ancient Gauls, according to Pliny. This was done to give their dogs strength and vigour, in the same way as the keepers in large warrens now sometimes cross their ferrets (as I have been informed by Mr. Yarrell) with the wild polecat, "to give them more devil." According to Varro, the wild ass was formerly caught and crossed with the tame animal to improve the breed, in the same manner as at the present day the natives of Java sometimes drive their cattle into the forests to cross with the wild Banteng (_Bos sondaicus_).[496] In Northern Siberia, among the Ostyaks the dogs vary in markings in different districts, but in each place they are spotted black and white in a remarkably uniform manner;[497] and from this fact alone we may infer careful breeding, more especially as the dogs of one locality are famed throughout the country for their superiority. I have heard of certain tribes of Esquimaux who take pride in their teams of dogs being uniformly coloured. In Guiana, as Sir R. Schomburgk informs me,[498] the dogs of the Turuma Indians are highly valued and extensively bartered: the price of a good one is the same as that given for a wife: they are kept in a sort of cage, and the Indians "take great care when the female is in season to prevent her uniting with a dog of an inferior description." The Indians told Sir Robert that, if a dog proved bad or useless, {207} he was not killed, but was left to die from sheer neglect. Hardly any nation is more barbarous than the Fuegians, but I hear from Mr. Bridges, the Catechist to the Mission, that, "when these savages have a large, strong, and active bitch, they take care to put her to a fine dog, and even take care to feed her well, that her young may be strong and well favoured." In the interior of Africa, negroes, who have not associated with white men, show great anxiety to improve their animals: they "always choose the larger and stronger males for stock:" the Malakolo were much pleased at Livingstone's promise to send them a bull, and some Bakalolo carried a live cock all the way from Loanda into the interior.[499] Further south on the same continent, Andersson states that he has known a Damara give two fine oxen for a dog which struck his fancy. The Damaras take great delight in having whole droves of cattle of the same colour, and they prize their oxen in proportion to the size of their horns. "The Namaquas have a perfect mania for a uniform team; and almost all the people of Southern Africa value their cattle next to their women, and take a pride in possessing animals that look high-bred." "They rarely or never make use of a handsome animal as a beast of burden."[500] The power of discrimination which these savages possess is wonderful, and they can recognise to which tribe any cattle belong. Mr. Andersson further informs me that the natives frequently match a particular bull with a particular cow. The most curious case of selection by semi-civilised people, or indeed by any people, which I have found recorded, is that given by Garcilazo de la Vega, a descendant of the Incas, as having been practised in Peru before the country was subjugated by the Spaniards.[501] The Incas annually held great hunts, when all the wild animals were driven from an immense circuit to a central point. The beasts of prey were first destroyed as injurious. The wild Guanacos and Vicunas were sheared; the old males and females killed, and the others set at liberty. The various kinds of deer were examined; the old males and females {208} were likewise killed; "but the young females, with a certain number of males, selected from the most beautiful and strong," were given their freedom. Here, then, we have selection by man aiding natural selection. So that the Incas followed exactly the reverse system of that which our Scottish sportsmen are accused of following, namely, of steadily killing the finest stags, thus causing the whole race to degenerate.[502] In regard to the domesticated llamas and alpacas, they were separated in the time of the Incas according to colour; and if by chance one in a flock was born of the wrong colour, it was eventually put into another flock. In the genus Auchenia there are four forms,--the Guanaco and Vicuna, found wild and undoubtedly distinct species; the Llama and Alpaca, known only in a domesticated condition. These four animals appear so different, that most professed naturalists, especially those who have studied these animals in their native country, maintain that they are specifically distinct, notwithstanding that no one pretends to have seen a wild llama or alpaca. Mr. Ledger, however, who has closely studied these animals both in Peru and during their exportation to Australia, and who has made many experiments on their propagation, adduces arguments[503] which seem to me conclusive, that the llama is the domesticated descendant of the guanaco, and the alpaca of the vicuna. And now that we know that these animals many centuries ago were systematically bred and selected, there is nothing surprising in the great amount of change which they have undergone. It appeared to me at one time probable that, though ancient and semi-civilised people might have attended to the improvement of their more useful animals in essential points, yet that they would have disregarded unimportant characters. But human nature is the same throughout the world: fashion everywhere reigns supreme, and man is apt to value whatever he may chance to possess. We have seen that in South America the niata cattle, which certainly are not made useful by their shortened faces and upturned nostrils, have been preserved. The Damaras of South Africa value their cattle for uniformity {209} of colour and enormously long horns. The Mongolians value their yaks for their white tails. And I shall now show that there is hardly any peculiarity in our most useful animals which, from fashion, superstition, or some other motive, has not been valued, and consequently preserved. With respect to cattle, "an early record," according to Youatt,[504] "speaks of a hundred white cows with red ears being demanded as a compensation by the princes of North and South Wales. If the cattle were of a dark or black colour, 150 were to be presented." So that colour was attended to in Wales before its subjugation by England. In Central Africa, an ox that beats the ground with its tail is killed; and in South Africa some of the Damaras will not eat the flesh of a spotted ox. The Kaffirs value an animal with a musical voice; and "at a sale in British Kaffraria the low of a heifer excited so much admiration that a sharp competition sprung up for her possession, and she realised a considerable price."[505] With respect to sheep, the Chinese prefer rams without horns; the Tartars prefer them with spirally wound horns, because the hornless are thought to lose courage.[506] Some of the Damaras will not eat the flesh of hornless sheep. In regard to horses, at the end of the fifteenth century animals of the colour described as _liart pommé_ were most valued in France. The Arabs have a proverb, "Never buy a horse with four white feet, for he carries his shroud with him;"[507] the Arabs also, as we have seen, despise dun-coloured horses. So with dogs, Xenophon and others at an ancient period were prejudiced in favour of certain colours; and "white or slate-coloured hunting dogs were not esteemed."[508] Turning to poultry, the old Roman gourmands thought that the liver of a white goose was the most savoury. In Paraguay black-skinned fowls are kept because they are thought to be more productive, and their flesh the most proper for invalids.[509] In Guiana, as I am informed by Sir R. Schomburgk, the aborigines will not eat the flesh or eggs of the fowl, but two {210} races are kept distinct merely for ornament. In the Philippines, no less than nine sub-varieties of the game cock are kept and named, so that they must be separately bred. At the present time in Europe, the smallest peculiarities are carefully attended to in our most useful animals, either from fashion, or as a mark of purity of blood. Many examples could be given, two will suffice. "In the Western counties of England the prejudice against a white pig is nearly as strong as against a black one in Yorkshire." In one of the Berkshire sub-breeds, it is said, "the white should be confined to four white feet, a white spot between the eyes, and a few white hairs behind each shoulder." Mr. Saddler possessed "three hundred pigs, every one of which was marked in this manner."[510] Marshall, towards the close of the last century, in speaking of a change in one of the Yorkshire breeds of cattle, says the horns have been considerably modified, as "a clean, small, sharp horn has been _fashionable_ for the last twenty years."[511] In a part of Germany the cattle of the Race de Gfoehl are valued for many good qualities, but they must have horns of a particular curvature and tint, so much so that mechanical means are applied if they take a wrong direction; but the inhabitants "consider it of the highest importance that the nostrils of the bull should be flesh-coloured, and the eyelashes light; this is an indispensable condition. A calf with blue nostrils would not be purchased, or purchased at a very low price."[512] Therefore let no man say that any point or character is too trifling to be methodically attended to and selected by breeders. * * * * * _Unconscious Selection._--By this term I mean, as already more than once explained, the preservation by man of the most valued, and the destruction of the least valued individuals, without any conscious intention on his part of altering the breed. It is difficult to offer direct proofs of the results which follow from this kind of selection; but the indirect evidence is abundant. In fact, except that in the one case man acts intentionally, and in the other unintentionally, there is little difference between {211} methodical and unconscious selection. In both cases man preserves the animals which are most useful or pleasing to him, and destroys or neglects the others. But no doubt a far more rapid result follows from methodical than from unconscious selection. The "roguing" of plants by gardeners, and the destruction by law in Henry VIII.'s reign of all under-sized mares, are instances of a process the reverse of selection in the ordinary sense of the word, but leading to the same general result. The influence of the destruction of individuals having a particular character is well shown by the necessity of killing every lamb with a trace of black about it, in order to keep the flock white; or again, by the effects on the average height of the men of France of the destructive wars of Napoleon, by which many tall men were killed, the short ones being left to be the fathers of families. This at least is the conclusion of those who have closely studied the subject of the conscription; and it is certain that since Napoleon's time the standard for the army has been lowered two or three times. Unconscious selection so blends into methodical that it is scarcely possible to separate them. When a fancier long ago first happened to notice a pigeon with an unusually short beak, or one with the tail-feathers unusually developed, although he bred from these birds with the distinct intention of propagating the variety, yet he could not have intended to make a short-faced tumbler or a fantail, and was far from knowing that he had made the first step towards this end. If he could have seen the final result, he would have been struck with astonishment, but, from what we know of the habits of fanciers, probably not with admiration. Our English carriers, barbs, and short-faced tumblers have been greatly modified in the same manner, as we may infer both from the historical evidence given in the chapters on the Pigeon, and from the comparison of birds brought from distant countries. So it has been with dogs; our present fox-hounds differ from the old English hound; our greyhounds have become lighter; the wolf-dog, which belonged to the greyhound class, has become extinct; the Scotch deer-hound has been modified, and is now rare. Our bulldogs differ from those which were formerly used for baiting bulls. Our pointers and Newfoundlands do not {212} closely resemble any native dog now found in the countries whence they were brought, These changes have been effected partly by crosses; but in every case the result has been governed by the strictest selection. Nevertheless there is no reason to suppose that man intentionally and methodically made the breeds exactly what they now are. As our horses became fleeter, and the country more cultivated and smoother, fleeter fox-hounds were desired and produced, but probably without any one distinctly foreseeing what they would become. Our pointers and setters, the latter almost certainly descended from large spaniels, have been greatly modified in accordance with fashion and the desire for increased speed. Wolves have become extinct, deer have become rarer, bulls are no longer baited, and the corresponding breeds of the dog have answered to the change. But we may feel almost sure that when, for instance, bulls were no longer baited, no man said to himself, I will now breed my dogs of smaller size, and thus create the present race. As circumstances changed, men unconsciously and slowly modified their course of selection. With race-horses selection for swiftness has been followed methodically, and our horses can now easily beat their progenitors. The increased size and different appearance of the English race-horse led a good observer in India to ask, "Could any one in this year of 1856, looking at our race-horses, conceive that they were the result of the union of the Arab horse and the African mare?"[513] This change has, it is probable, been largely effected through unconscious selection, that is, by the general wish to breed as fine horses as possible in each generation, combined with training and high feeding, but without any intention to give to them their present appearance. According to Youatt,[514] the introduction in Oliver Cromwell's time of three celebrated Eastern stallions speedily affected the English breed; "so that Lord Harleigh, one of the old school, complained that the great horse was fast disappearing." This is an excellent proof how carefully selection must have been attended to; for without such care, all traces of so small an infusion of Eastern blood would soon have been absorbed and {213} lost. Notwithstanding that the climate of England has never been esteemed particularly favourable to the horse, yet long-continued selection, both methodical and unconscious, together with that practised by the Arabs during a still longer and earlier period, has ended in giving us the best breed of horses in the world. Macaulay[515] remarks, "Two men whose authority on such subjects was held in great esteem, the Duke of Newcastle and Sir John Fenwick, pronounced that the meanest hack ever imported from Tangier would produce a finer progeny than could be expected from the best sire of our native breed. They would not readily have believed that a time would come when the princes and nobles of neighbouring lands would be as eager to obtain horses from England as ever the English had been to obtain horses from Barbary." The London dray-horse, which differs so much in appearance from any natural species, and which from its size has so astonished many Eastern princes, was probably formed by the heaviest and most powerful animals having been selected during many generations in Flanders and England, but without the least intention or expectation of creating a horse such as we now see. If we go back to an early period of history, we behold in the antique Greek statues, as Schaaffhausen has remarked,[516] a horse equally unlike a race or dray horse, and differing from any existing breed. The results of unconscious selection, in an early stage, are well shown in the difference between the flocks descended from the same stock, but separately reared by careful breeders. Youatt gives an excellent instance of this fact in the sheep belonging to Messrs. Buckley and Burgess, which "have been purely bred from the original stock of Mr. Bakewell for upwards of fifty years. There is not a suspicion existing in the mind of any one at all acquainted with the subject that the owner of either flock has deviated in any one instance from the pure blood of Mr. Bakewell's flock; yet the difference between the sheep possessed by these two gentlemen is so great, that they have the appearance of being quite different varieties."[517] I have seen several analogous and {214} well-marked cases with pigeons: for instance, I had a family of barbs, descended from those long bred by Sir J. Sebright, and another family long bred by another fancier, and the two families plainly differed from each other. Nathusius--and a more competent witness could not be cited--observes that, though the Shorthorns are remarkably uniform inn appearance (except in colouring), yet that the individual character and wishes of each breeder become impressed on his cattle, so that different herds differ slightly from each other.[518] The Hereford cattle assumed their present well-marked character soon after the year 1769, through careful selection by Mr. Tomkins,[519] and the breed has lately split into two strains--one strain having a white face, and differing slightly, it is said,[520] in some other points; but there is no reason to believe that this split, the origin of which is unknown, was intentionally made; it may with much more probability be attributed to different breeders having attended to different points. So again, the Berkshire breed of swine in the year 1810 had greatly changed from what it had been in 1780; and since 1810 at least two distinct sub-breeds have borne this same name.[521] When we bear in mind how rapidly all animals increase, and that some must be annually slaughtered and some saved for breeding, then, if the same breeder during a long course of years deliberately settles which shall be saved and which shall be killed, it is almost inevitable that his individual frame of mind will influence the character of his stock, without his having had any intention to modify the breed or form a new strain. Unconscious selection in the strictest sense of the word, that is, the saving of the more useful animals and the neglect or slaughter of the less useful, without any thought of the future, must have gone on occasionally from the remotest period and amongst the most barbarous nations. Savages often suffer from famines, and are sometimes expelled by war from their own homes. In such cases it can hardly be doubted that they would save their most useful animals. When the Fuegians {215} are hard pressed by want, they kill their old women for food rather than their dogs; for, as we were assured, "old women no use--dogs catch otters." The same sound sense would surely lead them to preserve their more useful dogs when still harder pressed by famine. Mr. Oldfield, who has seen so much of the aborigines of Australia, informs me that "they are all very glad to get a European kangaroo dog, and several instances have been known of the father killing his own infant that the mother might suckle the much-prized puppy." Different kinds of dogs would be useful to the Australian for hunting opossums and kangaroos, and to the Fuegian for catching fish and otters; and the occasional preservation in the two countries of the most useful animals would ultimately lead to the formation of two widely distinct breeds. * * * * * With plants, from the earliest dawn of civilisation, the best variety which at each period was known would generally have been cultivated and its seeds occasionally sown; so that there will have been some selection from an extremely remote period, but without any prefixed standard of excellence or thought of the future. We at the present day profit by a course of selection occasionally and unconsciously carried on during thousands of years. This is proved in an interesting manner by Oswald Heer's researches on the lake-inhabitants of Switzerland, as given in a former chapter; for he shows that the grain and seed of our present varieties of wheat, barley, oats, peas, beans, lentils, and poppy, exceed in size those which were cultivated in Switzerland during the Neolithic and Bronze periods. These ancient people, during the Neolithic period, possessed also a crab considerably larger than that now growing wild on the Jura.[522] The pears described by Pliny were evidently extremely inferior in quality to our present pears. We can realise the effects of long-continued selection and cultivation in another way, for would any one in his senses expect to raise a first-rate apple from the seed of a truly wild crab, or a luscious melting pear from the wild pear? Alphonse De Candolle informs me that he has lately seen on an ancient mosaic at Rome a representation of {216} the melon; and as the Romans, who were such gourmands, are silent on this fruit, he infers that the melon has been greatly ameliorated since the classical period. Coming to later times, Buffon,[523] on comparing the flowers, fruit, and vegetables which were then cultivated, with some excellent drawings made a hundred and fifty years previously, was struck with surprise at the great improvement which had been effected; and remarks that these ancient flowers and vegetables would now be rejected, not only by a florist but by a village gardener. Since the time of Buffon the work of improvement has steadily and rapidly gone on. Every florist who compares our present flowers with those figured in books published not long since, is astonished at the change. A well-known amateur,[524] in speaking of the varieties of Pelargonium raised by Mr. Garth only twenty-two years before, remarks, "what a rage they excited: surely we had attained perfection, it was said; and now not one of the flowers of those days will be looked at. But none the less is the debt of gratitude which we owe to those who saw what was to be done, and did it." Mr. Paul, the well-known horticulturist, in writing of the same flower,[525] says he remembers when young being delighted with the portraits in Sweet's work; "but what are they in point of beauty compared with the Pelargoniums of this day? Here again nature did not advance by leaps; the improvement was gradual, and, if we had neglected those very gradual advances, we must have foregone the present grand results." How well this practical horticulturist appreciates and illustrates the gradual and accumulative force of selection! The Dahlia has advanced in beauty in a like manner; the line of improvement being guided by fashion, and by the successive modifications which the flower slowly underwent.[526] A steady and gradual change has been noticed in many other flowers: thus an old florist,[527] after describing the leading varieties of the Pink which were grown in 1813, adds, "the pinks of those days would now be scarcely grown as border-flowers." The improvement of {217} so many flowers and the number of the varieties which have been raised is all the more striking when we hear that the earliest known flower-garden in Europe, namely at Padua, dates only from the year 1545.[528] * * * * * _Effects of Selection, as shown by the parts most valued by man presenting the greatest amount of Difference._--The power of long-continued selection, whether methodical or unconscious, or both combined, is well shown in a general way, namely, by the comparison of the differences between the varieties of distinct species, which are valued for different parts, such as for the leaves, or stems, or tubers, the seed, or fruit, or flowers. Whatever part man values most, that part will be found to present the greatest amount of difference. With trees cultivated for their fruit, Sageret remarks that the fruit is larger than in the parent-species, whilst with those cultivated for the seed, as with nuts, walnuts, almonds, chesnuts, &c., it is the seed itself which is larger; and he accounts for this fact by the fruit in the one case, and by the seed in the other, having been carefully attended to and selected during many ages. Gallesio has made the same observation. Godron insists on the diversity of the tuber in the potato, of the bulb in the onion, and of the fruit in the melon; and on the close similarity in these same plants of the other parts.[529] In order to judge how far my own impression on this subject was correct, I cultivated numerous varieties of the same species close to each other. The comparison of the amount of difference between widely different organs is necessarily vague; I will therefore give the results in only a few cases. We have previously seen in the ninth chapter how greatly the varieties of the cabbage differ in their foliage and stems, which are the selected parts, and how closely they resembled each other in their flowers, capsules, and seeds. In seven varieties of the radish, the roots differed greatly in colour and shape, but no difference {218} whatever could be detected in their foliage, flowers, or seeds. Now what a contrast is presented, if we compare the flowers of the varieties of these two plants with those of any species cultivated in our flower-gardens for ornament; or if we compare their seeds with those of the varieties of maize, peas, beans, &c., which are valued and cultivated for their seeds. In the ninth chapter it was shown that the varieties of the pea differ but little except in the tallness of the plant, moderately in the shape of the pod, and greatly in the pea itself, and these are all selected points. The varieties, however, of the _Pois sans parchemin_ differ much more in their pods, and these are eaten and valued. I cultivated twelve varieties of the common bean; one alone, the Dwarf Fan, differed considerably in general appearance; two differed in the colour of their flowers, one being an albino, and the other being wholly instead of partially purple; several differed considerably in the shape and size of the pod, but far more in the bean itself, and this is the valued and selected part. Toker's bean, for instance, is twice-and-a-half as long and broad as the horse-bean, and is much thinner and of a different shape. The varieties of the gooseberry, as formerly described, differ much in their fruit, but hardly perceptibly in their flowers or organs of vegetation. With the plum, the differences likewise appear to be greater in the fruit than in the flowers or leaves. On the other hand, the seed of the strawberry, which corresponds with the fruit of the plum, differs hardly at all; whilst every one knows how greatly the fruit--that is, the enlarged receptacle--differs in the several varieties. In apples, pears, and peaches the flowers and leaves differ considerably, but not, as far as I can judge, in proportion with the fruit. The Chinese double-flowering peaches, on the other hand, show that varieties of this tree have been formed, which differ more in the flower than in fruit. If, as is highly probable, the peach is the modified descendant of the almond, a surprising amount of change has been effected in the same species, in the fleshy covering of the former and in the kernels of the latter. When parts stand in such close relation to each other as the fleshy covering of the fruit (whatever its homological nature may be) and the seed, when one part is modified, so generally is the other, but by no means necessarily in the same degree. With {219} the plum-tree, for instance, some varieties produce plums which are nearly alike, but include stones extremely dissimilar in shape; whilst conversely other varieties produce dissimilar fruit with barely distinguishable stones; and generally the stones, though they have never been subjected to selection, differ greatly in the several varieties of the plum. In other cases organs which are not manifestly related, through some unknown bond vary together, and are consequently liable, without any intention on man's part, to be simultaneously acted on by selection. Thus the varieties of the stock (Matthiola) have been selected solely for the beauty of their flowers, but the seeds differ greatly in colour and somewhat in size. Varieties of the lettuce have been selected solely on account of their leaves, yet produce seeds which likewise differ in colour. Generally, through the law of correlation, when a variety differs greatly from its fellow-varieties in any one character, it differs to a certain extent in several other characters. I observed this fact when I cultivated together many varieties of the same species, for I used first to make a list of the varieties which differed most from each other in their foliage and manner of growth, afterwards of those that differed most in their flowers, then in their seed-capsules, and lastly in their mature seed; and I found that the same names generally occurred in two, three, or four of the successive lists. Nevertheless the greatest amount of difference between the varieties was always exhibited, as far as I could judge, by that part or organ for which the plant was cultivated. When we bear in mind that each plant was at first cultivated because useful to man, and that its variation was a subsequent, often a long subsequent, event, we cannot explain the greater amount of diversity in the valuable parts by supposing that species endowed with an especial tendency to vary in any particular manner, were originally chosen. We must attribute the result to the variations in these parts having been successively preserved, and thus continually augmented; whilst other variations, excepting such as inevitably appeared through correlation, were neglected and lost. Hence we may infer that most plants might be made, through long-continued selection, to yield races as different from each other in any character {220} as they now are in those parts for which they are valued and cultivated. With animals we see something of the same kind; but they have not been domesticated in sufficient number or yielded sufficient varieties for a fair comparison. Sheep are valued for their wool, and the wool differs much more in the several races than the hair in cattle. Neither sheep, goats, European cattle, nor pigs are valued for their fleetness or strength; and we do not possess breeds differing in these respects like the race-horse and dray-horse. But fleetness and strength are valued in camels and dogs; and we have with the former the swift dromedary and heavy camel; with the latter the greyhound and mastiff. But dogs are valued even in a higher degree for their mental qualities and senses; and every one knows how greatly the races differ in these respects. On the other hand, where the dog is valued solely to serve for food, as in the Polynesian islands and China, it is described as an extremely stupid animal.[530] Blumenbach remarks that "many dogs, such as the badger-dog, have a build so marked and so appropriate for particular purposes, that I should find it very difficult to persuade myself that this astonishing figure was an accidental consequence of degeneration."[531] But had Blumenbach reflected on the great principle of selection, he would not have used the term degeneration, and he would not have been astonished that dogs and other animals should become excellently adapted for the service of man. On the whole we may conclude that whatever part or character is most valued--whether the leaves, stems, tubers, bulbs, flowers, fruit, or seed of plants, or the size, strength, fleetness, hairy covering, or intellect of animals--that character will almost invariably be found to present the greatest amount of difference both in kind and degree. And this result may be safely attributed to man having preserved during a long course of generations the variations which were useful to him, and neglected the others. I will conclude this chapter by some remarks on an important subject. With animals such as the giraffe, of which {221} the whole structure is admirably co-ordinated for certain purposes, it has been supposed that all the parts must have been simultaneously modified; and it has been argued that, on the principle of natural selection, this is scarcely possible. But in thus arguing, it has been tacitly assumed that the variations must have been abrupt and great. No doubt, if the neck of a ruminant were suddenly to become greatly elongated, the fore limbs and back would have to be simultaneously strengthened and modified; but it cannot be denied that an animal might have its neck, or head, or tongue, or fore-limbs elongated a very little without any corresponding modification in other parts of the body; and animals thus slightly modified would, during a dearth, have a slight advantage, and be enabled to browse on higher twigs, and thus survive. A few mouthfuls more or less every day would make all the difference between life and death. By the repetition of the same process, and by the occasional intercrossing of the survivors, there would be some progress, slow and fluctuating though it would be, towards the admirably co-ordinated structure of the giraffe. If the short-faced tumbler-pigeon, with its small conical beak, globular head, rounded body, short wings, and small feet--characters which appear all in harmony--had been a natural species, its whole structure would have been viewed as well fitted for its life; but in this case we know that inexperienced breeders are urged to attend to point after point, and not to attempt improving the whole structure at the same time. Look at the greyhound, that perfect image of grace, symmetry, and vigour; no natural species can boast of a more admirably co-ordinated structure, with its tapering head, slim body, deep chest, tucked-up abdomen, rat-like tail, and long muscular limbs, all adapted for extreme fleetness, and for running down weak prey. Now, from what we see of the variability of animals, and from what we know of the method which different men follow in improving their stock--some chiefly attending to one point, others to another point, others again correcting defects by crosses, and so forth--we may feel assured that if we could see the long line of ancestors of a first-rate greyhound, up to its wild wolf-like progenitor, we should behold an infinite number of the finest gradations, sometimes in one character and sometimes in another, but all leading towards our {222} present perfect type. By small and doubtful steps such as these, nature, as we may confidently believe, has progressed on her grand march of improvement and development. A similar line of reasoning is as applicable to separate organs as to the whole organisation. A writer[532] has recently maintained that "it is probably no exaggeration to suppose that, in order to improve such an organ as the eye at all, it must be improved in ten different ways at once. And the improbability of any complex organ being produced and brought to perfection in any such way is an improbability of the same kind and degree as that of producing a poem or a mathematical demonstration by throwing letters at random on a table." If the eye were abruptly and greatly modified, no doubt many parts would have to be simultaneously altered, in order that the organ should remain serviceable. But is this the case with smaller changes? There are persons who can see distinctly only in a dull light, and this condition depends, I believe, on the abnormal sensitiveness of the retina, and is known to be inherited. Now, if a bird, for instance, received some great advantage from seeing well in the twilight, all the individuals with the most sensitive retina would succeed best and be the most likely to survive; and why should not all those which happened to have the eye itself a little larger, or the pupil capable of greater dilatation, be likewise preserved, whether or not these modifications were strictly simultaneous? These individuals would subsequently intercross and blend their respective advantages. By such slight successive changes, the eye of a diurnal bird would be brought into the condition of that of an owl, which has often been advanced as an excellent instance of adaptation. Short-sight, which is often inherited, permits a person to see distinctly a minute object at so near a distance that it would be indistinct to ordinary eyes; and here we have a capacity which might be serviceable under certain conditions, abruptly gained. The Fuegians on board the {223} Beagle could certainly see distant objects more distinctly than our sailors with all their long practice; I do not know whether this depends on nervous sensitiveness or on the power of adjustment in the focus; but this capacity for distant vision might, it is probable, be slightly augmented by successive modifications of either kind. Amphibious animals, which are enabled to see both in the water and in the air, require and possess, as M. Plateau has shown,[533] eyes constructed on the following plan: "the cornea is always flat, or at least much flattened in front of the crystalline and over a space equal to the diameter of that lens, whilst the lateral portions may be much curved." The crystalline is very nearly a sphere, and the humours have nearly the same density as water. Now, as a terrestrial animal slowly became more and more aquatic in its habits, very slight changes, first in the curvature of the cornea or crystalline, and then in the density of the humours, or conversely, might successively occur, and would be advantageous to the animal whilst under water, without serious detriment to its power of vision in the air. It is of course impossible to conjecture by what steps the fundamental structure of the eye in the Vertebrata was originally acquired, for we know absolutely nothing about this organ in the first progenitors of the class. With respect to the lowest animals in the scale, the transitional states through which the eye at first probably passed, can by the aid of analogy be indicated, as I have attempted to show in my 'Origin of Species.'[534] * * * * * {224} CHAPTER XXI. SELECTION, _continued_. NATURAL SELECTION AS AFFECTING DOMESTIC PRODUCTIONS--CHARACTERS WHICH APPEAR OF TRIFLING VALUE OFTEN OF REAL IMPORTANCE--CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOURABLE TO SELECTION BY MAN--FACILITY IN PREVENTING CROSSES, AND THE NATURE OF THE CONDITIONS--CLOSE ATTENTION AND PERSEVERANCE INDISPENSABLE--THE PRODUCTION OF A LARGE NUMBER OF INDIVIDUALS ESPECIALLY FAVOURABLE--WHEN NO SELECTION IS APPLIED, DISTINCT RACES ARE NOT FORMED--HIGHLY-BRED ANIMALS LIABLE TO DEGENERATION--TENDENCY IN MAN TO CARRY THE SELECTION OF EACH CHARACTER TO AN EXTREME POINT, LEADING TO DIVERGENCE OF CHARACTER, RARELY TO CONVERGENCE--CHARACTERS CONTINUING TO VARY IN THE SAME DIRECTION IN WHICH THEY HAVE ALREADY VARIED--DIVERGENCE OF CHARACTER, WITH THE EXTINCTION OF INTERMEDIATE VARIETIES, LEADS TO DISTINCTNESS IN OUR DOMESTIC RACES--LIMIT TO THE POWER OF SELECTION--LAPSE OF TIME IMPORTANT--MANNER IN WHICH DOMESTIC RACES HAVE ORIGINATED--SUMMARY. _Natural Selection, or the Survival of the Fittest, as affecting domestic productions._--We know little on this head. But as animals kept by savages have to provide their own food, either entirely or to a large extent, throughout the year, it can hardly be doubted that, in different countries, varieties differing in constitution and in various characters would succeed best, and so be naturally selected. Hence perhaps it is that the few domesticated animals kept by savages partake, as has been remarked by more than one writer, of the wild appearance of their masters, and likewise resemble natural species. Even in long-civilised countries, at least in the wilder parts, natural selection must act on our domestic races. It is obvious that varieties, having very different habits, constitution, and structure, would succeed best on mountains and on rich lowland pastures. For example, the improved Leicester sheep were formerly taken to the Lammermuir Hills; but an intelligent sheep-master reported that "our coarse lean pastures were unequal to the task of supporting such heavy-bodied sheep; and they gradually dwindled away into less and less bulk: {225} each generation was inferior to the preceding one; and when the spring was severe, seldom more than two-thirds of the lambs survived the ravages of the storms."[535] So with the mountain cattle of North Wales and the Hebrides, it has been found that they could not withstand being crossed with the larger and more delicate lowland breeds. Two French naturalists, in describing the horses of Circassia, remark that, subjected as they are to extreme vicissitudes of climate, having to search for scanty pasture, and exposed to constant danger from wolves, the strongest and most vigorous alone survive.[536] Every one must have been struck with the surpassing grace, strength, and vigour of the Game-cock, with its bold and confident air, its long, yet firm neck, compact body, powerful and closely pressed wings, muscular thighs, strong beak massive at the base, dense and sharp spurs set low on the legs for delivering the fatal blow, and its compact, glossy, and mail-like plumage serving as a defence. Now the English game-cock has not only been improved during many years by man's careful selection, but in addition, as Mr. Tegetmeier has remarked,[537] by a kind of natural selection, for the strongest, most active and courageous birds have stricken down their antagonists in the cockpit, generation after generation, and have subsequently served as the progenitors of their kind. In Great Britain, in former times, almost every district had its own breed of cattle and sheep; "they were indigenous to the soil, climate, and pasturage of the locality on which they grazed: they seemed to have been formed for it and by it."[538] But in this case we are quite unable to disentangle the effects of the direct action of the conditions of life,--of use or habit--of natural selection--and of that kind of selection which we have seen is occasionally and unconsciously followed by man even during the rudest periods of history. Let us now look to the action of natural selection on special characters. Although nature is difficult to resist, yet man often strives against her power, and sometimes, as we shall see, with {226} success. From the facts to be given, it will also be seen that natural selection would powerfully affect many of our domestic productions if left unprotected. This is a point of much interest, for we thus learn that differences apparently of very slight importance would certainly determine the survival of a form when forced to struggle for its own existence. It may have occurred to some naturalists, as it formerly did to me, that, though selection acting under natural conditions would determine the structure of all important organs, yet that it could not affect characters which are esteemed by us of little importance; but this is an error to which we are eminently liable, from our ignorance of what characters are of real value to each living creature. When man attempts to breed an animal with some serious defect in structure, or in the mutual relation of parts, he will either partially or completely fail, or encounter much difficulty; and this is in fact a form of natural selection. We have seen that the attempt was once made in Yorkshire to breed cattle with enormous buttocks, but the cows perished so often in bringing forth their calves, that the attempt had to be given up. In rearing short-faced tumblers, Mr. Eaton says,[539] "I am convinced that better head and beak birds have perished in the shell than ever were hatched; the reason being that the amazingly short-faced bird cannot reach and break the shell with its beak, and so perishes." Here is a more curious case, in which natural selection comes into play only at long intervals of time: during ordinary seasons the Niata cattle can graze as well as others, but occasionally, as from 1827 to 1830, the plains of La Plata suffer from long-continued droughts and the pasture is burnt up; at such times common cattle and horses perish by the thousand, but many survive by browsing on twigs, reeds, &c.; this the Niata cattle cannot so well effect from their upturned jaws and the shape of their lips; consequently, if not attended to, they perish before the other cattle. In Colombia, according to Roulin, there is a breed of nearly hairless cattle, called Pelones; these succeed in their native hot district, but are found too tender for the Cordillera; in this case, natural selection {227} determines only the range of the variety. It is obvious that a host of artificial races could never survive in a state of nature;--such as Italian greyhounds,--hairless and almost toothless Turkish dogs,--fantail pigeons, which cannot fly well against a strong wind,--barbs with their vision impeded by their eye-wattle,--Polish fowls with their vision impeded by their great topknots,--hornless bulls and rams which consequently cannot cope with other males, and thus have a poor chance of leaving offspring,--seedless plants, and many other such cases. Colour is generally esteemed by the systematic naturalist as unimportant: let us, therefore, see how far it indirectly affects our domestic productions, and how far it would affect them if they were left exposed to the full force of natural selection. In a future chapter I shall have to show that constitutional peculiarities of the strangest kind, entailing liability to the action of certain poisons, are correlated with the colour of the skin. I will here give a single case, on the high authority of Professor Wyman; he informs me that, being surprised at all the pigs in a part of Virginia being black, he made inquiries, and ascertained that these animals feed on the roots of the _Lachnanthes tinctoria_, which colours their bones pink, and, excepting in the case of the black varieties, causes the hoofs to drop off. Hence, as one of the squatters remarked, "we select the black members of the litter for raising, as they alone have a good chance of living." So that here we have artificial and natural selection working hand in hand. I may add that in the Tarentino the inhabitants keep black sheep alone, because the _Hypericum crispum_ abounds there; and this plant does not injure black sheep, but kills the white ones in about a fortnight's time.[540] Complexion, and liability to certain diseases, are believed to run together in man and the lower animals. Thus white terriers suffer more than terriers of any other colour from the fatal Distemper.[541] In North America plum-trees are liable to a disease which Downing[542] believes is not caused by insects; the kinds bearing purple fruit are most affected, "and we have never known the green or yellow fruited varieties infected {228} until the other sorts had first become filled with the knots." On the other hand, peaches in North America suffer much from a disease called the _yellows_, which seems to be peculiar to that continent, and "more than nine-tenths of the victims, when the disease first appeared, were the yellow-fleshed peaches. The white-fleshed kinds are much more rarely attacked; in some parts of the country never." In Mauritius, the white sugar-canes have of late years been so severely attacked by a disease, that many planters have been compelled to give up growing this variety (although fresh plants were imported from China for trial), and cultivate only red canes.[543] Now, if these plants had been forced to struggle with other competing plants and enemies, there cannot be a doubt that the colour of the flesh or skin of the fruit, unimportant as these characters are considered, would have rigorously determined their existence. Liability to the attacks of parasites is also connected with colour. It appears that white chickens are certainly more subject than dark-coloured chickens to the _gapes_, which is caused by a parasitic worm in the trachea.[544] On the other hand, experience has shown that in France the caterpillars which produce white cocoons resist the deadly fungus better than those producing yellow cocoons.[545] Analogous facts have been observed with plants: a new and beautiful white onion, imported from France, though planted close to other kinds, was alone attacked by a parasitic fungus.[546] White verbenas are especially liable to mildew.[547] Near Malaga, during an early period of the vine-disease, the green sorts suffered most; "and red and black grapes, even when interwoven with the sick plants, suffered not at all." In France whole groups of varieties were comparatively free, and others, such as the Chasselas, did not afford a single fortunate exception; but I do not know whether any correlation between colour and liability to disease was here observed.[548] In a former chapter it was shown how curiously liable one variety of the strawberry is to mildew. {229} It is certain that insects regulate in many cases the range and even the existence of the higher animals, whilst living under their natural conditions. Under domestication light-coloured animals suffer most: in Thuringia[549] the inhabitants do not like grey, white, or pale cattle, because they are much more troubled by various kinds of flies than the brown, red, or black cattle. An Albino negro, it has been remarked,[550] was peculiarly sensitive to the bites of insects. In the West Indies[551] it is said that "the only horned cattle fit for work are those which have a good deal of black in them. The white are terribly tormented by the insects; and they are weak and sluggish in proportion to the white." In Devonshire there is a prejudice against white pigs, because it is believed that the sun blisters them when turned out;[552] and I knew a man who would not keep white pigs in Kent, for the same reason. The scorching of flowers by the sun seems likewise to depend much on colour; thus, dark pelargoniums suffer most; and from various accounts it is clear that the cloth-of-gold variety will not withstand a degree of exposure to sunshine which other varieties enjoy. Another amateur asserts that not only all dark-coloured verbenas, but likewise scarlets, suffer from the sun; "the paler kinds stand better, and pale blue is perhaps the best of all." So again with the heartsease (_Viola tricolor_); hot weather suits the blotched sorts, whilst it destroys the beautiful markings of some other kinds.[553] During one extremely cold season in Holland all red-flowered hyacinths were observed to be very inferior in quality. It is believed by many agriculturists that red wheat is hardier in northern climates than white wheat.[554] With animals, white varieties from being conspicuous are the most liable to be attacked by beasts and birds of prey. In parts of France and Germany where hawks abound, persons are advised not to keep white pigeons; for, as Parmentier says, "it {230} is certain that in a flock the white always first fall victims to the kite." In Belgium, where so many societies have been established for the flight of carrier-pigeons, white is the one colour which for the same reason is disliked.[555] On the other hand, it is said that the sea-eagle (_Falco ossifragus_, Linn.) on the west coast of Ireland picks out the black fowls, so that "the villagers avoid as much as possible rearing birds of that colour." M. Daudin,[556] speaking of white rabbits kept in warrens in Russia, remarks that their colour is a great disadvantage, as they are thus more exposed to attack, and can be seen during bright nights from a distance. A gentleman in Kent, who failed to stock his woods with a nearly white and hardy kind of rabbit, accounted in the same manner for their early disappearance. Any one who will watch a white cat prowling after her prey will soon perceive under what a disadvantage she lies. The white Tartarian cherry, "owing either to its colour being so much like that of the leaves, or to the fruit always appearing from a distance unripe," is not so readily attacked by birds as other sorts. The yellow-fruited raspberry, which generally comes nearly true by seed, "is very little molested by birds, who evidently are not fond of it; so that nets may be dispensed with in places where nothing else will protect the red fruit."[557] This immunity, though a benefit to the gardener, would be a disadvantage in a state of nature both to the cherry and raspberry, as their dissemination depends on birds. I noticed during several winters that some trees of the yellow-berried holly, which were raised from seed from a wild tree found by my father, remained covered with fruit, whilst not a scarlet berry could be seen on the adjoining trees of the common kind. A friend informs me that a mountain-ash (_Pyrus aucuparia_) growing in his garden bears berries which, though not differently coloured, are always devoured by birds before those on the other trees. This variety of the mountain-ash would thus be more freely disseminated, and the yellow-berried variety of the holly less freely, than the common varieties of these two trees. {231} Independently of colour, other trifling differences are sometimes found to be of importance to plants under cultivation, and would be of paramount importance if they had to fight their own battle and to struggle with many competitors. The thin-shelled peas, called _pois sans parchemin_, are attacked by birds[558] much more than common peas. On the other hand, the purple-podded pea, which has a hard shell, escaped the attacks of tomtits (_Parus major_) in my garden far better than any other kind. The thin-shelled walnut likewise suffers greatly from the tomtit.[559] These same birds have been observed to pass over and thus favour the filbert, destroying only the other kinds of nuts which grew in the same orchard.[560] Certain varieties of the pear have soft bark, and these suffer severely from boring wood-beetles; whilst other varieties are known to resist their attacks much better.[561] In North America the smoothness, or absence of down on the fruit, makes a great difference in the attacks of the weevil, "which is the uncompromising foe of all smooth stone-fruits;" and the cultivator "has the frequent mortification of seeing nearly all, or indeed often the whole crop, fall from the trees when half or two-thirds grown." Hence the nectarine suffers more than the peach. A particular variety of the Morello cherry, raised in North America, is without any assignable cause more liable to be injured by this same insect than other cherry-trees.[562] From some unknown cause, the Winter Majetin apple enjoys the great advantage of not being infested by the coccus. On the other hand, a particular case has been recorded in which aphides confined themselves to the Winter Nelis pear, and touched no other kind in an extensive orchard.[563] The existence of minute glands on the leaves of peaches, nectarines, and apricots, would not be esteemed by botanists as a character of the least importance, for they are present or absent in closely related sub-varieties, descended from the same parent-tree; yet there is good evidence[564] that the {232} absence of glands leads to mildew, which is highly injurious to these trees. A difference either in flavour or in the amount of nutriment in certain varieties causes them to be more eagerly attacked by various enemies than other varieties of the same species. Bullfinches (_Pyrrhula vulgaris_) injure our fruit-trees by devouring the flower-buds, and a pair of these birds have been seen "to denude a large plum-tree in a couple of days of almost every bud;" but certain varieties[565] of the apple and thorn (_Cratægus oxyacantha_) are more especially liable to be attacked. A striking instance of this was observed in Mr. Rivers's garden, in which two rows of a particular variety of plum[566] had to be carefully protected, as they were usually stripped of all their buds during the winter, whilst other sorts growing near them escaped. The root (or enlarged stem) of Laing's Swedish turnip is preferred by hares, and therefore suffers more than other varieties. Hares and rabbits eat down common rye before St. John's-day-rye, when both grow together.[567] In the South of France, when an orchard of almond-trees is formed, the nuts of the bitter variety are sown, "in order that they may not be devoured by field-mice;"[568] so we see the use of the bitter principle in almonds. Other slight differences, which would be thought quite unimportant, are no doubt sometimes of great service both to plants and animals. The Whitesmith's gooseberry, as formerly stated, produces its leaves later than other varieties, and, as the flowers are thus left unprotected, the fruit often fails. In one variety of the cherry, according to Mr. Rivers,[569] the petals are much curled backwards, and in consequence of this the stigmas were observed to be killed by a severe frost; whilst at the same time, in another variety with incurved petals, the stigmas were not in the least injured. The straw of the Fenton wheat is remarkably unequal in height; and a competent observer believes that this variety is highly productive, partly because the ears, from being distributed at various heights above the ground, {233} are less crowded together. The same observer maintains that in the upright varieties the divergent awns are serviceable by breaking the shocks when the ears are dashed together by the wind.[570] If several varieties of a plant are grown together, and the seed is indiscriminately harvested, it is clear that the hardier and more productive kinds will, by a sort of natural selection, gradually prevail over the others; this takes place, as Colonel Le Couteur believes,[571] in our wheat-fields, for, as formerly shown, no variety is quite uniform in character. The same thing, as I am assured by nurserymen, would take place in our flower-gardens, if the seed of the different varieties were not separately saved. When the eggs of the wild and tame duck are hatched together, the young wild ducks almost invariably perish, from being of smaller size and not getting their fair share of food.[572] Facts in sufficient number have now been given showing that natural selection often checks, but occasionally favours, man's power of selection. These facts teach us, in addition, a valuable lesson, namely, that we ought to be extremely cautious in judging what characters are of importance in a state of nature to animals and plants, which have to struggle from the hour of their birth to that of their death for existence,--their existence depending on conditions, about which we are profoundly ignorant. _Circumstances favourable to Selection by Man._ The possibility of selection rests on variability, and this, as we shall see in the following chapters, mainly depends on changed conditions of life, but is governed by infinitely complex, and, to a great extent, unknown laws. Domestication, even when long continued, occasionally causes but a small amount of variability, as in the case of the goose and turkey. The slight differences, however, which characterise each individual animal and plant would in most, probably in all cases, suffice for the production of distinct races through careful and prolonged selection. We see what selection, though acting on mere individual differences, can effect when families of cattle, sheep, {234} pigeons, &c., of the same race, have been separately bred during a number of years by different men without any wish on their part to modify the breed. We see the same fact in the difference between hounds bred for hunting in different districts,[573] and in many other such cases. In order that selection should produce any result, it is manifest that the crossing of distinct races must be prevented; hence facility in pairing, as with the pigeon, is highly favourable for the work; and difficulty in pairing, as with cats, prevents the formation of distinct breeds. On nearly the same principle the cattle of the small island of Jersey have been improved in their milking qualities "with a rapidity that could not have been obtained in a widely extended country like France."[574] Although free crossing is a danger on the one side which every one can see, too close interbreeding is a hidden danger on the other side. Unfavourable conditions of life overrule the power of selection. Our improved heavy breeds of cattle and sheep could not have been formed on mountainous pastures; nor could dray-horses have been raised on a barren and inhospitable land, such as the Falkland islands, where even the light horses of La Plata rapidly decrease in size. Nor could the wool of sheep have been much increased in length within the Tropics; yet selection has kept Merino sheep nearly true under diversified and unfavourable conditions of life. The power of selection is so great, that breeds of the dog, sheep, and poultry, of the largest and least size, long and short beaked pigeons, and other breeds with opposite characters, have had their characteristic qualities augmented, though treated in every way alike, being exposed to the same climate and fed on the same food. Selection, however, is either checked or favoured by the effects of use or habit. Our wonderfully-improved pigs could never have been formed if they had been forced to search for their own food; the English racehorse and greyhound could not have been improved up to their present high standard of excellence without constant training. As conspicuous deviations of structure occur rarely, the improvement of each breed is generally the result, as already {235} remarked, of the selection of slight individual differences. Hence the closest attention, the sharpest powers of observation, and indomitable perseverance, are indispensable. It is, also, highly important that many individuals of the breed which is to be improved should be raised; for thus there will be a better chance of the appearance of variations in the right direction, and individuals varying in an unfavourable manner may be freely rejected or destroyed. But that a large number of individuals should be raised, it is necessary that the conditions of life should favour the propagation of the species. Had the peacock been bred as easily as the fowl, we should probably ere this have had many distinct races. We see the importance of a large number of plants, from the fact of nursery gardeners almost always beating amateurs in the exhibition of new varieties. In 1845 it was estimated[575] that between 4000 and 5000 pelargoniums were annually raised from seed in England, yet a decidedly improved variety is rarely obtained. At Messrs. Carter's grounds, in Essex, where such flowers as the Lobelia, Nemophila, Mignonette, &c., are grown by the acre for seed, "scarcely a season passes without some new kinds being raised, or some improvement affected on old kinds."[576] At Kew, as Mr. Beaton remarks, where many seedlings of common plants are raised, "you see new forms of Laburnums, Spiræas, and other shrubs."[577] So with animals: Marshall,[578] in speaking of the sheep in one part of Yorkshire, remarks, "as they belong to poor people, and are mostly in small lots, they never can be improved." Lord Rivers, when asked how he succeeded in always having first-rate greyhounds, answered, "I breed many, and hang many." This, as another man remarks, "was the secret of his success; and the same will be found in exhibiting fowls,--successful competitors breed largely, and keep the best."[579] It follows from this that the capacity of breeding at an early age and at short successive intervals, as with pigeons, rabbits, &c., facilitates selection; for the result is thus soon made visible, and perseverance in the work is encouraged. It can hardly be {236} accidental that the great majority of the culinary and agricultural plants which have yielded numerous races are annuals or biennials, which therefore are capable of rapid propagation and thus of improvement. Sea-kale, asparagus, common and Jerusalem artichokes, potatoes, and onions, alone are perennials. Onions are propagated like annuals, and of the other plants just specified, none, with the exception of the potato, have yielded more than one or two varieties. No doubt fruit-trees, which cannot be propagated quickly by seed, have yielded a host of varieties, though not permanent races; but these, judging from pre-historic remains, were produced at a later and more civilised epoch than the races of culinary and agricultural plants. A species may be highly variable, but distinct races will not be formed, if from any cause selection be not applied. The carp is highly variable, but it would be extremely difficult to select slight variations in fishes whilst living in their natural state, and distinct races have not been formed;[580] on the other hand, a closely allied species, the gold-fish, from being reared in glass or open vessels, and from having been carefully attended to by the Chinese, has yielded many races. Neither the bee, which has been semi-domesticated from an extremely remote period, nor the cochineal insect, which was cultivated by the aboriginal Mexicans, has yielded races; and it would be impossible to match the queen-bee with any particular drone, and most difficult to match cochineal insects. Silk-moths, on the other hand, have been subjected to rigorous selection, and have produced a host of races. Cats, which from their nocturnal habits cannot be selected for breeding, do not, as formerly remarked, yield distinct races in the same country. The ass in England varies much in colour and size; but it is an animal of little value, bred by poor people; consequently there has been no selection, and distinct races have not been formed. We must not attribute the inferiority of our asses to climate, for in India they are of even smaller size than in Europe. But when selection is brought to bear on the ass, all is changed. Near Cordova, as I am informed (Feb. 1860) by Mr. W. E. Webb, C.E., they are carefully bred, as much as 200l. having been paid for a stallion ass, {237} and they have been immensely improved. In Kentucky, asses have been imported (for breeding mules) from Spain, Malta, and France; these "seldom averaged more than fourteen hands high; but the Kentuckians, by great care, have raised them up to fifteen hands, and sometimes even to sixteen. The prices paid for these splendid animals, for such they really are, will prove how much they are in request. One male, of great celebrity, was sold for upwards of one thousand pounds sterling." These choice asses are sent to cattle-shows, one day being given to their exhibition.[581] Analogous facts have been observed with plants: the nutmeg-tree in the Malay archipelago is highly variable, but there has been no selection, and there are no distinct races.[582] The common mignonette (_Reseda odorata_), from bearing inconspicuous flowers, valued solely for their fragrance, "remains in the same unimproved condition as when first introduced."[583] Our common forest-trees are very variable, as may be seen in every extensive nursery-ground; but as they are not valued like fruit-trees, and as they seed late in life, no selection has been applied to them; consequently, as Mr. Patrick Matthews remarks,[584] they have not yielded distinct races, leafing at different periods, growing to different sizes, and producing timber fit for different purposes. We have gained only some fanciful and semi-monstrous varieties, which no doubt appeared suddenly as we now see them. Some botanists have argued that plants cannot have so strong a tendency to vary as is generally supposed, because many species long grown in botanic gardens, or unintentionally cultivated year after year mingled with our corn crops, have not produced distinct races; but this is accounted for by slight variations not having been selected and propagated. Let a plant which is now grown in a botanic garden, or any common weed, be cultivated on a large scale, and let a sharp-sighted gardener look out for each slight variety and sow the seed, and then, if distinct races are not produced, the argument will be valid. {238} The importance of selection is likewise shown by considering special characters. For instance, with most breeds of fowls the form of the comb and the colour of the plumage have been attended to, and are eminently characteristic of each race; but in Dorkings, fashion has never demanded uniformity of comb or colour; and the utmost diversity in these respects prevails. Rose-combs, double-combs, cup-combs, &c., and colours of all kinds, may be seen in purely-bred and closely related Dorking fowls, whilst other points, such as the general form of body, and the presence of an additional toe, have been attended to, and are invariably present. It has also been ascertained that colour can be fixed in this breed, as well as in any other.[585] * * * * * During the formation or improvement of a breed, its members will always be found to vary much in those characters to which especial attention is directed, and of which each slight improvement is eagerly sought and selected. Thus with short-faced tumbler-pigeons, the shortness of the beak, shape of head and plumage,--with carriers, the length of the beak and wattle,--with fantails, the tail and carriage,--with Spanish fowls, the white face and comb,--with long-eared rabbits, the length of ear, are all points which are eminently variable. So it is in every case, and the large price paid for first-rate animals proves the difficulty of breeding them up to the highest standard of excellence. This subject has been discussed by fanciers,[586] and the greater prizes given for highly improved breeds, in comparison with those given for old breeds which are not now undergoing rapid improvement, has been fully justified. Nathusius makes[587] a similar remark when discussing the less uniform character of improved Shorthorn cattle and of the English horse, in comparison, for example, with the unennobled cattle of Hungary, or with the horses of the Asiatic steppes. This want of uniformity in the parts which at the time are undergoing selection, chiefly depends on the strength of the principle of reversion but it likewise depends to a certain extent on the continued {239} variability of the parts which have recently varied. That the same parts do continue varying in the same manner we must admit, for, if it were not so, there could be no improvement beyond an early standard of excellence, and we know that such improvement is not only possible, but is of general occurrence. As a consequence of continued variability, and more especially of reversion, all highly improved races, if neglected or not subjected to incessant selection, soon degenerate. Youatt gives a curious instance of this in some cattle formerly kept in Glamorganshire; but in this case the cattle were not fed with sufficient care. Mr. Baker, in his memoir on the Horse, sums up: "It must have been observed in the preceding pages that, whenever there has been neglect, the breed has proportionally deteriorated."[588] If a considerable number of improved cattle, sheep, or other animals of the same race, were allowed to breed freely together, with no selection, but with no change in their condition of life, there can be no doubt that after a score or hundred generations they would be very far from excellent of their kind; but, from what we see of the many common races of dogs, cattle, fowls, pigeons, &c., which without any particular care have long retained nearly the same character, we have no grounds for believing that they would altogether depart from their type. It is a general belief amongst breeders that characters of all kinds become fixed by long-continued inheritance. But I have attempted to show in the fourteenth chapter that this belief apparently resolves itself into the following proposition, namely, that all characters whatever, whether recently acquired or ancient, tend to be transmitted, but that those which have already long withstood all counteracting influences, will, as a general rule, continue to withstand them, and consequently be faithfully transmitted. _Tendency in Man to carry the practice of Selection to an extreme point._ It is an important principle that in the process of selection man almost invariably wishes to go to an extreme point. Thus, in useful qualities, there is no limit to his desire to breed certain {240} horses and dogs as fleet as possible, and others as strong as possible; certain kinds of sheep for extreme fineness, and others for extreme length of wool; and he wishes to produce fruit, grain, tubers, and other useful parts of plants, as large and excellent as possible. With animals bred for amusement, the same principle is even more powerful; for fashion, as we see even in our dress, always runs to extremes. This view has been expressly admitted by fanciers. Instances were given in the chapters on the pigeon, but here is another: Mr. Eaton, after describing a comparatively new variety, namely, the Archangel, remarks, "What fanciers intend doing with this bird I am at a loss to know, whether they intend to breed it down to the tumbler's head and beak, or carry it out to the carrier's head and beak; leaving it as they found it, is not progressing." Ferguson, speaking of fowls, says, "their peculiarities, whatever they may be, must necessarily be fully developed: a little peculiarity forms nought but ugliness, seeing it violates the existing laws of symmetry." So Mr. Brent, in discussing the merits of the sub-varieties of the Belgian canary-bird, remarks, "Fanciers always go to extremes; they do not admire indefinite properties."[589] This principle, which necessarily leads to divergence of character, explains the present state of various domestic races. We can thus see how it is that race-horses and dray-horses, greyhounds and mastiffs, which are opposed to each other in every character,--how varieties so distinct as Cochin-China fowls and bantams, or carrier-pigeons with very long beaks, and tumblers with excessively short beaks, have been derived from the same stock. As each breed is slowly improved, the inferior varieties are first neglected and finally lost. In a few cases, by the aid of old records, or from intermediate varieties still existing in countries where other fashions have prevailed, we are enabled partially to trace the graduated changes through which certain breeds have passed. Selection, whether methodical or unconscious, always tending towards an extreme point, together with the neglect and slow extinction of the intermediate and less-valued forms, is the key which unlocks the mystery how man has produced such wonderful results. {241} In a few instances selection, guided by utility for a single purpose, has led to convergence of character. All the improved and different races of the pig, as Nathusius has well shown,[590] closely approach each other in character, in their shortened legs and muzzles, their almost hairless, large, rounded bodies, and small tusks. We see some degree of convergence in the similar outline of the body in well-bred cattle belonging to distinct races.[591] I know of no other such cases. Continued divergence of character depends on, and is indeed a clear proof, as previously remarked, of the same parts continuing to vary in the same direction. The tendency to mere general variability or plasticity of organisation can certainly be inherited, even from one parent, as has been shown by Gärtner and Kölreuter, in the production of varying hybrids from two species, of which one alone was variable. It is in itself probable that, when an organ has varied in any manner, it will again vary in the same manner, if the conditions which first caused the being to vary remain, as far as can be judged, the same. This is either tacitly or expressly admitted by all horticulturists: if a gardener observes one or two additional petals in a flower, he feels confident that in a few generations he will be able to raise a double flower, crowded with petals. Some of the seedlings from the weeping Moccas oak were so prostrate that they only crawled along the ground. A seedling from the fastigate or upright Irish yew is described as differing greatly from the parent-form "by the exaggeration of the fastigate habit of its branches."[592] Mr. Sheriff, who has been more successful than any other man in raising new kinds of wheat, remarks, "A good variety may safely be regarded as the forerunner of a better one."[593] A great rose-grower, Mr. Rivers, has made the same remark with respect to roses. Sageret,[594] who had large experience, in speaking of the future progress of fruit-trees, observes that the most important principle is "that the more plants have departed from their original type, the more they tend to depart from it." There is apparently much truth in this {242} remark; for we can in no other way understand the surprising amount of difference between varieties in the parts or qualities which are valued, whilst other parts retain nearly their original character. The foregoing discussion naturally leads to the question, what is the limit to the possible amount of variation in any part or quality, and, consequently, is there any limit to what selection can effect? Will a race-horse ever be reared fleeter than Eclipse? Can our prize-cattle and sheep be still further improved? Will a gooseberry ever weigh more than that produced by "London" in 1852? Will the beet-root in France yield a greater percentage of sugar? Will future varieties of wheat and other grain produce heavier crops than our present varieties? These questions cannot be positively answered; but it is certain that we ought to be cautious in answering by a negative. In some lines of variation the limit has probably been reached. Youatt believes that the reduction of bone in some of our sheep has already been carried so far that it entails great delicacy of constitution.[595] But seeing the great improvement within recent times in our cattle and sheep, and especially in our pigs; seeing the wonderful increase in weight in our poultry of all kinds during the last few years; he would be a bold man who would assert that perfection has been reached. Eclipse perhaps may never be beaten until all our race-horses have been rendered swifter, through the selection of the best horses during many generations; and then the old Eclipse may possibly be eclipsed; but, as Mr. Wallace has remarked, there must be an ultimate limit to the fleetness of every animal, whether under nature or domestication; and with the horse this limit has perhaps been reached. Until our fields are better manured, it may be impossible for a new variety of wheat to yield a heavier crop. But in many cases those who are best qualified to judge do not believe that the extreme point has as yet been reached even with respect to characters which have already been carried to a high standard of perfection. For instance, the short-faced tumbler-pigeon has been greatly modified; nevertheless, according to Mr. Eaton,[596] "the field is still as open for fresh competitors as it was one hundred years ago." Over and over again it has been said that {243} perfection had been attained with our flowers, but a higher standard has soon been reached. Hardly any fruit has been more improved than the strawberry, yet a great authority remarks,[597] "it must not be concealed that we are far from the extreme limits at which we may arrive." Time is an important element in the formation of our domestic races, as it permits innumerable individuals to be born, and these when exposed to diversified conditions are rendered variable. Methodical selection has been occasionally practised from an ancient period to the present day, even by semi-civilised people, and during former times will have produced some effect. Unconscious selection will have been still more effective; for during a lengthened period the more valuable individual animals will occasionally have been saved, and the less valuable neglected. In the course, also, of time, different varieties, especially in the less civilised countries, will have been more or less modified through natural selection. It is generally believed, though on this head we have little or no evidence, that new characters in time become fixed; and after having long remained fixed it seems possible that under new conditions they might again be rendered variable. How great the lapse of time has been since man first domesticated animals and cultivated plants, we begin dimly to see. When the lake-buildings of Switzerland were inhabited during the Neolithic period, several animals were already domesticated and various plants cultivated. If we may judge from what we now see of the habits of savages, it is probable that the men of the earlier Stone period--when many great quadrupeds were living which are now extinct, and when the face of the country was widely different from what it now is--possessed at least some few domesticated animals, although their remains have not as yet been discovered. If the science of language can be trusted, the art of ploughing and sowing the land was followed, and the chief animals had been already domesticated, at an epoch so immensely remote, that the Sanskrit, Greek, Latin, Gothic, Celtic, and Sclavonic languages had not as yet diverged from their common parent-tongue.[598] {244} It is scarcely possible to overrate the effects of selection occasionally carried on in various ways and places during thousands of generations. All that we know, and, in a still stronger degree, all that we do not know,[599] of the history of the great majority of our breeds, even of our more modern breeds, agrees with the view that their production, through the action of unconscious and methodical selection, has been almost insensibly slow. When a man attends rather more closely than is usual to the breeding of his animals, he is almost sure to improve them to a slight extent. They are in consequence valued in his immediate neighbourhood, and are bred by others; and their characteristic features, whatever these may be, will then slowly but steadily be increased, sometimes by methodical and almost always by unconscious selection. At last a strain, deserving to be called a sub-variety, becomes a little more widely known, receives a local name, and spreads. The spreading will have been extremely slow during ancient and less civilised times, but now is rapid. By the time that the new breed had assumed a somewhat distinct character, its history, hardly noticed at the time, will have been completely forgotten; for, as Low remarks,[600] "we know how quickly the memory of such events is effaced." As soon as a new breed is thus formed, it is liable through the same process to break up into new strains and sub-varieties. For different varieties are suited for, and are valued under, different circumstances. Fashion changes, but, should a fashion last for even a moderate length of time, so strong is the principle of inheritance, that some effect will probably be impressed on the breed. Thus varieties go on increasing in number, and history shows us how wonderfully they have increased since the earliest records.[601] As each new variety is produced, the earlier, intermediate, and less valuable forms will be neglected, and perish. When a breed, from not being valued, is kept in small numbers, its extinction almost inevitably follows sooner or later, either from accidental causes of destruction or from close interbreeding; and this is an event which, in the case of well-marked breeds, excites attention. The birth or production of a new domestic race is so slow a process that it {245} escapes notice; its death or destruction is comparatively sudden, is often recorded, and when too late sometimes regretted. Several authors have drawn a wide distinction between artificial and natural races. The latter are more uniform in character, possessing in a high degree the character of natural species, and are of ancient origin. They are generally found in less civilised countries, and have probably been largely modified by natural selection, and only to a small extent by man's unconscious and methodical selection. They have, also, during a long period, been directly acted on by the physical conditions of the countries which they inhabit. The so-called artificial races, on the other hand, are not so uniform in character; some have a semi-monstrous character, such as "the wry-legged terriers so useful in rabbit-shooting,"[602] turnspit dogs, ancon sheep, niata oxen, Polish fowls, fantail-pigeons, &c.; their characteristic features have generally been acquired suddenly, though subsequently increased in many cases by careful selection. Other races, which certainly must be called artificial, for they have been largely modified by methodical selection and by crossing, as the English race-horse, terrier-dogs, the English game-cock, Antwerp carrier-pigeons, &c., nevertheless cannot be said to have an unnatural appearance; and no distinct line, as it seems to me, can be drawn between natural and artificial races. It is not surprising that domestic races should generally present a different aspect from natural species. Man selects and propagates modifications solely for his own use or fancy, and not for the creature's own good. His attention is struck by strongly marked modifications, which have appeared suddenly, due to some great disturbing cause in the organisation. He attends almost exclusively to external characters; and when he succeeds in modifying internal organs,--when for instance he reduces the bones and offal, or loads the viscera with fat, or gives early maturity, &c.,--the chances are strong that he will at the same time weaken the constitution. On the other hand, when an animal has to struggle throughout its life with many competitors and enemies, under circumstances inconceivably complex and liable to change, modifications of the most varied nature--in the internal organs as well as in external characters, in the {246} functions and mutual relations of parts--will be rigorously tested, preserved, or rejected. Natural selection often checks man's comparatively feeble and capricious attempts at improvement; and if this were not so, the result of his work, and of nature's work, would be even still more different. Nevertheless, we must not overrate the amount of difference between natural species and domestic races; the most experienced naturalists have often disputed whether the latter are descended from one or from several aboriginal stocks, and this clearly shows that there is no palpable difference between species and races. Domestic races propagate their kind far more truly, and endure for much longer periods, than most naturalists are willing to admit. Breeders feel no doubt on this head; ask a man who has long reared Shorthorn or Hereford cattle, Leicester or Southdown sheep, Spanish or Game poultry, tumbler or carrier-pigeons, whether these races may not have been derived from common progenitors, and he will probably laugh you to scorn. The breeder admits that he may hope to produce sheep with finer or longer wool and with better carcases, or handsomer fowls, or carrier-pigeons with beaks just perceptibly longer to the practised eye, and thus be successful at an exhibition. Thus far he will go, but no farther. He does not reflect on what follows from adding up during a long course of time many, slight, successive modifications; nor does he reflect on the former existence of numerous varieties, connecting the links in each divergent line of descent. He concludes, as was shown in the earlier chapters, that all the chief breeds to which he has long attended are aboriginal productions. The systematic naturalist, on the other hand, who generally knows nothing of the art of breeding, who does not pretend to know how and when the several domestic races were formed, who cannot have seen the intermediate gradations, for they do not now exist, nevertheless feels no doubt that these races are sprung from a single source. But ask him whether the closely allied natural species which he has studied may not have descended from a common progenitor, and he in his turn will perhaps reject the notion with scorn. Thus the naturalist and breeder may mutually learn a useful lesson from each other. * * * * * _Summary on Selection by Man._--There can be no doubt that {247} methodical selection has effected and will effect wonderful results. It was occasionally practised in ancient times, and is still practised by semi-civilised people. Characters of the highest importance, and others of trifling value, have been attended to, and modified. I need not here repeat what has been so often said on the part which unconscious selection has played: we see its power in the difference between flocks which have been separately bred, and in the slow changes, as circumstances have slowly changed, which many animals have undergone in the same country, or when transported into a foreign land. We see the combined effects of methodical and unconscious selection in the great amount of difference between varieties in those parts or qualities which are valued by man, in comparison with those which are not valued, and consequently have not been attended to. Natural selection often determines man's power of selection. We sometimes err in imagining that characters, which are considered as unimportant by the systematic naturalist, could not be affected by the struggle for existence, and therefore be acted on by natural selection; but striking cases have been given, showing how great an error this is. The possibility of selection coming into action rests on variability; and this is mainly caused, as we shall hereafter see, by changes in the conditions of life. Selection is sometimes rendered difficult, or even impossible, by the conditions being opposed to the desired character or quality. It is sometimes checked by the lessened fertility and weakened constitution which follow from long-continued close interbreeding. That methodical selection may be successful, the closest attention and discernment, combined with unwearied patience, are absolutely necessary; and these same qualities, though not indispensable, are highly serviceable in the case of unconscious selection. It is almost necessary that a large number of individuals should be reared; for thus there will be a fair chance of variations of the desired nature arising, and every individual with the slightest blemish or in any degree inferior may be freely rejected. Hence length of time is an important element of success. Thus, also, propagation at an early age and at short intervals favours the work. Facility in pairing animals, or their inhabiting a confined area, is advantageous as a check to free crossing. Whenever and {248} wherever selection is not practised, distinct races are not formed. When any one part of the body or quality is not attended to, it remains either unchanged or varies in a fluctuating manner, whilst at the same time other parts and other qualities may become permanently and greatly modified. But from the tendency to reversion and to continued variability, those parts or organs which are now undergoing rapid improvement through selection, are likewise found to vary much. Consequently highly-bred animals, when neglected, soon degenerate; but we have no reason to believe that the effects of long-continued selection would, if the conditions of life remained the same, be soon and completely lost. Man always tends to go to an extreme point in the selection, whether methodical or unconscious, of all useful and pleasing qualities. This is an important principle, as it leads to continued divergence, and in some rare cases to convergence of character. The possibility of continued divergence rests on the tendency in each part or organ to go on varying in the same manner in which it has already varied; and that this occurs, is proved by the steady and gradual improvement of many animals and plants during lengthened periods. The principle of divergence of character, combined with the neglect and final extinction of all previous, less-valued, and intermediate varieties, explains the amount of difference and the distinctness of our several races. Although we may have reached the utmost limit to which certain characters can be modified, yet we are far from having reached, as we have good reason to believe, the limit in the majority of cases. Finally, from the difference between selection as carried on by man and by nature, we can understand how it is that domestic races often, though by no means always, differ in general aspect from closely allied natural species. Throughout this chapter and elsewhere I have spoken of selection as the paramount power, yet its action absolutely depends on what we in our ignorance call spontaneous or accidental variability. Let an architect be compelled to build an edifice with uncut stones, fallen from a precipice. The shape of each fragment may be called accidental; yet the shape of each has been determined by the force of gravity, the nature {249} of the rock, and the slope of the precipice,--events and circumstances, all of which depend on natural laws; but there is no relation between these laws and the purpose for which each fragment is used by the builder. In the same manner the variations of each creature are determined by fixed and immutable laws; but these bear no relation to the living structure which is slowly built up through the power of selection, whether this be natural or artificial selection. If our architect succeeded in rearing a noble edifice, using the rough wedge-shaped fragments for the arches, the longer stones for the lintels, and so forth, we should admire his skill even in a higher degree than if he had used stones shaped for the purpose. So it is with selection, whether applied by man or by nature; for though variability is indispensably necessary, yet, when we look at some highly complex and excellently adapted organism, variability sinks to a quite subordinate position in importance in comparison with selection, in the same manner as the shape of each fragment used by our supposed architect is unimportant in comparison with his skill. * * * * * {250} CHAPTER XXII. CAUSES OF VARIABILITY. VARIABILITY DOES NOT NECESSARILY ACCOMPANY REPRODUCTION--CAUSES ASSIGNED BY VARIOUS AUTHORS--INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES--VARIABILITY OF EVERY KIND DUE TO CHANGED CONDITIONS OF LIFE--ON THE NATURE OF SUCH CHANGES--CLIMATE, FOOD, EXCESS OF NUTRIMENT--SLIGHT CHANGES SUFFICIENT--EFFECTS OF GRAFTING ON THE VARIABILITY OF SEEDLING-TREES--DOMESTIC PRODUCTIONS BECOME HABITUATED TO CHANGED CONDITIONS--ON THE ACCUMULATIVE ACTION OF CHANGED CONDITIONS--CLOSE INTERBREEDING AND THE IMAGINATION OF THE MOTHER SUPPOSED TO CAUSE VARIABILITY--CROSSING AS A CAUSE OF THE APPEARANCE OF NEW CHARACTERS--VARIABILITY FROM THE COMMINGLING OF CHARACTERS AND FROM REVERSION--ON THE MANNER AND PERIOD OF ACTION OF THE CAUSES WHICH EITHER DIRECTLY, OR INDIRECTLY THROUGH THE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM, INDUCE VARIABILITY. We will now consider, as far as we can, the causes of the almost universal variability of our domesticated productions. The subject is an obscure one; but it may be useful to probe our ignorance. Some authors, for instance Dr. Prosper Lucas, look at variability as a necessary contingent on reproduction, and as much an aboriginal law, as growth or inheritance. Others have of late encouraged, perhaps unintentionally, this view by speaking of inheritance and variability as equal and antagonistic principles. Pallas maintained, and he has had some followers, that variability depends exclusively on the crossing of primordially distinct forms. Other authors attribute the tendency to variability to an excess of food, and with animals to an excess relatively to the amount of exercise taken, or again to the effects of a more genial climate. That these causes are all effective is highly probable. But we must, I think, take a broader view, and conclude that organic beings, when subjected during several generations to any change whatever in their conditions, tend to vary; the kind of variation which ensues depending in a far higher degree on the nature or constitution of the being, than on the nature of the changed conditions. {251} Those authors who believe that it is a law of nature that each individual should differ in some slight degree from every other, may maintain, apparently with truth, that this is the fact, not only with all domesticated animals and cultivated plants, but likewise with all organic beings in a state of nature. The Laplander by long practice knows and gives a name to each reindeer, though, as Linnæus remarks, "to distinguish one from another among such multitudes was beyond my comprehension, for they were like ants on an ant-hill." In Germany shepherds have won wagers by recognising each sheep in a flock of a hundred, which they had never seen until the previous fortnight. This power of discrimination, however, is as nothing compared to that which some florists have acquired. Verlot mentions a gardener who could distinguish 150 kinds of camellia, when not in flower; and it has been positively asserted that the famous old Dutch florist Voorhelm, who kept above 1200 varieties of the hyacinth, was hardly ever deceived in knowing each variety by the bulb alone. Hence we must conclude that the bulbs of the hyacinth and the branches and leaves of the camellia, though appearing to an unpractised eye absolutely undistinguishable, yet really differ.[603] As Linnæus has compared the reindeer in number to ants, I may add that each ant knows its fellow of the same community. Several times I carried ants of the same species (_Formica rufa_) from one ant-hill to another, inhabited apparently by tens of thousands of ants; but the strangers were instantly detected and killed. I then put some ants taken from a very large nest into a bottle strongly perfumed with assafoetida, and after an interval of twenty-four hours returned them to their home; they were at first threatened by their fellows, but were soon recognised and allowed to pass. Hence each ant certainly recognises, independently of odour, its fellow; and if all the ants of the same community have not some countersign or watchword, they must present to each other's senses some distinguishable character. {252} The dissimilarity of brothers or sisters of the same family, and of seedlings from the same capsule, may be in part accounted for by the unequal blending of the characters of the two parents, and by the more or less complete recovery through reversion of ancestral characters on either side; but we thus only push the difficulty further back in time, for what made the parents or their progenitors different? Hence the belief[604] that an innate tendency to vary exists, independently of external conditions, seems at first sight probable. But even the seeds nurtured in the same capsule are not subjected to absolutely uniform conditions, as they draw their nourishment from different points; and we shall see in a future chapter that this difference sometimes suffices greatly to affect the character of the future plant. The less close similarity of the successive children of the same family in comparison with human twins, which often resemble each other in external appearance, mental disposition, and constitution, in so extraordinary a manner, apparently proves that the state of the parents at the exact period of conception, or the nature of the subsequent embryonic development, has a direct and powerful influence on the character of the offspring. Nevertheless, when we reflect on the {253} individual differences between organic beings in a state of nature, as shown by every wild animal knowing its mate; and when we reflect on the infinite diversity of the many varieties of our domesticated productions, we may well be inclined to exclaim, though falsely as I believe, that Variability must be looked at as an ultimate fact, necessarily contingent on reproduction. Those authors who adopt this latter view would probably deny that each separate variation has its own proper exciting cause. Although we can seldom trace the precise relation between cause and effect, yet the considerations presently to be given lead to the conclusion that each modification must have its own distinct cause. When we hear of an infant born, for instance, with a crooked finger, a misplaced tooth, or other slight deviation of structure, it is difficult to bring the conviction home to the mind that such abnormal cases are the result of fixed laws, and not of what we blindly call accident. Under this point of view the following case, which has been carefully examined and communicated to me by Dr. William Ogle, is highly instructive. Two girls, born as twins, and in all respects extremely alike, had their little fingers on both hands crooked; and in both children the second bicuspid tooth in the upper jaw, of the second dentition, was misplaced; for these teeth, instead of standing in a line with the others, grew from the roof of the mouth behind the first bicuspids. Neither the parents nor any other member of the family had exhibited any similar peculiarity. Now, as both these children were affected in exactly the same manner by both deviations of structure, the idea of accident is at once excluded; and we are compelled to admit that there must have existed some precise and sufficient cause which, if it had occurred a hundred times, would have affected a hundred children. We will now consider the general arguments, which appear to me to have great weight, in favour of the view that variations of all kinds and degrees are directly or indirectly caused by the conditions of life to which each being, and more especially its ancestors, have been exposed. No one doubts that domesticated productions are more variable than organic beings which have never been removed from their {254} natural conditions. Monstrosities graduate so insensibly into mere variations that it is impossible to separate them; and all those who have studied monstrosities believe that they are far commoner with domesticated than with wild animals and plants;[605] and in the case of plants, monstrosities would be equally noticeable in the natural as in the cultivated state. Under nature, the individuals of the same species are exposed to nearly uniform conditions, for they are rigorously kept to their proper places by a host of competing animals and plants; they have, also, long been habituated to their conditions of life; but it cannot be said that they are subject to quite uniform conditions, and they are liable to a certain amount of variation. The circumstances under which our domestic productions are reared are widely different: they are protected from competition; they have not only been removed from their natural conditions and often from their native land, but they are frequently carried from district to district, where they are treated differently, so that they never remain during a considerable length of time exposed to closely similar conditions. In conformity with this, all our domesticated productions, with the rarest exceptions, vary far more than natural species. The hive-bee, which feeds itself and follows in most respects its natural habits of life, is the least variable of all domesticated animals, and probably the goose is the next least variable; but even the goose varies more than almost any wild bird, so that it cannot be affiliated with perfect certainty to any natural species. Hardly a single plant can be named, which has long been cultivated and propagated by seed, that is not highly variable; common rye (_Secale cereale_) has afforded fewer and less marked varieties than almost any other cultivated plant;[606] but it may be doubted whether the variations of this, the least valuable of all our cereals, have been closely observed. Bud-variation, which was fully discussed in a former chapter, shows us that variability may be quite independent of seminal reproduction, and likewise of reversion to long-lost ancestral characters. No one will maintain that the sudden appearance {255} of a moss-rose on a Provence-rose is a return to a former state, for mossiness of the calyx has been observed in no natural species; the same argument is applicable to variegated and laciniated leaves; nor can the appearance of nectarines on peach-trees be accounted for with any probability on the principle of reversion. But bud-variations more immediately concern us, as they occur far more frequently on plants which have been highly cultivated during a length of time, than on other and less highly cultivated plants; and very few well-marked instances have been observed with plants growing under strictly natural conditions. I have given one instance of an ash-tree growing in a gentleman's pleasure-grounds; and occasionally there may be seen, on beech and other trees, twigs leafing at a different period from the other branches. But our forest trees in England can hardly be considered as living under strictly natural conditions; the seedlings are raised and protected in nursery-grounds, and must often be transplanted into places where wild trees of the kind would not naturally grow. It would be esteemed a prodigy if a dog-rose growing in a hedge produced by bud-variation a moss-rose, or a wild bullace or wild cherry-tree yielded a branch bearing fruit of a different shape and colour from the ordinary fruit. The prodigy would be enhanced if these varying branches were found capable of propagation, not only by grafts, but sometimes by seed; yet analogous cases have occurred with many of our highly cultivated trees and herbs. These several considerations alone render it probable that variability of every kind is directly or indirectly caused by changed conditions of life. Or, to put the case under another point of view, if it were possible to expose all the individuals of a species during many generations to absolutely uniform conditions of life, there would be no variability. _On the Nature of the Changes in the Conditions of Life which induce Variability._ From a remote period to the present day, under climates and circumstances as different as it is possible to conceive, organic beings of all kinds, when domesticated or cultivated, have {256} varied. We see this with the many domestic races of quadrupeds and birds belonging to different orders, with gold-fish and silkworms, with plants of many kinds, raised in various quarters of the world. In the deserts of northern Africa the date-palm has yielded thirty-eight varieties; in the fertile plains of India it is notorious how many varieties of rice and of a host of other plants exist; in a single Polynesian island, twenty-four varieties of the bread-fruit, the same number of the banana, and twenty-two varieties of the arum, are cultivated by the natives; the mulberry-tree in India and Europe has yielded many varieties serving as food for the silkworm; and in China sixty-three varieties of the bamboo are used for various domestic purposes.[607] These facts alone, and innumerable others could be added, indicate that a change of almost any kind in the conditions of life suffices to cause variability--different changes acting on different organisms. Andrew Knight[608] attributed the variation of both animals and plants to a more abundant supply of nourishment, or to a more favourable climate, than that natural to the species. A more genial climate, however, is far from necessary; the kidney-bean, which is often injured by our spring frosts, and peaches, which require the protection of a wall, have varied much in England, as has the orange-tree in northern Italy, where it is barely able to exist.[609] Nor can we overlook the fact, though not immediately connected with our present subject, that the plants and shells of the arctic regions are eminently variable.[610] Moreover, it does not appear that a change of climate, whether more or less genial, is one of the most potent causes of variability; for in regard to plants Alph. De Candolle, in his 'Géographie {257} Botanique,' repeatedly shows that the native country of a plant, where in most cases it has been longest cultivated, is that where it has yielded the greatest number of varieties. It is doubtful whether a change in the nature of the food is a potent cause of variability. Scarcely any domesticated animal has varied more than the pigeon or the fowl, but their food, especially that of highly-bred pigeons, is generally the same. Nor can our cattle and sheep have been subjected to any great change in this respect. But in all these cases the food probably is much less varied in kind than that which was consumed by the species in its natural state.[611] Of all the causes which induce variability, excess of food, whether or not changed in nature, is probably the most powerful. This view was held with regard to plants by Andrew Knight, and is now held by Schleiden, more especially in reference to the inorganic elements of the food.[612] In order to give a plant more food it suffices in most cases to grow it separately, and thus prevent other plants robbing its roots. It is surprising, as I have often seen, how vigorously our common wild plants flourish when planted by themselves, though not in highly manured land. Growing plants separately is, in fact, the first step in cultivation. We see the converse of the belief that excess of food induces variability in the following statement by a great raiser of seeds of all kinds.[613] "It is a rule invariably with us, when we desire to keep a true stock of any one kind of seed, to grow it on poor land without dung; but when we grow for quantity, we act contrary, and sometimes have dearly to repent of it." In the case of animals the want of a proper amount of exercise, as Bechstein has remarked, has perhaps played, independently of the direct effects of the disuse of any particular organ, an important part in causing variability. We can see in a vague manner that, when the organised and nutrient fluids of the body are not used during growth, or by the wear and tear of the tissues, {258} they will be in excess; and as growth, nutrition, and reproduction are intimately allied processes, this superfluity might disturb the due and proper action of the reproductive organs, and consequently affect the character of the future offspring. But it may be argued that neither an excess of food nor a superfluity in the organised fluids of the body necessarily induces variability. The goose and the turkey have been well fed for many generations, yet have varied very little. Our fruit-trees and culinary plants, which are so variable, have been cultivated from an ancient period, and, though they probably still receive more nutriment than in their natural state, yet they must have received during many generations nearly the same amount; and it might be thought that they would have become habituated to the excess. Nevertheless, on the whole, Knight's view, that excess of food is one of the most potent causes of variability, appears, as far as I can judge, probable. Whether or not our various cultivated plants have received nutriment in excess, all have been exposed to changes of various kinds. Fruit-trees are grafted on different stocks, and grown in various soils. The seeds of culinary and agricultural plants are carried from place to place; and during the last century the rotation of our crops and the manures used have been greatly changed. Slight changes of treatment often suffice to induce variability. The simple fact of almost all our cultivated plants and domesticated animals having varied in all places and at all times, leads to this conclusion. Seeds taken from common English forest-trees, grown under their native climate, not highly manured or otherwise artificially treated, yield seedlings which vary much, as may be seen in every extensive seed-bed. I have shown in a former chapter what a number of well marked and singular varieties the thorn (_Cratægus oxyacantha_) has produced; yet this tree has been subjected to hardly any cultivation. In Staffordshire I carefully examined a large number of two British plants, namely, _Geranium phæum_ and _Pyrenaicum_, which have never been highly cultivated. These plants had spread spontaneously by seed from a common garden into an open plantation; and the seedlings varied in almost every single character, both in their flowers and foliage, to a degree which {259} I have never seen exceeded; yet they could not have been exposed to any great change in their conditions. With respect to animals, Azara has remarked with much surprise,[614] that, whilst the feral horses on the Pampas are always of one of three colours, and the cattle always of a uniform colour, yet these animals, when bred on the unenclosed estancias, though kept in a state which can hardly be called domesticated, and apparently exposed to almost identically the same conditions as when they are feral, nevertheless display a great diversity of colour. So again in India several species of fresh-water fish are only so far treated artificially, that they are reared in great tanks; but this small change is sufficient to induce much variability.[615] Some facts on the effects of grafting, in regard to the variability of trees, deserve attention. Cabanis asserts that when certain pears are grafted on the quince, their seeds yield more varieties than do the seeds of the same variety of pear when grafted on the wild pear.[616] But as the pear and quince are distinct species, though so closely related that the one can be readily grafted and succeeds admirably on the other, the fact of variability being thus caused is not surprising; we are, however, here enabled to see the cause, namely, the different nature of the stock with its roots and the rest of the tree. Several North American varieties of the plum and peach are well known to reproduce themselves truly by seed; but Downing asserts,[617] "that when a graft is taken from one of these trees and placed upon another stock, this grafted tree is found to lose its singular property of producing the same variety by seed, and becomes like all other worked trees;"--that is, its seedlings become highly variable. Another case is worth giving: the Lalande variety of the walnut-tree leafs between April 20th and May 15th, and its seedlings invariably inherit the same habit; whilst several other varieties of the walnut leaf in June. Now, if seedlings are raised from the May-leafing Lalande variety, grafted on another May-leafing variety, though both stock and graft have the same early habit of leafing, yet the seedlings leaf at various times, {260} even as late as the 5th of June.[618] Such facts as these are well fitted to show, on what obscure and slight causes variability rests. I may here just allude to the appearance of new and valuable varieties of fruit-trees and of wheat in woods and waste places, which at first sight seems a most anomalous circumstance. In France a considerable number of the best pears have been discovered in woods; and this has occurred so frequently, that Poiteau asserts that "improved varieties of our cultivated fruits rarely originate with nurserymen."[619] In England, on the other hand, no instance of a good pear having been found wild has been recorded; and Mr. Rivers informs me that he knows of only one instance with apples, namely, the Bess Poole, which was discovered in a wood in Nottinghamshire. This difference between the two countries may be in part accounted for by the more favourable climate of France, but chiefly from the great number of seedlings which spring up there in the woods. I infer that this is the case from a remark made by a French gardener,[620] who regards it as a national calamity that such a number of pear-trees are periodically cut down for firewood, before they have borne fruit. The new varieties which thus spring up in the woods, though they cannot have received any excess of nutriment, will have been exposed to abruptly changed conditions, but whether this is the cause of their production is very doubtful. These varieties, however, are probably all descended[621] from old cultivated kinds growing in adjoining orchards,--a circumstance which will account for their variability; and out of a vast number of varying trees there will always be a good chance of the appearance of a valuable kind. In North America, where fruit-trees frequently spring up in waste places, the Washington pear was found in a hedge, and the Emperor peach in a wood.[622] With respect to wheat, some writers have spoken[623] as if it were an ordinary event for new varieties to be found in waste places; the Fenton wheat was certainly discovered growing on a pile of basaltic detritus in a quarry, but in such a situation the plant would probably receive a sufficient amount {261} of nutriment. The Chidham wheat was raised from an ear found _on_ a hedge; and Hunter's wheat was discovered _by_ the roadside in Scotland, but it is not said that this latter variety grew where it was found.[624] Whether our domestic productions would ever become so completely habituated to the conditions under which they now live, as to cease varying, we have no sufficient means for judging. But, in fact, our domestic productions are never exposed for a great length of time to uniform conditions, and it is certain that our most anciently cultivated plants, as well as animals, still go on varying, for all have recently undergone marked improvement. In some few cases, however, plants have become habituated to new conditions. Thus Metzger, who cultivated in Germany during many years numerous varieties of wheat, brought from different countries,[625] states that some kinds were at first extremely variable, but gradually, in one instance after an interval of twenty-five years, became constant; and it does not appear that this resulted from the selection of the more constant forms. * * * * * _On the Accumulative Action of changed Conditions of Life._--We have good grounds for believing that the influence of changed conditions accumulates, so that no effect is produced on a species until it has been exposed during several generations to continued cultivation or domestication. Universal experience shows us that when new flowers are first introduced into our gardens they do not vary; but ultimately all, with the rarest exceptions, vary to a greater or less extent. In a few cases the requisite number of generations, as well as the successive steps in the progress of variation, have been recorded, as in the often-quoted instance of the Dahlia.[626] After several years' culture the Zinnia has only lately (1860) begun to vary in any great degree. "In the first seven or eight years of high cultivation the Swan River daisy (_Brachycome iberidifolia_) kept to its original colour; it then varied into lilac and purple and other minor shades."[627] Analogous facts have been recorded with the Scotch rose. In discussing the variability of plants several experienced horticulturists have spoken to the {262} same general effect. Mr. Salter[628] remarks, "Every one knows that the chief difficulty is in breaking through the original form and colour of the species, and every one will be on the look-out for any natural sport, either from seed or branch; that being once obtained, however trifling the change may be, the result depends upon himself." M. de Jonghe, who has had so much success in raising new varieties of pears and strawberries,[629] remarks with respect to the former, "There is another principle, namely, that the more a type has entered into a state of variation, the greater is its tendency to continue doing so; and the more it has varied from the original type, the more it is disposed to vary still farther." We have, indeed, already discussed this latter point when treating of the power which man possesses, through selection, of continually augmenting in the same direction each modification; for this power depends on continued variability of the same general kind. The most celebrated horticulturist in France, namely, Vilmorin,[630] even maintains that, when any particular variation is desired, the first step is to get the plant to vary in any manner whatever, and to go on selecting the most variable individuals, even though they vary in the wrong direction; for the fixed character of the species being once broken, the desired variation will sooner or later appear. As nearly all our animals were domesticated at an extremely remote epoch, we cannot, of course, say whether they varied quickly or slowly when first subjected to new conditions. But Dr. Bachman[631] states that he has seen turkeys raised from the eggs of the wild species lose their metallic tints and become spotted with white in the third generation. Mr. Yarrell many years ago informed me that the wild ducks bred on the ponds in St. James's Park, which had never been crossed, as it is believed, with domestic ducks, lost their true plumage after a few generations. An excellent observer,[632] who has often reared birds from the eggs of the wild duck, and who took precautions {263} that there should be no crossing with domestic breeds, has given, as previously stated, full details on the changes which they gradually undergo. He found that he could not breed these wild ducks true for more than five or six generations, "as they then proved so much less beautiful. The white collar round the neck of the mallard became much broader and more irregular, and white feathers appeared in the ducklings' wings." They increased also in size of body; their legs became less fine, and they lost their elegant carriage. Fresh eggs were then procured from wild birds; but again the same result followed. In these cases of the duck and turkey we see that animals, like plants, do not depart from their primitive type until they have been subjected during several generations to domestication. On the other hand, Mr. Yarrell informed me that the Australian dingos, bred in the Zoological Gardens, almost invariably produced in the first generation puppies marked with white and other colours; but these introduced dingos had probably been procured from the natives, who keep them in a semi-domesticated state. It is certainly a remarkable fact that changed conditions should at first produce, as far as we can see, absolutely no effect; but that they should subsequently cause the character of the species to change. In the chapter on pangenesis I shall attempt to throw a little light on this fact. * * * * * Returning now to the causes which are supposed to induce variability. Some authors[633] believe that close interbreeding gives this tendency, and leads to the production of monstrosities. In the seventeenth chapter some few facts were advanced, showing that monstrosities are, as it appears, occasionally thus caused; and there can be no doubt that close interbreeding induces lessened fertility and a weakened constitution; hence it may lead to variability: but I have not sufficient evidence on this head. On the other hand, close interbreeding, if not carried to an injurious extreme, far from causing variability, tends to fix the character of each breed. It was formerly a common belief, still held by some persons, that the imagination of the mother affects the child in {264} the womb.[634] This view is evidently not applicable to the lower animals, which lay unimpregnated eggs, or to plants. Dr. William Hunter, in the last century, told my father that during many years every woman in a large London Lying-in Hospital was asked before her confinement whether anything had specially affected her mind, and the answer was written down; and it so happened that in no one instance could a coincidence be detected between the woman's answer and any abnormal structure; but when she knew the nature of the structure, she frequently suggested some fresh cause. The belief in the power of the mother's imagination may perhaps have arisen from the children of a second marriage resembling the previous father, as certainly sometimes occurs, in accordance with the facts given in the eleventh chapter. * * * * * _Crossing as a Cause of Variability._--In an early part of this chapter it was stated that Pallas[635] and a few other naturalists maintain that variability is wholly due to crossing. If this means that new characters never spontaneously appear in our domestic races, but that they are all directly derived from certain aboriginal species, the doctrine is little less than absurd; for it implies that animals like Italian greyhounds, pug-dogs, bull-dogs, pouter and fantail pigeons, &c., were able to exist in a state of nature. But the doctrine may mean something widely different, namely, that the crossing of distinct species is the sole cause of the first appearance of new characters, and that without this aid man could not have formed his various breeds. As, however, new characters have appeared in certain cases by bud-variation, we may conclude with certainty that crossing is not necessary for variability. It is, moreover, almost certain that the breeds of various animals, such as of the rabbit, pigeon, duck, &c., and the varieties of several plants, are the modified descendants of a single wild species. Nevertheless, it is probable that the crossing of two forms, when one or both have long been domesticated or cultivated, adds to the variability of the offspring, independently of the commingling of the characters derived from the two parent-forms; and this implies {265} that new characters actually arise. But we must not forget the facts advanced in the thirteenth chapter, which clearly prove that the act of crossing often leads to the reappearance or reversion of long-lost characters; and in most cases it would be impossible to distinguish between the reappearance of ancient characters and the first appearance of new characters. Practically, whether new or old, they would be new to the breed in which they reappeared. Gärtner declares,[636] and his experience is of the highest value on such a point, that, when he crossed native plants which had not been cultivated, he never once saw in the offspring any new character; but that from the odd manner in which the characters derived from the parents were combined, they sometimes appeared as if new. When, on the other hand, he crossed cultivated plants, he admits that new characters occasionally appeared, but he is strongly inclined to attribute their appearance to ordinary variability, not in any way to the cross. An opposite conclusion, however, appears to me the more probable. According to Kölreuter, hybrids in the genus Mirabilis vary almost infinitely, and he describes new and singular characters in the form of the seeds, in the colour of the anthers, in the cotyledons being of immense size, in new and highly peculiar odours, in the flowers expanding early in the season, and in their closing at night. With respect to one lot of these hybrids, he remarks that they presented characters exactly the reverse of what might have been expected from their parentage.[637] Prof. Lecoq[638] speaks strongly to the same effect in regard to this same genus, and asserts that many of the hybrids from _Mirabilis jalapa_ and _multiflora_ might easily be mistaken for distinct species, and adds that they differed in a greater degree, than the other species of the genus, from _M. jalapa_. Herbert, also, has described[639] the offspring from a hybrid Rhododendron as being "as _unlike all others_ in foliage, as if they had been a separate species." The common experience of floriculturists proves that the crossing and recrossing of distinct but allied plants, such as the species of Petunia, Calceolaria, Fuchsia, Verbena, &c., induces excessive variability; hence the appearance of quite new characters is probable. M. Carrière[640] has lately discussed this subject: he states that _Erythrina cristagalli_ had been multiplied by seed for many years, but had not yielded any varieties: it was then crossed with the allied _E. herbacea_, and "the resistance was now overcome, and varieties were produced with flowers of extremely different size, form, and colour." From the general and apparently well-founded belief that the crossing {266} of distinct species, besides commingling their characters, adds greatly to their variability, it has probably arisen that some botanists have gone so far as to maintain[641] that, when a genus includes only a single species, this when cultivated never varies. The proposition made so broadly cannot be admitted; but it is probably true that the variability of cultivated monotypic genera is much less than that of genera including numerous species, and this quite independently of the effects of crossing. I have stated in my 'Origin of Species,' and in a future work shall more fully show, that the species belonging to small genera generally yield a less number of varieties in a state of nature than those belonging to large genera. Hence the species of small genera would, it is probable, produce fewer varieties under cultivation than the already variable species of larger genera. Although we have not at present sufficient evidence that the crossing of species, which have never been cultivated, leads to the appearance of new characters, this apparently does occur with species which have been already rendered in some degree variable through cultivation. Hence crossing, like any other change in the conditions of life, seems to be an element, probably a potent one, in causing variability. But we seldom have the means of distinguishing, as previously remarked, between the appearance of really new characters and the reappearance of long-lost characters, evoked through the act of crossing. I will give an instance of the difficulty in distinguishing such cases. The species of Datura may be divided into two sections, those having white flowers with green stems, and those having purple flowers with brown stems: now Naudin[642] crossed _Datura lævis_ and _ferox_, both of which belong to the white section, and raised from them 205 hybrids. Of these hybrids, every one had brown stems and bore purple flowers; so that they resembled the species of the other section of the genus, and not their own two parents. Naudin was so much astonished at this fact, that he was led carefully to observe both parent-species, and he discovered that the pure seedlings of _D. ferox_, immediately after germination, had dark purple stems, extending from the young roots up to the cotyledons, and that this tint remained ever afterwards as a ring round the base of the stem of the plant when old. Now I have shown in the thirteenth chapter that the retention or exaggeration of an early character is so intimately related to reversion, that it evidently comes under the same principle. Hence probably we ought to look at the purple flowers and brown stems of these hybrids, not as new characters due to variability, but as a return to the former state of some ancient progenitor. Independently of the appearance of new characters from crossing, a few words may be added to what has been said in former chapters on the unequal combination and transmission of the characters proper to the two parent-forms. When two species or races are crossed, the offspring of {267} the first generation are generally uniform, but subsequently they display an almost infinite diversity of character. He who wishes, says Kölreuter,[643] to obtain an endless number of varieties from hybrids should cross and recross them. There is also much variability when hybrids or mongrels are reduced or absorbed by repeated crosses with either pure parent-form; and a still higher degree of variability when three distinct species, and most of all when four species, are blended together by successive crosses. Beyond this point Gärtner,[644] on whose authority the foregoing statements are made, never succeeded in effecting a union; but Max Wichura[645] united six distinct species of willows into a single hybrid. The sex of the parent-species affects in an inexplicable manner the degree of variability of hybrids; for Gärtner[646] repeatedly found that when a hybrid was used as the father, and either one of the pure parent-species, or a third species, was used as the mother, the offspring were more variable than when the same hybrid was used as the mother, and either pure parent or the same third species as the father: thus seedlings from _Dianthus barbatus_ crossed by the hybrid _D. chinensi-barbatus_ were more variable than those raised from this latter hybrid fertilised by the pure _D. barbatus_. Max Wichura[647] insists strongly on an analogous result with his hybrid willows. Again Gärtner[648] asserts that the degree of variability sometimes differs in hybrids raised from reciprocal crosses between the same two species; and here the sole difference is, that the one species is first used as the father and then as the mother. On the whole we see that, independently of the appearance of new characters, the variability of successive crossed generations is extremely complex, partly from the offspring partaking unequally of the characters of the two parent-forms, and more especially from their unequal tendency to revert to these same characters or to those of more ancient progenitors. * * * * * _On the Manner and on the Period of Action of the Causes which induce Variability._--This is an extremely obscure subject, and we need here only briefly consider, firstly, whether inherited variations are caused by the organisation being directly acted on, or indirectly through the reproductive system; and secondly, at what period of life or growth they are primarily caused. We shall see in the two following chapters that various agencies, such as an abundant supply of food, exposure to a different climate, increased use or disuse of parts, &c., prolonged during several generations, certainly modify either the whole organisation or certain organs. This direct action of changed conditions perhaps comes into play much more frequently than can be proved, and it is at least clear that in all cases of {268} bud-variation the action cannot have been through the reproductive system. With respect to the part which the reproductive system takes in causing variability, we have seen in the eighteenth chapter that even slight changes in the conditions of life have a remarkable power in causing a greater or less degree of sterility. Hence it seems not improbable that being generated though a system so easily affected should themselves be affected, or should fail to inherit, or inherit in excess, characters proper to their parents. We know that certain groups of organic beings, but with exceptions in each group, have their reproductive systems much more easily affected by changed conditions than other groups; for instance, carnivorous birds more readily than carnivorous mammals, and parrots more readily than pigeons; and this fact harmonizes with the apparently capricious manner and degree in which various groups of animals and plants vary under domestication. Kölreuter[649] was struck with the parallelism between the excessive variability of hybrids when crossed and recrossed in various ways,--these hybrids having their reproductive powers more or less affected,--and the variability of anciently cultivated plants. Max Wichura[650] has gone one step farther, and shows that with many of our highly cultivated plants, such as the hyacinth, tulip, auricula, snapdragon, potato, cabbage, &c., which there is no reason to believe have been hybridized, the anthers contain many irregular pollen-grains, in the same state as in hybrids. He finds also in certain wild forms, the same coincidence between the state of the pollen and a high degree of variability, as in many species of Rubus; but in _R. cæsius_ and _idæus_, which are not highly variable species, the pollen is sound. It is also notorious that many cultivated plants, such as the banana, pine-apple, breadfruit, and others previously mentioned, have their reproductive organs so seriously affected as to be generally quite sterile; and when they do yield seed, the seedlings, judging from the large number of cultivated races which exist, must be variable in an extreme degree. These facts indicate that there is some relation between the state of the reproductive organs and a tendency to variability; but we must not conclude that the relation is strict. Although many of our highly cultivated plants may have their pollen in a deteriorated condition, yet, as we have previously seen, they yield more seed, and our anciently domesticated animals are more prolific, than the corresponding species in a state of nature. The peacock is almost the only bird which is believed to be less fertile under domestication than in its native state, and it has varied in a remarkably small degree. From these considerations it would seem that changes in the conditions of life lead either to sterility or to variability, or to both; and not that sterility induces variability. On the whole it is probable that any cause affecting the organs of reproduction would likewise affect their product,--that is, the offspring thus generated. {269} The period of life at which the causes that induce variability act, is another obscure subject, which has been discussed by various authors.[651] In some of the cases, to be given in the following chapter, of modifications from the direct action of changed conditions, which are inherited, there can be no doubt that the causes have acted on the mature or nearly mature animal. On the other hand, monstrosities, which cannot be distinctly separated from lesser variations, are often caused by the embryo being injured whilst in the mother's womb or in the egg. Thus I. Geoffroy St. Hilaire[652] asserts that poor women who work hard during their pregnancy, and the mothers of illegitimate children troubled in their minds and forced to conceal their state, are far more liable to give birth to monsters than women in easy circumstances. The eggs of the fowl when placed upright or otherwise treated unnaturally frequently produce monstrous chickens. It would, however, appear that complex monstrosities are induced more frequently during a rather late than during a very early period of embryonic life; but this may partly result from some one part, which has been injured during an early period, affecting by its abnormal growth other parts subsequently developed; and this would be less likely to occur with parts injured at a later period.[653] When any part or organ becomes monstrous through abortion, a rudiment is generally left, and this likewise indicates that its development had already commenced. Insects sometimes have their antennæ or legs in a monstrous condition, and yet the larvæ from which they are metamorphosed do not possess either antennæ or legs; and in those cases, as Quatrefages[654] believes, we are enabled to see the precise period at which the normal progress of development has been troubled. But the nature of the food given to a caterpillar sometimes affects the colours of the moth, without the caterpillar itself being affected; therefore it seems possible that other characters in the mature insect might be indirectly modified through the larvæ. There is no reason to suppose that organs which have been rendered monstrous have always been acted on during their development; the cause may have acted on the organisation at a much earlier stage. It is even probable that either the male or female sexual elements, or both, before their union, may be affected in such a manner as to lead to modifications in organs developed at a late period of life; in nearly the same manner as a child may inherit from his father a disease which does not appear until old age. In accordance with the facts above given, which prove that in many cases a close relation exists between variability and the sterility following from changed conditions, we may conclude that the exciting cause often acts at the earliest possible period, namely, on the sexual elements, before impregnation has taken place. That an affection of the female sexual element may induce variability we may likewise infer as probable from the occurrence of bud-variations; for a bud seems to be the analogue of an ovule. But the male element is apparently much oftener affected by changed {270} conditions, at least in a visible manner, than the female element or ovule; and we know from Gärtner's and Wichura's statements that a hybrid used as the father and crossed with a pure species gives a greater degree of variability to the offspring, than does the same hybrid when used as the mother. Lastly, it is certain that variability may be transmitted through either sexual element, whether or not originally excited in them, for Kölreuter and Gärtner[655] found that when two species were crossed, if either one was variable, the offspring were rendered variable. * * * * * _Summary._--From the facts given in this chapter, we may conclude that the variability of organic beings under domestication, although so general, is not an inevitable contingent on growth and reproduction, but results from the conditions to which the parents have been exposed. Changes of any kind in the conditions of life, even extremely slight changes, often suffice to cause variability. Excess of nutriment is perhaps the most efficient single exciting cause. Animals and plants continue to be variable for an immense period after their first domestication; but the conditions to which they are exposed never long remain quite constant. In the course of time they can be habituated to certain changes, so as to become less variable; and it is possible that when first domesticated they may have been even more variable than at present. There is good evidence that the power of changed conditions accumulates; so that two, three, or more generations must be exposed to new conditions before any effect is visible. The crossing of distinct forms, which have already become variable, increases in the offspring the tendency to further variability, by the unequal commingling of the characters of the two parents, by the reappearance of long-lost characters, and by the appearance of absolutely new characters. Some variations are induced by the direct action of the surrounding conditions on the whole organisation, or on certain parts alone, and other variations are induced indirectly through the reproductive system being affected in the same manner as is so common with organic beings when removed from their natural conditions. The causes which induce variability act on the mature organism, on the embryo, and, as we have good reason to believe, on both sexual elements before impregnation has been effected. * * * * * {271} CHAPTER XXIII. DIRECT AND DEFINITE ACTION OF THE EXTERNAL CONDITIONS OF LIFE. SLIGHT MODIFICATIONS IN PLANTS FROM THE DEFINITE ACTION OF CHANGED CONDITIONS IN SIZE, COLOUR, CHEMICAL PROPERTIES, AND IN THE STATE OF THE TISSUES--LOCAL DISEASES--CONSPICUOUS MODIFICATIONS FROM CHANGED CLIMATE OR FOOD, ETC.--PLUMAGE OF BIRDS AFFECTED BY PECULIAR NUTRIMENT, AND BY THE INOCULATION OF POISON--LAND-SHELLS--MODIFICATIONS OF ORGANIC BEINGS IN A STATE OF NATURE THROUGH THE DEFINITE ACTION OF EXTERNAL CONDITIONS--COMPARISON OF AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN TREES--GALLS--EFFECTS OF PARASITIC FUNGI--CONSIDERATIONS OPPOSED TO THE BELIEF IN THE POTENT INFLUENCE OF CHANGED EXTERNAL CONDITIONS--PARALLEL SERIES OF VARIETIES--AMOUNT OF VARIATION DOES NOT CORRESPOND WITH THE DEGREE OF CHANGE IN THE CONDITIONS--BUD-VARIATION--MONSTROSITIES PRODUCED BY UNNATURAL TREATMENT--SUMMARY. If we ask ourselves why this or that character has been modified under domestication, we are, in most cases lost in utter darkness. Many naturalists, especially of the French school, attribute every modification to the "monde ambiant," that is, to changed climate, with all its diversities of heat and cold, dampness and dryness, light and electricity, to the nature of the soil, and to varied kinds and amount of food. By the term definite action, as used in this chapter, I mean an action of such a nature that, when many individuals of the same variety are exposed during several generations to any change in their physical conditions of life, all, or nearly all the individuals, are modified in the same manner. A new sub-variety would thus be produced without the aid of selection. I do not include under the term of definite action the effects of habit or of the increased use and disuse of various organs. Modifications of this nature, no doubt, are definitely caused by the conditions to which the beings are subjected; but they depend much less on the nature of the conditions than on the laws of growth; hence they are included under a distinct head in the {272} following chapter. We know, however, far too little of the causes and laws of variation to make a sound classification. The direct action of the conditions of life, whether leading to definite or indefinite results, is a totally distinct consideration from the effects of natural selection; for natural selection depends on the survival under various and complex circumstances of the best-fitted individuals, but has no relation whatever to the primary cause of any modification of structure. I will first give in detail all the facts which I have been able to collect, rendering it probable that climate, food, &c., have acted so definitely and powerfully on the organisation of our domesticated productions, that they have sufficed to form new sub-varieties or races, without the aid of selection by man or of natural selection. I will then give the facts and considerations opposed to this conclusion, and finally we will weigh, as fairly as we can, the evidence on both sides. When we reflect that distinct races of almost all our domesticated animals exist in each kingdom of Europe, and formerly even in each district of England, we are at first strongly inclined to attribute their origin to the definite action of the physical conditions of each country; and this has been the conclusion of many authors. But we should bear in mind that man annually has to choose which animals shall be preserved for breeding, and which shall be slaughtered. We have also seen that both methodical and unconscious selection were formerly practised, and are now occasionally practised by the most barbarous races, to a much greater extent than might have been anticipated. Hence it is very difficult to judge how far the difference in conditions between, for instance, the several districts in England, could have sufficed without the aid of selection to modify the breeds which have been reared in each. It may be argued that, as numerous wild animals and plants have ranged during many ages throughout Great Britain, and still retain the same character, the difference in conditions between the several districts could not have modified in so marked a manner the various native races of cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses. The same difficulty of distinguishing between selection and the definite effects of the conditions of life, is encountered in a still higher degree when we compare closely allied natural {273} forms, inhabiting two countries, such as North America and Europe, which do not differ greatly in climate, nature of soil, &c., for in this case natural selection will inevitably and rigorously have acted during a long succession of ages. From the importance of the difficulty just alluded to, it will be advisable to give as large a body of facts as possible, showing that extremely slight differences in treatment, either in different parts of the same country, or during different seasons, certainly cause an appreciable effect, at least on varieties which are already in an unstable condition. Ornamental flowers are good for this purpose, as they are highly variable, and are carefully observed. All floriculturists are unanimous that certain varieties are affected by very slight differences in the nature of the artificial compost in which they are grown, and by the natural soil of the district, and by the season. Thus, a skilful judge, in writing on Carnations and Picotees,[656] asks "where can Admiral Curzon be seen possessing the colour, size, and strength which it has in Derbyshire? Where can Flora's Garland be found equal to those at Slough? Where do high-coloured flowers revel better than at Woolwich and Birmingham? Yet in no two of these districts do the same varieties attain an equal degree of excellence, although each may be receiving the attention of the most skilful cultivators." The same writer then recommends every cultivator to keep five different kinds of soil and manure, "and to endeavour to suit the respective appetites of the plants you are dealing with, for without such attention all hope of general success will be vain." So it is with the Dahlia:[657] the Lady Cooper rarely succeeds near London, but does admirably in other districts; the reverse holds good with other varieties; and again, there are others which succeed equally well in various situations. A skilful gardener[658] states that he procured cuttings of an old and well-known variety (pulchella) of Verbena, which from having been propagated in a different situation presented a slightly different shade of colour; the two varieties were afterwards multiplied by cuttings, being carefully kept distinct; but in the second year they could hardly be distinguished, and in the third year no one could distinguish them. The nature of the season has an especial influence on certain varieties of the Dahlia: in 1841 two varieties were pre-eminently good, and the next year these same two were pre-eminently bad. A famous amateur[659] asserts that in 1861 many varieties of the Rose came so untrue in character, "that it was hardly possible to recognise them, and the thought was not seldom entertained that the grower had lost his tally." The same amateur[660] states that in 1862 two-thirds of his Auriculas produced central trusses of flowers, and these are remarkable from not keeping true; {274} and he adds that in some seasons certain varieties of this plant all prove good, and the next season all prove bad; whilst exactly the reverse happens with other varieties. In 1845 the editor of the 'Gardener's Chronicle'[661] remarked how singular it was that this year many Calceolarias tended to assume a tubular form. With Heartsease[662] the blotched sorts do not acquire their proper character until hot weather sets in; whilst other varieties lose their beautiful marks as soon as this occurs. Analogous facts have been observed with leaves: Mr. Beaton asserts[663] that he raised at Shrubland, during six years, twenty thousand seedlings from the Punch Pelargonium, and not one had variegated leaves; but at Surbiton, in Surrey, one-third, or even a greater proportion, of the seedlings from this same variety were more or less variegated. The soil of another district in Surrey has a strong tendency to cause variegation, as appears from information given me by Sir F. Pollock. Verlot[664] states that the variegated strawberry retains its character as long as grown in a dryish soil, but soon loses it when planted in fresh and humid soil. Mr. Salter, who is well known for his success in cultivating variegated plants, informs me that rows of strawberries were planted in his garden in 1859, in the usual way; and at various distances in one row, several plants simultaneously became variegated, and what made the case more extraordinary, all were variegated in precisely the same manner. These plants were removed, but during the three succeeding years other plants in the same row became variegated, and in no instance were the plants in any adjoining row affected. The chemical qualities, odours, and tissues of plants are often modified by a change which seems to us slight. The Hemlock is said not to yield conicine in Scotland. The root of the _Aconitum napellus_ becomes innocuous in frigid climates. The medicinal properties of the Digitalis are easily affected by culture. The Rhubarb flourishes in England, but does not produce the medicinal substance which makes the plant so valuable in Chinese Tartary. As the _Pistacia lentiscus_ grows abundantly in the South of France, the climate must suit it, but it yields no mastic. The _Laurus sassafras_ in Europe loses the odour proper to it in North America.[665] Many similar facts could be given, and they are remarkable because it might have been thought that definite chemical compounds would have been little liable to change either in quality or quantity. The wood of the American Locust-tree (_Robinia_) when grown in England is nearly worthless, as is that of the Oak-tree when grown at the Cape of Good Hope.[666] Hemp and flax, as I hear from Dr. Falconer, flourish and yield plenty of seed on the plains of India, but their fibres are brittle {275} and useless. Hemp, on the other hand, fails to produce in England that resinous matter which is so largely used in India as an intoxicating drug. The fruit of the Melon is greatly influenced by slight differences in culture and climate. Hence it is generally a better plan, according to Naudin, to improve an old kind than to introduce a new one into any locality. The seed of the Persian Melon produces near Paris fruit inferior to the poorest market kinds, but at Bordeaux yields delicious fruit.[667] Seed is annually brought from Thibet to Kashmir,[668] and produces fruit weighing from four to ten pounds, but plants raised from seed saved in Kashmir next year give fruit weighing only from two to three pounds. It is well known that American varieties of the Apple produce in their native land magnificent and brightly-coloured fruit, but in England of poor quality and a dull colour. In Hungary there are many varieties of the Kidney-bean, remarkable for the beauty of their seeds, but the Rev. M. J. Berkeley[669] found that their beauty could hardly ever be preserved in England, and in some cases the colour was greatly changed. We have seen in the ninth chapter, with respect to wheat, what a remarkable effect transportal from the North to the South of France, and reversely, produced on the weight of the grain. When man can perceive no change in plants or animals which have been exposed to a new climate or to different treatment, insects can sometimes perceive a marked change. The same species of cactus has been carried to India from Canton, Manilla, Mauritius, and from the hot-houses of Kew, and there is likewise a so-called native kind, formerly introduced from South America; all these plants are alike in appearance, but the cochineal insect flourishes only on the native kind, on which it thrives prodigiously.[670] Humboldt remarks[671] that white men "born in the torrid zone walk barefoot with impunity in the same apartment where a European, recently landed, is exposed to the attacks of the _Pulex penetrans_." This insect, the too well-known chigoe, must therefore be able to distinguish what the most delicate chemical analysis fails to distinguish, namely, a difference between the blood or tissues of a European and those of a white man born in the country. But the discernment of the chigoe is not so surprising as it at first appears; for {276} according to Liebig[672] the blood of men with different complexions, though inhabiting the same country, emits a different odour. Diseases peculiar to certain localities, heights, or climates, may be here briefly noticed, as showing the influence of external circumstances on the human body. Diseases confined to certain races of man do not concern us, for the constitution of the race may play the more important part, and this may have been determined by unknown causes. The Plica Polonica stands, in this respect, in a nearly intermediate position; for it rarely affects Germans, who inhabit the neighbourhood of the Vistula, where so many Poles are grievously affected; and on the other hand, it does not affect Russians, who are said to belong to the same original stock with the Poles.[673] The elevation of a district often governs the appearance of diseases; in Mexico the yellow fever does not extend above 924 mètres; and in Peru, people are affected with the _verugas_ only between 600 and 1600 mètres above the sea; many other such cases could be given. A peculiar cutaneous complaint, called the _Bouton d'Alep_, affects in Aleppo and some neighbouring districts almost every native infant, and some few strangers; and it seems fairly well established that this singular complaint depends on drinking certain waters. In the healthy little island of St. Helena the scarlet-fever is dreaded like the Plague; analogous facts have been observed in Chili and Mexico.[674] Even in the different departments of France it is found that the various infirmities which render the conscript unfit for serving in the army, prevail with remarkable inequality, revealing, as Boudin observes, that many of them are endemic, which otherwise would never have been suspected.[675] Any one who will study the distribution of disease will be struck with surprise at what slight differences in the surrounding circumstances govern the nature and severity of the complaints by which man is at least temporarily affected. The modifications as yet referred to have been extremely slight, and in most cases have been caused, as far as we can judge, by equally slight changes in the conditions. But can it be safely maintained that such changed conditions, if acting during a long series of generations, would not produce a marked effect? It is commonly believed that the people of the United States differ in appearance from the parent Anglo-Saxon race; and selection cannot have come into action within so short a period. A good observer[676] states that a general absence of fat, {277} a thin and elongated neck, stiff and lank hair, are the chief characteristics. The change in the nature of the hair is supposed to be caused by the dryness of the atmosphere. If immigration into the United States were now stopped, who can say that the character of the whole people would not be greatly modified in the course of two or three thousand years? The direct and definite action of changed conditions, in contradistinction to the accumulation of indefinite variations, seems to me so important that I will give a large additional body of miscellaneous facts. With plants, a considerable change of climate sometimes produces a conspicuous result. I have given in detail in the ninth chapter the most remarkable case known to me, namely, that in Germany several varieties of maize brought from the hotter parts of America were transformed in the course of only two or three generations. Dr. Falconer informs me that he has seen the English Ribston-pippin apple, a Himalayan oak, Prunus and Pyrus, all assume in the hotter parts of India a fastigate or pyramidal habit; and this fact is the more interesting, as a Chinese tropical species of Pyrus naturally has this habit of growth. Although in these cases the changed manner of growth seems to have been directly caused by the great heat, we know that many fastigate trees have originated in their temperate homes. In the Botanic Gardens of Ceylon the apple-tree[677] "sends out numerous runners under ground, which continually rise into small stems, and form a growth around the parent-tree." The varieties of the cabbage which produce heads in Europe fail to do so in certain tropical countries.[678] The _Rhododendron ciliatum_ produced at Kew flowers so much larger and paler-coloured than those which it bears on its native Himalayan mountain, that Dr. Hooker[679] would hardly have recognised the species by the flowers alone. Many similar facts with respect to the colour and size of flowers could be given. The experiments of Vilmorin and Buckman on carrots and parsnips prove that abundant nutriment produces a definite and inheritable effect on the so-called roots, with scarcely any change in other parts of the plant. Alum directly influences the colour of the flowers of the Hydrangea.[680] Dryness seems generally to favour the hairyness or villosity of plants. Gärtner found that hybrid Verbascums became extremely woolly when grown in pots. Mr. Masters, on the other hand, states that the _Opuntia leucotricha_ "is well clothed with beautiful white hairs when grown in a damp heat; but in a dry heat exhibits none of this peculiarity."[681] Slight variations of many kinds, not worth specifying in detail, are retained only as {278} long as plants are grown in certain soils, of which Sageret[682] gives from his own experience some instances. Odart, who insists strongly on the permanence of the varieties of the grape, admits[683] that some varieties, when grown under a different climate or treated differently, vary in an extremely slight degree, as in the tint of the fruit and in the period of ripening. Some authors have denied that grafting causes even the slightest difference in the scion; but there is sufficient evidence that the fruit is sometimes slightly affected in size and flavour, the leaves in duration, and the flowers in appearance.[684] With animals there can be no doubt, from the facts given in the first chapter, that European dogs deteriorate in India, not only in their instincts but in structure; but the changes which they undergo are of such a nature, that they may be partly due to reversion to a primitive form, as in the case of feral animals. In parts of India the turkey becomes reduced in size, "with the pendulous appendage over the beak enormously developed."[685] We have seen how soon the wild duck, when domesticated, loses its true character, from the effects of abundant or changed food, or from taking little exercise. From the direct action of a humid climate and poor pasture the horse rapidly decreases in size in the Falkland Islands. From information which I have received, this seems likewise to be the case to a certain extent with sheep in Australia. Climate definitely influences the hairy covering of animals; in the West Indies a great change is produced in the fleece of sheep, in about three generations. Dr. Falconer states[686] that the Thibet mastiff and goat, when brought down from the Himalaya to Kashmir, lose their fine wool. At Angora not only goats, but shepherd-dogs and cats, have fine fleecy hair, and Mr. Ainsworth[687] attributes the thickness of the fleece to the severe winters, and its silky lustre to the hot summers. Burnes states positively[688] that the Karakool sheep lose their peculiar black curled fleeces when removed into any other country. Even within the limits of England, I have been assured that with two breeds of sheep the wool was slightly changed by the flocks being pastured in different localities.[689] It has been asserted on good authority[690] that horses kept during several years in the deep coal-mines of Belgium become covered with velvety hair, almost like that on the mole. These cases probably stand in close relation to the natural change of coat in winter and summer. Naked varieties of several domestic animals have occasionally appeared; but there is no reason to {279} believe that this is in any way related to the nature of the climate to which they have been exposed.[691] It appears at first sight probable that the increased size, the tendency to fatten, the early maturity and altered forms of our improved cattle, sheep, and pigs, have directly resulted from their abundant supply of food. This is the opinion of many competent judges, and probably is to a great extent true. But as far as form is concerned, we must not overlook the equal or more potent influence of lessened use on the limbs and lungs. We see, moreover, as far as size is concerned, that selection is apparently a more powerful agent than a large supply of food, for we can thus only account for the existence, as remarked to me by Mr. Blyth, of the largest and smallest breeds of sheep in the same country, of Cochin-China fowls and Bantams, of small Tumbler and large Runt pigeons, all kept together and supplied with abundant nourishment. Nevertheless there can be little doubt that our domesticated animals have been modified, independently of the increased or lessened use of parts, by the conditions to which they have been subjected, without the aid of selection. For instance, Prof. Rütimeyer[692] shows that the bones of all domesticated quadrupeds can be distinguished from those of wild animals by the state of their surface and general appearance. It is scarcely possible to read Nathusius's excellent 'Vorstudien,'[693] and doubt that, with the highly improved races of the pig, abundant food has produced a conspicuous effect on the general form of the body, on the breadth of the head and face, and even on the teeth. Nathusius rests much on the case of a purely bred Berkshire pig, which when two months old became diseased in its digestive organs, and was preserved for observation until nineteen months old; at this age it had lost several characteristic features of the breed, and had acquired a long, narrow head, of large size relatively to its small body, and elongated legs. But in this case and in some others we ought not to assume that, because certain characters are lost, perhaps through reversion, under one course of treatment, therefore that they had been at first directly produced by an opposite course. In the case of the rabbit, which has become feral on the island of Porto Santo, we are at first strongly tempted to attribute the whole change--the greatly reduced size, the altered tints of the fur, and the loss of certain characteristic marks--to the definite action of the new conditions to which it has been exposed. But in all such cases we have to consider in addition the tendency to reversion to progenitors more or less remote, and the natural selection of the finest shades of difference. The nature of the food sometimes either definitely induces certain peculiarities, or stands in some close relation with them. Pallas long ago asserted that the fat-tailed sheep of Siberia degenerated and lost their enormous tails when removed from certain saline pastures; and recently {280} Erman[694] states that this occurs with the Kirgisian sheep when brought to Orenburgh. It is well known that hemp-seed causes bullfinches and certain other birds to become black. Mr. Wallace has communicated to me some much more remarkable facts of the same nature. The natives of the Amazonian region feed the common green parrot (_Chrysotis festiva_, Linn.) with the fat of large Siluroid fishes, and the birds thus treated become beautifully variegated with red and yellow feathers. In the Malayan archipelago, the natives of Gilolo alter in an analogous manner the colours of another parrot, namely, the _Lorius garrulus_, Linn., and thus produce the _Lori rajah_ or King-Lory. These parrots in the Malay Islands and South America, when fed by the natives on natural vegetable food, such as rice and plantains, retain their proper colours. Mr. Wallace has, also, recorded[695] a still more singular fact. "The Indians (of S. America) have a curious art by which they change the colours of the feathers of many birds. They pluck out those from the part they wish to paint, and inoculate the fresh wound with the milky secretion from the skin of a small toad. The feathers grow of a brilliant yellow colour, and on being plucked out, it is said, grow again of the same colour without any fresh operation." Bechstein[696] does not entertain any doubt that seclusion from light affects, at least temporarily, the colours of cage-birds. It is well known that the shells of land-mollusca are affected by the abundance of lime in different districts. Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire[697] gives the case of _Helix lactea_, which has recently been carried from Spain to the South of France and to the Rio Plata, and in both these countries now presents a distinct appearance, but whether this has resulted from food or climate is not known. With respect to the common oyster, Mr. F. Buckland informs me that he can generally distinguish the shells from different districts; young oysters brought from Wales and laid down in beds where "_natives_" are indigenous, in the short space of two months begin to assume the "native" character. M. Costa[698] has recorded a much more remarkable case of the same nature, namely, that young shells taken from the shores of England and placed in the Mediterranean, at once altered their manner of growth and formed prominent diverging rays, like those on the shells of the proper Mediterranean oyster. The same individual shell, showing both forms of growth, was exhibited before a society in Paris. Lastly, it is well known that caterpillars fed on different food sometimes either themselves acquire a different colour or produce moths different in colour.[699] {281} It would be travelling beyond my proper limits here to discuss how far organic beings in a state of nature are definitely modified by changed conditions. In my 'Origin of Species' I have given a brief abstract of the facts bearing on this point, and have shown the influence of light on the colours of birds, and of residence near the sea on the lurid tints of insects, and on the succulency of plants. Mr. Herbert Spencer[700] has recently discussed with much ability this whole subject on broad and general grounds. He argues, for instance, that with all animals the external and internal tissues are differently acted on by the surrounding conditions, and they invariably differ in intimate structure. So again the upper and lower surfaces of true leaves, as well as of stems and petioles, when these assume the function and occupy the position of leaves, are differently circumstanced with respect to light, &c., and apparently in consequence differ in structure. But, as Mr. Herbert Spencer admits, it is most difficult in all such cases to distinguish between the effects of the definite action of physical conditions and the accumulation through natural selection of inherited variations which are serviceable to the organism, and which have arisen independently of the definite action of these conditions. Although we are not here concerned with organic beings in a state of nature, yet I may call attention to one case. Mr. Meehan,[701] in a remarkable paper, compares twenty-nine kinds of American trees, belonging to various orders, with their nearest European allies, all grown in close proximity in the same garden and under as nearly as possible the same conditions. In the American species Mr. Meehan finds, with the rarest exceptions, that the leaves fall earlier in the season, and assume before falling a brighter tint; that they are less deeply toothed or serrated; that the buds are smaller; that the trees are more diffuse in growth and have fewer branchlets; and, lastly, that the seeds are smaller--all in comparison with the corresponding European species. Now, considering that these trees belong to distinct orders, it is out of the question that the peculiarities just specified should have been inherited in the one continent from one progenitor, and in the other from another progenitor; and considering that the trees inhabit widely different stations, these peculiarities can hardly be supposed to be of any special {282} service to the two series in the Old and New Worlds; therefore these peculiarities cannot have been naturally selected. Hence we are led to infer that they have been definitely caused by the long-continued action of the different climate of the two continents on the trees. _Galls._--Another class of facts, not relating to cultivated plants, deserves attention. I allude to the production of galls. Every one knows the curious, bright-red, hairy productions on the wild rose-tree, and the various different galls produced by the oak. Some of the latter resemble fruit, with one face as rosy as the rosiest apple. These bright colours can be of no service either to the gall-forming insect or to the tree, and probably are the direct result of the action of the light, in the same manner as the apples of Nova Scotia or Canada are brighter coloured than English apples. The strongest upholder of the doctrine that organic beings are created beautiful to please mankind would not, I presume, extend this view to galls. According to Osten Sacken's latest revision, no less than fifty-eight kinds of galls are produced on the several species of oak, by Cynips with its sub-genera; and Mr. B. D. Walsh[702] states that he can add many others to the list. One American species of willow, the _Salix humilis_, bears ten distinct kinds of galls. The leaves which spring from the galls of various English willows differ completely in shape from the natural leaves. The young shoots of junipers and firs, when punctured by certain insects, yield monstrous growths like flowers and cones; and the flowers of some plants become from the same cause wholly changed in appearance. Galls are produced in every quarter of the world; of several sent to me by Mr. Thwaites from Ceylon, some were as symmetrical as a composite flower when in bud, others smooth and spherical like a berry; some protected by long spines, others clothed with yellow wool formed of long cellular hairs, others with regularly tufted hairs. In some galls the internal structure is simple, but in others it is highly complex; thus M. Lucaze-Duthiers[703] has figured in the common ink-gall no less than seven concentric layers, composed of distinct tissue, {283} namely, the epidermic, sub-epidermic, spongy, intermediate, and the hard protective layer formed of curiously thickened woody cells, and, lastly, the central mass abounding with starch-granules on which the larvæ feed. Galls are produced by insects of various orders, but the greater number by species of Cynips. It is impossible to read M. Lucaze-Duthier's discussion and doubt that the poisonous secretion of the insect causes the growth of the gall, and every one knows how virulent is the poison secreted by wasps and bees, which belong to the same order with Cynips. Galls grow with extraordinary rapidity, and it is said that they attain their full size in a few days;[704] it is certain that they are almost completely developed before the larvæ are hatched. Considering that many gall-insects are extremely small, the drop of secreted poison must be excessively minute; it probably acts on one or two cells alone, which, being abnormally stimulated, rapidly increase by a process of self-division. Galls, as Mr. Walsh[705] remarks, afford good, constant, and definite characters, each kind keeping as true to form as does any independent organic being. This fact becomes still more remarkable when we hear that, for instance, seven out of the ten different kinds of galls produced on _Salix humilis_ are formed by gall-gnats (_Cecidomyidæ_) which, "though essentially distinct species, yet resemble one another so closely that in almost all cases it is difficult, and in some cases impossible, to distinguish the full-grown insects one from the other."[706] For in accordance with a wide-spread analogy we may safely infer that the poison secreted by insects so closely allied would not differ much in nature; yet this slight difference is sufficient to induce widely different results. In some few cases the same species of gall-gnat produces on distinct species of willows galls which cannot be distinguished; the _Cynips fecundatrix_, also, has been known to produce on the Turkish oak, to which it is not properly attached, exactly the same kind of gall as on the European oak.[707] These latter facts apparently prove that the nature of the poison is a much more powerful {284} agent in determining the form of the gall than the specific character of the tree which is acted on. As the poisonous secretion of insects belonging to various orders has the special power of affecting the growth of various plants;--as a slight difference in the nature of the poison suffices to produce widely different results;--and lastly, as we know that the chemical compounds secreted by plants are eminently liable to be modified by changed conditions of life, we may believe it possible that various parts of a plant might be modified through the agency of its own altered secretions. Compare, for instance, the mossy and viscid calyx of a moss-rose, which suddenly appears through bud-variation on a Provence-rose, with the gall of red moss growing from the inoculated leaf of a wild rose, with each filament symmetrically branched like a microscopical spruce-fir, bearing a glandular tip and secreting odoriferous gummy matter.[708] Or compare, on the one hand, the fruit of the peach, with its hairy skin, fleshy covering, hard shell and kernel, and on the other hand one of the more complex galls with its epidermic, spongy, and woody layers, surrounding tissue loaded with starch granules. These normal and abnormal structures manifestly present a certain degree of resemblance. Or, again, reflect on the cases above given of parrots which have had their plumage brightly decorated through some change in their blood, caused by having been fed on certain fishes, or locally inoculated with the poison of a toad. I am far from wishing to maintain that the moss-rose or the hard shell of the peach-stone or the bright colours of birds are actually due to any chemical change in the sap or blood; but these cases of galls and of parrots are excellently adapted to show us how powerfully and singularly external agencies may affect structure. With such facts before us, we need feel no surprise at the appearance of any modification in any organic being. I may, also, here allude to the remarkable effects which parasitic fungi sometimes produce on plants. Reissek[709] has described a Thesium, affected by an Oecidium, which was greatly modified, and assumed some of the {285} characteristic features of certain allied species, or even genera. Suppose, says Reissek, "the condition originally caused by the fungus to become constant in the course of time, the plant would, if found growing wild, be considered as a distinct species or even as belonging to a new genus." I quote this remark to show how profoundly, yet in how natural a manner, this plant must have been modified by the parasitic fungus. _Facts and Considerations opposed to the belief that the Conditions of Life act in a potent manner in causing definite Modifications of Structure._ I have alluded to the slight differences in species when naturally living in distinct countries under different conditions; and such differences we feel at first inclined, probably to a limited extent with justice, to attribute to the definite action of the surrounding conditions. But it must be borne in mind that there are a far greater number of animals and plants which range widely and have been exposed to great diversities of conditions, yet remain nearly uniform in character. Some authors, as previously remarked, account for the varieties of our culinary and agricultural plants by the definite action of the conditions to which they have been exposed in the different parts of Great Britain; but there are about 200 plants[710] which are found in every single English county; these plants must have been exposed for an immense period to considerable differences of climate and soil, yet do not differ. So, again, some birds, insects, other animals, and plants range over large portions of the world, yet retain the same character. Notwithstanding the facts previously given on the occurrence of highly peculiar local diseases and on the strange modifications of structure in plants caused by the inoculated poison of insects, and other analogous cases; still there are a multitude of variations--such as the modified skull of the niata ox and bulldog, the long horns of Caffre cattle, the conjoined toes of the solid-hoofed swine, the immense crest and protuberant skull of Polish fowls, the crop of the pouter-pigeon, and a host of other such cases--which we can hardly attribute to the definite action, in the sense before specified, of the external conditions of life. No doubt in every case there must have been some exciting cause; but as we see innumerable individuals exposed to nearly the same conditions, and one alone is affected, we may conclude that the constitution of the individual is of far higher {286} importance than the conditions to which it has been exposed. It seems, indeed, to be a general rule that conspicuous variations occur rarely, and in one individual alone out of many thousands, though all may have been exposed, as far as we can judge, to nearly the same conditions. As the most strongly marked variations graduate insensibly into the most trifling, we are led by the same train of thought to attribute each slight variation much more to innate differences of constitution, however caused, than to the definite action of the surrounding conditions. We are led to the same conclusion by considering the cases, formerly alluded to, of fowls and pigeons, which have varied and will no doubt go on varying in directly opposite ways, though kept during many generations under nearly the same conditions. Some, for instance, are born with their beaks, wings, tails, legs, &c., a little longer, and others with these same parts a little shorter. By the long-continued selection of such slight individual differences, which occur in birds kept in the same aviary, widely different races could certainly be formed; and long-continued selection, important as is the result, does nothing but preserve the variations which appear to us to arise spontaneously. In these cases we see that domesticated animals vary in an indefinite number of particulars, though treated as uniformly as is possible. On the other hand, there are instances of animals and plants, which, though exposed to very different conditions, both under nature and domestication, have varied in nearly the same manner. Mr. Layard informs me that he has observed amongst the Caffres of South Africa a dog singularly like an arctic Esquimaux dog. Pigeons in India present nearly the same wide diversities of colour as in Europe; and I have seen chequered and simply barred pigeons, and pigeons with blue and white loins, from Sierra Leone, Madeira, England, and India. New varieties of flowers are continually raised in different parts of Great Britain, but many of these are found by the judges at our exhibitions to be almost identical with old varieties. A vast number of new fruit-trees and culinary vegetables have been produced in North America: these differ from European varieties in the same general manner as the several varieties raised in Europe differ from each other; and no one has ever pretended that the climate of America has given to the many American varieties any general character by which they can be recognised. Nevertheless, from the facts previously advanced on the authority of Mr. Meehan with respect to American and European forest-trees, it would be rash to affirm that varieties raised in the two countries would not in the course of ages assume a distinctive character. Mr. Masters has recorded a striking fact[711] bearing on this subject: he raised numerous plants of _Hybiscus Syriacus_ from seed collected in South Carolina and the Holy Land, where the parent-plants must have been exposed to considerably different conditions; yet the seedlings from both localities broke into two similar strains, one with obtuse leaves and purple or crimson flowers, and the other with elongated leaves and more or less pink flowers. {287} We may, also, infer the prepotent influence of the constitution of the organism over the definite action of the conditions of life, from the several cases given in the earlier chapters of parallel series of varieties,--an important subject, hereafter to be more fully discussed. Sub-varieties of the several kinds of wheat, gourds, peaches, and other plants, and to a certain limited extent sub-varieties of the fowl, pigeon, and dog, have been shown either to resemble or to differ from each other in a closely corresponding and parallel manner. In other cases, a variety of one species resembles a distinct species; or the varieties of two distinct species resemble each other. Although these parallel resemblances no doubt often result from reversion to the former characters of a common progenitor; yet in other cases, when new characters first appear, the resemblance must be attributed to the inheritance of a similar constitution, and consequently to a tendency to vary in the same manner. We see something of a similar kind in the same monstrosity appearing and reappearing many times in the same animal, and, as Dr. Maxwell Masters has remarked to me, in the same plant. We may at least conclude thus far, that the amount of modification which animals and plants have undergone under domestication, does not correspond with the degree to which they have been subjected to changed circumstances. As we know the parentage of domesticated birds far better than of most quadrupeds, we will glance through the list. The pigeon has varied in Europe more than almost any other bird; yet it is a native species, and has not been exposed to any extraordinary change of conditions. The fowl has varied equally, or almost equally, with the pigeon, and is a native of the hot jungles of India. Neither the peacock, a native of the same country, nor the guinea-fowl, an inhabitant of the dry deserts of Africa, has varied at all, or only in colour. The turkey, from Mexico, has varied but little. The duck, on the other hand, a native of Europe, has yielded some well-marked races; and as this is an aquatic bird, it must have been subjected to a far more serious change in its habits than the pigeon or even the fowl, which nevertheless have varied in a much higher degree. The goose, a native of Europe and aquatic like the duck, has varied less than any other domesticated bird, except the peacock. Bud-variation is, also, important under our present point of view. In some few cases, as when all the eyes or buds on the same tuber of the potato, or all the fruit on the same plum-tree, or all the flowers on the same plant, have suddenly varied in the same manner, it might be argued that the {288} variation had been definitely caused by some change in the conditions to which the plants had been exposed; yet, in other cases, such an admission is extremely difficult. As new characters sometimes appear by bud-variation, which do not occur in the parent-species or in any allied species, we may reject, at least in these cases, the idea that they are due to reversion. Now it is well worth while to reflect maturely on some striking case of bud-variation, for instance that of the peach. This tree has been cultivated by the million in various parts of the world, has been treated differently, grown on its own roots and grafted on various stocks, planted as a standard, against a wall, and under glass; yet each bud of each sub-variety keeps true to its kind. But occasionally, at long intervals of time, a tree in England, or under the widely-different climate of Virginia, produces a single bud, and this yields a branch which ever afterwards bears nectarines. Nectarines differ, as every one knows, from peaches in their smoothness, size, and flavour; and the difference is so great, that some botanists have maintained that they are specifically distinct. So permanent are the characters thus suddenly acquired, that a nectarine produced by bud-variation has propagated itself by seed. To guard against the supposition that there is some fundamental distinction between bud and seminal variation, it is well to bear in mind that nectarines have likewise been produced from the stone of the peach; and, reversely, peaches from the stone of the nectarine. Now is it possible to conceive external conditions more closely alike than those to which the buds on the same tree are exposed? Yet one bud alone, out of the many thousands borne by the same tree, has suddenly without any apparent cause produced a nectarine. But the case is even stronger than this, for the same flower-bud has yielded a fruit, one-half or one-quarter a nectarine, and the other half or three-quarters a peach. Again, seven or eight varieties of the peach have yielded by bud-variation nectarines: the nectarines thus produced, no doubt, differ a little from each other; but still they are nectarines. Of course there must be some cause, internal or external, to excite the peach-bud to change its nature; but I cannot imagine a class of facts better adapted to force on our minds the conviction that what we call the external conditions of life are quite insignificant in {289} relation to any particular variation, in comparison with the organisation or constitution of the being which varies. It is known from the labours of Geoffroy St. Hilaire, and recently from those of Dareste and others, that eggs of the fowl, if shaken, placed upright, perforated, covered in part with varnish, &c., produce monstrous chickens. Now these monstrosities may be said to be directly caused by such unnatural conditions, but the modifications thus induced are not of a definite nature. An excellent observer, M. Camille Dareste,[712] remarks "that the various species of monstrosities are not determined by specific causes; the external agencies which modify the development of the embryo act solely in causing a perturbation--a perversion in the normal course of development." He compares the result to what we see in illness: a sudden chill, for instance, affects one individual alone out of many, causing either a cold, or sore-throat, rheumatism, or inflammation of the lungs or pleura. Contagious matter acts in an analogous manner.[713] We may take a still more specific instance: seven pigeons were struck by rattle-snakes;[714] some suffered from convulsions; some had their blood coagulated, in others it was perfectly fluid; some showed ecchymosed spots on the heart, others on the intestines, &c.; others again showed no visible lesion in any organ. It is well known that excess in drinking causes different diseases in different men; but men living under a cold and tropical climate are differently affected:[715] and in this case we see the definite influence of opposite conditions. The foregoing facts apparently give us as good an idea as we are likely for a long time to obtain, how in many cases external conditions act directly, though not definitely, in causing modifications of structure. * * * * * _Summary._--There can be no doubt, from the facts given in the early part of this chapter, that extremely slight changes in {290} the conditions of life sometimes act in a definite manner on our already variable domesticated productions; and, as the action of changed conditions in causing general or indefinite variability is accumulative, so it may be with their definite action. Hence it is possible that great and definite modifications of structure may result from altered conditions acting during a long series of generations. In some few instances a marked effect has been produced quickly on all, or nearly all, the individuals which have been exposed to some considerable change of climate, food, or other circumstance. This has occurred, and is now occurring, with European men in the United States, with European dogs in India, with horses in the Falkland Islands, apparently with various animals at Angora, with foreign oysters in the Mediterranean, and with maize grown in Europe from tropical seed. We have seen that the chemical compounds secreted by plants and the state of their tissues are readily affected by changed conditions. In some cases a relation apparently exists between certain characters and certain conditions, so that if the latter be changed the character is lost--as with cultivated flowers, with some few culinary plants, with the fruit of the melon, with fat-tailed sheep, and other sheep having peculiar fleeces. The production of galls, and the change of plumage in parrots when fed on peculiar food or when inoculated by the poison of a toad, prove to us what great and mysterious changes in structure and colour may be the definite result of chemical changes in the nutrient fluids or tissues. We have also reason to believe that organic beings in a state of nature may be modified in various definite ways by the conditions to which they have been long exposed, as in the case of American trees in comparison with their representatives in Europe. But in all such cases it is most difficult to distinguish between the definite results of changed conditions, and the accumulation through natural selection of serviceable variations which have arisen independently of the nature of the conditions. If, for instance, a plant had to be modified so as to become fitted to inhabit a humid instead of an arid station, we have no reason to believe that variations of the right kind would occur more frequently if the parent-plant inhabited a station a little more {291} humid than usual. Whether the station was unusually dry or humid, variations adapting the plant in a slight degree for directly opposite habits of life would occasionally arise, as we have reason to believe from what we know in other cases. In most, perhaps in all cases, the organisation or constitution of the being which is acted on, is a much more important element than the nature of the changed conditions, in determining the nature of the variation. We have evidence of this in the appearance of nearly similar modifications under different conditions, and of different modifications under apparently nearly the same conditions. We have still better evidence of this in closely parallel varieties being frequently produced from distinct races, or even distinct species, and in the frequent recurrence of the same monstrosity in the same species. We have also seen that the degree to which domesticated birds have varied, does not stand in any close relation with the amount of change to which they have been subjected. To recur once again to bud-variations. When we reflect on the millions of buds which many trees have produced, before some one bud has varied, we are lost in wonder what the precise cause of each variation can be. Let us recall the case given by Andrew Knight of the forty-year-old tree of the yellow magnum bonum plum, an old variety which has been propagated by grafts on various stocks for a very long period throughout Europe and North America, and on which a single bud suddenly produced the red magnum bonum. We should also bear in mind that distinct varieties, and even distinct species,--as in the case of peaches, nectarines, and apricots,--of certain roses and camellias,--although separated by a vast number of generations from any progenitor in common, and although cultivated under diversified conditions, have yielded by bud-variation closely analogous varieties. When we reflect on these facts we become deeply impressed with the conviction that in such cases the nature of the variation depends but little on the conditions to which the plant has been exposed, and not in any especial manner on its individual character, but much more on the general nature or constitution, inherited from some remote progenitor, of the whole group of allied beings to which the plant belongs. We are thus driven to conclude that in most {292} cases the conditions of life play a subordinate part in causing any particular modification; like that which a spark plays, when a mass of combustibles bursts into flame--the nature of the flame depending on the combustible matter, and not on the spark. No doubt each slight variation must have its efficient cause; but it is as hopeless an attempt to discover the cause of each as to say why a chill or a poison affects one man differently from another. Even with modifications resulting from the definite action of the conditions of life, when all or nearly all the individuals, which have been similarly exposed, are similarly affected, we can rarely see the precise relation between cause and effect. In the next chapter it will be shown that the increased use or disuse of various organs, produces an inherited effect. It will further be seen that certain variations are bound together by correlation and other laws. Beyond this we cannot at present explain either the causes or manner of action of Variation. Finally, as indefinite and almost illimitable variability is the usual result of domestication and cultivation, with the same part or organ varying in different individuals in different or even in directly opposite ways; and as the same variation, if strongly pronounced, usually recurs only after long intervals of time, any particular variation would generally be lost by crossing, reversion, and the accidental destruction of the varying individuals, unless carefully preserved by man. Hence, although it must be admitted that new conditions of life do sometimes definitely affect organic beings, it may be doubted whether well-marked races have often been produced by the direct action of changed conditions without the aid of selection either by man or nature. * * * * * {293} CHAPTER XXIV. LAWS OF VARIATION--USE AND DISUSE, ETC. NISUS FORMATIVUS, OR THE CO-ORDINATING POWER OF THE ORGANISATION--ON THE EFFECTS OF THE INCREASED USE AND DISUSE OF ORGANS--CHANGED HABITS OF LIFE--ACCLIMATISATION WITH ANIMALS AND PLANTS--VARIOUS METHODS BY WHICH THIS CAN BE EFFECTED--ARRESTS OF DEVELOPMENT--RUDIMENTARY ORGANS. In this and the two following chapters I shall discuss, as well as the difficulty of the subject permits, the several laws which govern Variability. These may be grouped under the effects of use and disuse, including changed habits and acclimatisation--arrests of development--correlated variation--the cohesion of homologous parts--the variability of multiple parts--compensation of growth--the position of buds with respect to the axis of the plant--and lastly, analogous variation. These several subjects so graduate into each other that their distinction is often arbitrary. It may be convenient first briefly to discuss that co-ordinating and reparative power which is common, in a higher or lower degree, to all organic beings, and which was formerly designated by physiologists as the _nisus formativus_. Blumenbach and others[716] have insisted that the principle which permits a Hydra, when cut into fragments, to develop itself into two or more perfect animals, is the same with that which causes a wound in the higher animals to heal by a cicatrice. Such cases as that of the Hydra are evidently analogous with the spontaneous division or fissiparous generation of the lowest animals, and likewise with the budding of plants. Between these extreme cases and that of a mere cicatrice we have every gradation. Spallanzani,[717] by cutting off the legs and tail of a Salamander, got in the course of three months six crops of these members; so that 687 perfect bones were reproduced by one animal during one season. At whatever {294} point the limb was cut off, the deficient part, and no more, was exactly reproduced. Even with man, as we have seen in the twelfth chapter, when treating of polydactylism, the entire limb whilst in an embryonic state, and supernumerary digits, are occasionally, though imperfectly, reproduced after amputation. When a diseased bone has been removed, a new one sometimes "gradually assumes the regular form, and all the attachments of muscles, ligaments, &c., become as complete as before."[718] This power of regrowth does not, however, always act perfectly: the reproduced tail of a lizard differs in the forms of the scales from the normal tail: with certain Orthopterous insects the large hind legs are reproduced of smaller size:[719] the white cicatrice which in the higher animals unites the edges of a deep wound is not formed of perfect skin, for elastic tissue is not produced till long afterwards.[720] "The activity of the _nisus formativus_," says Blumenbach, "is in an inverse ratio to the age of the organised body." To this may be added that its power is greater in animals the lower they are in the scale of organisation; and animals low in the scale correspond with the embryos of higher animals belonging to the same class. Newport's observations[721] afford a good illustration of this fact, for he found that "myriapods, whose highest development scarcely carries them beyond the larvæ of perfect insects, can regenerate limbs and antennæ up to the time of their last moult;" and so can the larvæ of true insects, but not the mature insect. Salamanders correspond in development with the tadpoles or larvæ of the tailless Batrachians, and both possess to a large extent the power of regrowth; but not so the mature tailless Batrachians. Absorption often plays an important part in the repairs of injuries. When a bone is broken, and does not unite, the ends are absorbed and rounded, so that a false joint is formed; or if the ends unite, but overlap, the projecting parts are removed.[722] But absorption comes into action, as Virchow remarks, during the normal growth of bones; parts which are solid during youth become hollowed out for the medullary tissue as the bone increases in size. In trying to understand the many well-adapted cases of regrowth when aided by absorption, we should remember that most parts of the organisation, even whilst retaining the same form, undergo constant renewal; so that a part which was not renewed would naturally be liable to complete absorption. Some cases, usually classed under the so-called _nisus formativus_, at first appear to come under a distinct head; for not only are old structures reproduced, but structures which appear new are formed. Thus, after inflammation "false membranes," furnished with blood-vessels, lymphatics, and nerves, are developed; or a foetus escapes from the Fallopian tubes, and falls into the abdomen, "nature pours out a quantity of plastic lymph, which forms itself into organised membrane, richly supplied with blood-vessels," and the foetus is nourished for a time. In certain cases of {295} hydrocephalus the open and dangerous spaces in the skull are filled up with new bones, which interlock by perfect serrated sutures.[723] But most physiologists, especially on the Continent, have now given up the belief in plastic lymph or blastema, and Virchow[724] maintains that every structure, new or old, is formed by the proliferation of pre-existing cells. On this view false membranes, like cancerous or other tumours, are merely abnormal developments of normal growths; and we can thus understand how it is that they resemble adjoining structures; for instance, that "false membrane in the serous cavities acquires a covering of epithelium exactly like that which covers the original serous membrane; adhesions of the iris may become black apparently from the production of pigment-cells like those of the uvea."[725] No doubt the power of reparation, though not always quite perfect, is an admirable provision, ready for various emergencies, even for those which occur only at long intervals of time.[726] Yet this power is not more wonderful than the growth and development of every single creature, more especially of those which are propagated by fissiparous generation. This subject has been here noticed, because we may infer that, when any part or organ is either greatly increased in size or wholly suppressed through variation and continued selection, the co-ordinating power of the organisation will continually tend to bring all the parts again into harmony with each other. _On the Effects of the Increased Use and Disuse of Organs._ It is notorious, and we shall immediately adduce proofs, that increased use or action strengthens muscles, glands, sense-organs, &c.; and that disuse, on the other hand, weakens them. I have not met with any clear explanation of this fact in works on Physiology. Mr. Herbert Spencer[727] maintains that when muscles are much used, or when intermittent pressure is applied to the epidermis, an excess of nutritive matter exudes from the vessels, and that this gives additional development to the adjoining parts. That an increased flow of blood towards an organ leads to its greater development is probable, if not certain. Mr. Paget[728] thus accounts for the long, thick, and dark-coloured hair which occasionally grows, even in young children, near old-standing inflamed surfaces or fractured bones. When Hunter {296} inserted the spur of a cock into the comb, which is well supplied with blood-vessels, it grew in one case in a spiral direction to a length of six inches, and in another case forward, like a horn, so that the bird could not touch the ground with its beak. But whether Mr. Herbert Spencer's view of the exudation of nutritive matter due to increased movement and pressure, will fully account for the augmented size of bones, ligaments, and especially of internal glands and nerves, seems doubtful. According to the interesting observations of M. Sedillot,[729] when a portion of one bone of the leg or fore-arm of an animal is removed and is not replaced by growth, the associated bone enlarges till it attains a bulk equal to that of the two bones, of which it has to perform the functions. This is best exhibited in dogs in which the tibia has been removed; the companion bone, which is naturally almost filiform and not one-fifth the size of the other, soon acquires a size equal to or greater than the tibia. Now, it is at first difficult to believe that increased weight acting on a straight bone could, by alternately increased and diminished pressure, cause nutritive matter to exude from the vessels which permeate the periosteum. Nevertheless, the observations adduced by Mr. Spencer,[730] on the strengthening of the bowed bones of rickety children, along their concave sides, leads to the belief that this is possible. Mr. H. Spencer has also shown that the ascent of the sap in trees is aided by the rocking movement caused by the wind; and the sap strengthens the trunk "in proportion to the stress to be borne; since the more severe and the more repeated the strains, the greater must be the exudation from the vessels into the surrounding tissue, and the greater the thickening of this tissue by secondary deposits."[731] But woody trunks may be formed of hard tissue without their having been subjected to any movement, as we see with ivy closely attached to old walls. In all these cases, it is very difficult to disentangle the effects of long-continued selection from those consequent on the increased action or movement of the part. Mr. H. Spencer[732] acknowledges this difficulty, and gives as an instance the spines {297} or thorns of trees, and the shells of nuts. Here we have extremely hard woody tissue without the possibility of any movement to cause exudation, and without, as far as we can see, any other directly exciting cause; and as the hardness of these parts is of manifest service to the plant, we may look at the result as probably due to the selection of so-called spontaneous variations. Every one knows that hard work thickens the epidermis on the hands; and when we hear that with infants long before their birth the epidermis is thicker on the palms and soles of the feet than on any other part of the body, as was observed with admiration by Albinus,[733] we are naturally inclined to attribute this to the inherited effects of long-continued use or pressure. We are tempted to extend the same view even to the hoofs of quadrupeds; but who will pretend to determine how far natural selection may have aided in the formation of structures of such obvious importance to the animal? That use strengthens the muscles may be seen in the limbs of artisans who follow different trades; and when a muscle is strengthened, the tendons, and the crests of bone to which they are attached, become enlarged; and this must likewise be the case with the blood-vessels and nerves. On the other hand, when a limb is not used, as by Eastern fanatics, or when the nerve supplying it with nervous power is effectually destroyed, the muscles wither. So again, when the eye is destroyed the optic nerve becomes atrophied, sometimes even in the course of a few months.[734] The Proteus is furnished with branchiæ as well as with lungs: and Schreibers[735] found that when the animal was compelled to live in deep water the branchiæ were developed to thrice their ordinary size, and the lungs were partially atrophied. When, on the other hand, the animal was compelled to live in shallow water, the lungs became larger and more vascular, whilst the branchiæ disappeared in a more or less complete degree. Such modifications as these are, however, of comparatively little value for us, as we do not actually know that they tend to be inherited. In many cases there is reason to believe that the lessened use of various organs has affected the corresponding parts in the offspring. But there is no good evidence that this ever follows in the course of a single generation. It appears, as in the case of general or indefinite variability, that several generations must be subjected to changed habits for any appreciable result. Our domestic fowls, ducks, and geese have almost lost, not {298} only in the individual but in the race, their power of flight; for we do not see a chicken, when frightened, take flight like a young pheasant. Hence I was led carefully to compare the limb-bones of fowls, ducks, pigeons, and rabbits, with the same bones in the wild parent-species. As the measurements and weights were fully given in the earlier chapters, I need here only recapitulate the results. With domestic pigeons, the length of the sternum, the prominence of its crest, the length of the scapulæ and furcula, the length of the wings as measured from tip to tip of the radius, are all reduced relatively to the same parts in the wild pigeon. The wing and tail feathers, however, are increased in length, but this may have as little connection with the use of the wings or tail, as the lengthened hair on a dog with the amount of exercise which the breed has habitually taken. The feet of pigeons, except in the long-beaked races, are reduced in size. With fowls the crest of the sternum is less prominent, and is often distorted or monstrous; the wing-bones have become lighter relatively to the leg-bones, and are apparently a little shorter in comparison with those of the parent-form, the _Gallus bankiva_. With ducks, the crest of the sternum is affected in the same manner as in the foregoing cases: the furcula, coracoids, and scapulæ are all reduced in weight relatively to the whole skeleton: the bones of the wings are shorter and lighter, and the bones of the legs longer and heavier, relatively to each other, and relatively to the whole skeleton, in comparison with the same bones in the wild-duck. The decreased weight and size of the bones, in the foregoing cases, is probably the indirect result of the reaction of the weakened muscles on the bones. I failed to compare the feathers of the wings of the tame and wild duck; but Gloger[736] asserts that in the wild duck the tips of the wing-feathers reach almost to the end of the tail, whilst in the domestic duck they often hardly reach to its base. He remarks, also, on the greater thickness of the legs, and says that the swimming membrane between the toes is reduced; but I was not able to detect this latter difference. With the domesticated rabbit the body, together with the whole skeleton, is generally larger and heavier than in the wild animal, and the leg-bones are heavier in due proportion; but whatever standard of comparison be taken, neither the leg-bones nor the scapulæ have increased in length proportionally with the increased dimensions of the rest of the skeleton. The skull has become in a marked manner narrower, and, from the measurements of its capacity formerly given, we may conclude, that this narrowness results from the decreased size of the brain, consequent on the mentally inactive life led by these closely-confined animals. We have seen in the eighth chapter that silk-moths, which have been kept during many centuries closely confined, emerge from their cocoons with their wings distorted, incapable of flight, often greatly reduced in size, or even, according to Quatrefages, quite rudimentary. This condition of the wings may be largely owing to the same kind of monstrosity which often affects wild Lepidoptera when artificially reared from the cocoon; or it may {299} be in part due to an inherent tendency, which is common to the females of many Bombycidæ, to have their wings in a more or less rudimentary state; but part of the effect may probably be attributed to long-continued disuse. From the foregoing facts there can be no doubt that certain parts of the skeleton in our anciently domesticated animals, have been modified in length and weight by the effects of decreased or increased use; but they have not been modified, as shown in the earlier chapters, in shape or structure. We must, however, be cautious in extending this latter conclusion to animals living a free life; for these will occasionally be exposed during successive generations to the severest competition. With wild animals it would be an advantage in the struggle for life that every superfluous and useless detail of structure should be removed or absorbed; and thus the reduced bones might ultimately become changed in structure. With highly-fed domesticated animals, on the other hand, there is no economy of growth; nor any tendency to the elimination of trifling and superfluous details of structure. Turning now to more general observations, Nathusius has shown that, with the improved races of the pig, the shortened legs and snout, the form of the articular condyles of the occiput, and the position of the jaws with the upper canine teeth projecting in a most anomalous manner in front of the lower canines, may be attributed to these parts not having been fully exercised. For the highly-cultivated races do not travel in search of food, nor root up the ground with their ringed muzzles. These modifications of structure, which are all strictly inherited, characterise several improved breeds, so that they cannot have been derived from any single domestic or wild stock.[737] With respect to cattle, Professor Tanner has remarked that the lungs and liver in the improved breeds "are found to be considerably reduced in size when compared with those possessed by animals having perfect liberty;"[738] and the reduction of these organs affects the general shape of the body. The cause of the reduced lungs in highly-bred animals which take little exercise is {300} obvious; and perhaps the liver may be affected by the nutritious and artificial food on which they largely subsist. It is well known that, when an artery is tied, the anastomosing branches, from being forced to transmit more blood, increase in diameter; and this increase cannot be accounted for by mere extension, as their coats gain in strength. Mr. Herbert Spencer[739] has argued that with plants the flow of sap from the point of supply to the growing part first elongates the cells in this line; and that the cells then become confluent, thus forming the ducts; so that, on this view, the vessels in plants are formed by the mutual reaction of the flowing sap and cellular tissue. Dr. W. Turner has remarked,[740] with respect to the branches of arteries, and likewise to a certain extent with nerves, that the great principle of compensation frequently comes into play; for "when two nerves pass to adjacent cutaneous areas, an inverse relation as regards size may subsist between them; a deficiency in one may be supplied by an increase in the other, and thus the area of the former may be trespassed on by the latter nerve." But how far in these cases the difference in size in the nerves and arteries is due to original variation, and how far to increased use or action, is not clear. In reference to glands, Mr. Paget observes that "when one kidney is destroyed the other often becomes much larger, and does double work."[741] If we compare the size of the udders and their power of secretion in cows which have been long domesticated, and in certain goats in which the udders nearly touch the ground, with the size and power of secretion of these organs in wild or half-domesticated animals, the difference is great. A good cow with us daily yields more than five gallons, or forty pints of milk, whilst a first-rate animal, kept, for instance, by the Damaras of South Africa,[742] "rarely gives more than two or three pints of milk daily, and, should her calf be taken from her, she absolutely refuses to give any." We may attribute the excellence of our cows, and of certain goats, partly to the continued selection of the best milking animals, and partly to the inherited effects of the increased action, through man's art, of the secreting glands. It is notorious, as was remarked in the twelfth chapter, that short-sight is inherited; and if we compare watchmakers or engravers with, for instance, sailors, we can hardly doubt that vision continually directed towards a near object permanently affects the structure of the eye. Veterinarians are unanimous that horses become affected with spavins, splints, ringbones, &c., from being shod, and from travelling on hard roads, and they are almost equally unanimous that these injuries are transmitted. Formerly horses were not shod in North Carolina, and it has been asserted that they did not then suffer from these diseases of the legs and feet.[743] {301} Our domesticated quadrupeds are all descended, as far as is known, from species having erect ears; yet few kinds can be named, of which at least one race has not drooping ears. Cats in China, horses in parts of Russia, sheep in Italy and elsewhere, the guinea-pig in Germany, goats and cattle in India, rabbits, pigs, and dogs in all long-civilised countries, have dependent ears. With wild animals, which constantly use their ears like funnels to catch every passing sound, and especially to ascertain the direction whence it comes, there is not, as Mr. Blyth has remarked, any species with drooping ears except the elephant. Hence the incapacity to erect the ears is certainly in some manner the result of domestication; and this incapacity has been attributed by various authors[744] to disuse, for animals protected by man are not compelled habitually to use their ears. Col. Hamilton Smith[745] states that in ancient effigies of the dog, "with the exception of one Egyptian instance, no sculpture of the earlier Grecian era produces representations of hounds with completely drooping ears; those with them half pendulous are missing in the most ancient; and this character increases, by degrees, in the works of the Roman period." Godron also has remarked that "the pigs of the ancient Egyptians had not their ears enlarged and pendent."[746] But it is remarkable that the drooping of the ears, though probably the effect of disuse, is not accompanied by any decrease in size; on the contrary, when we remember that animals so different as fancy rabbits, certain Indian breeds of the goat, our petted spaniels, bloodhounds, and other dogs, have enormously elongated ears, it would appear as if disuse actually caused an increase in length. With rabbits, the drooping of the much elongated ears has affected even the structure of the skull. The tail of no wild animal, as remarked to me by Mr. Blyth, is curled; whereas pigs and some races of dogs have their tails much curled. This deformity, therefore, appears to be the result of domestication, but whether in any way connected with the lessened use of the tail is doubtful. {302} The epidermis on our hands is easily thickened, as every one knows, by hard work. In a district of Ceylon the sheep have "horny callosities that defend their knees, and which arise from their habit of kneeling down to crop the short herbage, and this distinguishes the Jaffna flocks from those of other portions of the island;" but it is not stated whether this peculiarity is inherited.[747] The mucous membrane which lines the stomach is continuous with the external skin of the body; therefore it is not surprising that its texture should be affected by the nature of the food consumed, but other and more interesting changes likewise follow. Hunter long ago observed that the muscular coat of the stomach of a gull (_Larus tridactylus_) which had been fed for a year chiefly on grain was thickened; and, according to Dr. Edmondston, a similar change periodically occurs in the Shetland Islands in the stomach of the _Larus argentatus_, which in the spring frequents the corn-fields and feeds on the seed. The same careful observer has noticed a great change in the stomach of a raven which had been long fed on vegetable food. In the case of an owl (_Strix grallaria_) similarly treated, Menetries states that the form of the stomach was changed, the inner coat became leathery, and the liver increased in size. Whether these modifications in the digestive organs would in the course of generations become inherited is not known.[748] The increased or diminished length of the intestines, which apparently results from changed diet, is a more remarkable case, because it is characteristic of certain animals in their domesticated condition, and therefore must be inherited. The complex absorbent system, the blood-vessels, nerves, and muscles, are necessarily all modified together with the intestines. According to Daubenton, the intestines of the domestic cat are one-third longer than those of the wild cat of Europe; and although this species is not the parent-stock of the domestic animal, yet, as Isidore Geoffroy has remarked, the several species {303} of cats are so closely allied that the comparison is probably a fair one. The increased length appears to be due to the domestic cat being less strictly carnivorous in its diet than any wild feline species; I have seen a French kitten eating vegetables as readily as meat. According to Cuvier, the intestines of the domesticated pig exceed greatly in proportionate length those of the wild boar. In the tame and wild rabbit the change is of an opposite nature, and probably results from the nutritious food given to the tame rabbit.[749] * * * * * _Changed Habits of Life, independently of the Use or Disuse of particular Organs._--This subject, as far as the mental powers of animals are concerned, so blends into instinct, on which I shall treat in a future work, that I will here only remind the reader of the many cases which occur under domestication, and which are familiar to every one--for instance the tameness of our animals--the pointing or retrieving of dogs--their not attacking the smaller animals kept by man--and so forth. How much of these changes ought to be attributed to inherited habit, and how much to the selection of individuals which have varied in the desired manner, irrespectively of the special circumstances under which they have been kept, can seldom be told. We have already seen that animals may be habituated to a changed diet; but a few additional instances may here be given. In the Polynesian Islands and in China the dog is fed exclusively on vegetable matter, and the taste for this kind of food is to a certain extent inherited.[750] Our sporting dogs will not touch the bones of game birds, whilst other dogs devour them with greediness. In some parts of the world sheep have been largely fed on fish. The domestic hog is fond of barley, the wild boar is said to disdain it; and the disdain is partially inherited, for some young wild pigs bred in captivity showed an aversion for this grain, whilst others of the same brood relished it.[751] One of my relations bred some young pigs from {304} a Chinese sow by a wild Alpine boar; they lived free in the park, and were so tame that they came to the house to be fed; but they would not touch swill, which was devoured by the other pigs. An animal when once accustomed to an unnatural diet, which can generally be effected only during youth, dislikes its proper food, as Spallanzani found to be the case with a pigeon which had been long fed on meat. Individuals of the same species take to new food with different degrees of readiness; one horse, it is stated, soon learned to eat meat, whilst another would have perished from hunger rather than have partaken of it.[752] The caterpillars of the _Bombyx hesperus_ feed in a state of nature on the leaves of the _Café diable_, but, after having been reared on the Ailanthus, they would not touch the _Café diable_, and actually died of hunger.[753] It has been found possible to accustom marine fish to live in fresh water; but as such changes in fish, and other marine animals, have been chiefly observed in a state of nature, they do not properly belong to our present subject. The period of gestation and of maturity, as shown in the earlier chapters,--the season and the frequency of the act of breeding,--have all been greatly modified under domestication. With the Egyptian goose the rate of change in the season has been recorded.[754] The wild drake pairs with one female, the domestic drake is polygamous. Certain breeds of fowls have lost the habit of incubation. The paces of the horse, and the manner of flight in certain breeds of the pigeon, have been modified, and are inherited. The voice differs much in certain fowls and pigeons. Some breeds are clamorous and others silent, as in the Call and common duck, or in the Spitz and pointer dog. Every one knows how dogs differ from each other in their manner of hunting, and in their ardour after different kinds of game or vermin. With plants the period of vegetation is easily changed and is inherited, as in the case of summer and winter wheat, barley, {305} and vetches; but to this subject we shall immediately return under acclimatisation. Annual plants sometimes become perennial under a new climate, as I hear from Dr. Hooker is the case with the stock and mignonette in Tasmania. On the other hand, perennials sometimes become annuals, as with the Ricinus in England, and as, according to Captain Mangles, with many varieties of the heartsease. Von Berg[755] raised from seed of _Verbascum phoenicium_, which is usually a biennial, both annual and perennial varieties. Some deciduous bushes become evergreen in hot countries.[756] Rice requires much water, but there is one variety in India which can be grown without irrigation.[757] Certain varieties of the oat and of our other cereals are best fitted for certain soils.[758] Endless similar facts could be given in the animal and vegetable kingdoms. They are noticed here because they illustrate analogous differences in closely allied natural species, and because such changed habits of life, whether due to use and disuse, or to the direct action of external conditions, or to so-called spontaneous variation, would be apt to lead to modifications of structure. * * * * * _Acclimatisation._--From the previous remarks we are naturally led to the much disputed subject of acclimatisation. There are two distinct questions: Do varieties descended from the same species differ in their power of living under different climates? And secondly, if they so differ, how have they become thus adapted? We have seen that European dogs do not succeed well in India, and it is asserted,[759] that no one has succeeded in there keeping the Newfoundland long alive; but then it may be argued, probably with truth, that these northern breeds are specifically distinct from the native dogs which flourish in India. The same remark may be made with respect to different breeds of sheep, of which, according to Youatt,[760] not one brought "from a torrid climate lasts out the second year," in the Zoological Gardens. But sheep are capable of some degree of acclimatisation, for Merino sheep bred at the Cape of Good Hope have been found {306} far better adapted for India than those imported from England.[761] It is almost certain that the breeds of the fowl are descended from the same species; but the Spanish breed, which there is good reason to believe originated near the Mediterranean,[762] though so fine and vigorous in England, suffers more from frost than any other breed. The Arrindy silk-moth introduced from Bengal, and the Ailanthus moth from the temperate province of Shan Tung, in China, belong to the same species, as we may infer from their identity in the caterpillar, cocoon, and mature states;[763] yet they differ much in constitution: the Indian form "will flourish only in warm latitudes," the other is quite hardy and withstands cold and rain. Plants are more strictly adapted to climate than are animals. The latter when domesticated withstand such great diversities of climate, that we find nearly the same species in tropical and temperate countries; whilst the cultivated plants are widely dissimilar. Hence a larger field is open for inquiry in regard to the acclimatisation of plants than of animals. It is no exaggeration to say that with almost every plant which has long been cultivated varieties exist, which are endowed with constitutions fitted for very different climates; I will select only a few of the more striking cases, as it would be tedious to give all. In North America numerous fruit-trees have been raised, and in horticultural publications,--for instance, in Downing,--lists are given of the varieties which are best able to withstand the severe climate of the northern States and Canada. Many American varieties of the pear, plum, and peach are excellent in their own country, but until recently hardly one was known that succeeded in England; and with apples,[764] not one succeeds. Though the American varieties can withstand a severer winter than ours, the summer here is not hot enough. Fruit-trees have originated in Europe as in America with different constitutions, but they are not here much noticed, as the same nurserymen do not supply a wide area. The Forelle pear flowers early, and when the flowers have just set, and this is the critical period, they have been observed, both in France and England, to withstand with complete impunity a frost of 18° and even 14° Fahr., which killed the flowers, whether fully expanded or in bud, of all other kinds of pears.[765] This power in the flower of resisting cold and afterwards producing fruit does not invariably depend, as we know on good authority,[766] on general constitutional vigour. {307} In proceeding northward, the number of varieties which are enabled to resist the climate rapidly decreases, as may be seen in the list of the varieties of the cherry, apple, and pear, which can be cultivated in the neighbourhood of Stockholm.[767] Near Moscow, Prince Troubetzkoy planted for experiment in the open ground several varieties of the pear, but one alone, the _Poire sans Pepins_, withstood the cold of winter.[768] We thus see that our fruit-trees, like distinct species of the same genus, certainly differ from each other in their constitutional adaptation to different climates. With the varieties of many plants, the adaptation to climate is often very close. Thus it has been proved by repeated trials "that few if any of the English varieties of wheat are adapted for cultivation in Scotland;"[769] but the failure in this case is at first only in the quantity, though ultimately in the quality, of the grain produced. The Rev. J. M. Berkeley sowed wheat-seed from India, and got "the most meagre ears," on land which would certainly have yielded a good crop from English wheat.[770] In these cases varieties have been carried from a warmer to a cooler climate; in the reverse case, as "when wheat was imported directly from France into the West Indian Islands, it produced either wholly barren spikes or furnished with only two or three miserable seeds, while West Indian seed by its side yielded an enormous harvest."[771] Here is another case of close adaptation to a slightly cooler climate; a kind of wheat which in England may be used indifferently either as a winter or summer variety, when sown under the warmer climate of Grignan, in France, behaved exactly as if it had been a true winter wheat.[772] Botanists believe that all the varieties of maize belong to the same species; and we have seen that in North America, in proceeding northward, the varieties cultivated in each zone produce their flowers and ripen their seed within shorter and shorter periods. So that the tall, slowly maturing southern varieties do not succeed in New England, and the New English varieties do not succeed in Canada. I have not met with any statement that the southern varieties are actually injured or killed by a degree of cold which the northern varieties withstand with impunity, though this is probable; but the production of early flowering and early seeding varieties deserves to be considered as one form of acclimatisation. Hence it has been found possible, according to Kalm, to cultivate maize further and further northwards in America. In Europe, also, as we learn from the evidence given by Alph. De Candolle, the culture of maize has extended since the end of the last century thirty leagues north of its former boundary.[773] On the authority of the great Linnæus,[774] I may quote an {308} analogous case, namely, that in Sweden tobacco raised from home-grown seed ripens its seed a month sooner and is less liable to miscarry than plants raised from foreign seed. With the Vine, differently from the maize, the line of practical culture has retreated a little southward since the middle ages;[775] but this seems due to commerce, including that of wine, being now freer or more easy. Nevertheless the fact of the vine not having spread northward shows that acclimatisation has made no progress during several centuries. There is, however, a marked difference in the constitution of the several varieties,--some being hardy, whilst others, like the muscat of Alexandria, require a very high temperature to come to perfection. According to Labat,[776] vines taken from France to the West Indies succeed with extreme difficulty, whilst those imported from Madeira, or the Canary Islands, thrive admirably. Gallesio gives a curious account of the naturalisation of the Orange in Italy. Daring many centuries the sweet orange was propagated exclusively by grafts, and so often suffered from frosts that it required protection. After the severe frost of 1709, and more especially after that of 1763, so many trees were destroyed that seedlings from the sweet orange were raised, and, to the surprise of the inhabitants, their fruit was found to be sweet. The trees thus raised were larger, more productive, and hardier than the former kinds; and seedlings are now continually raised. Hence Gallesio concludes that much more was effected for the naturalisation of the orange in Italy by the accidental production of new kinds during a period of about sixty years, than had been effected by grafting old varieties during many ages.[777] I may add that Risso[778] describes some Portuguese varieties of the orange as extremely sensitive to cold, and as much tenderer than certain other varieties. The peach was known to Theophrastus, 322 B.C.[779] According to the authorities quoted by Dr. F. Rolle,[780] it was tender when first introduced into Greece, and even in the island of Rhodes only occasionally bore fruit. If this be correct, the peach, in spreading during the last two thousand years over the middle parts of Europe, must have become much hardier. At the present day different varieties differ much in hardiness: some French varieties will not succeed in England; and near Paris, the _Pavie de Bonneuil_ does not ripen its fruit till very late, even when grown on a wall; "it is, therefore, only fit for a very hot southern climate."[781] I will briefly give a few other cases. A variety of _Magnolia grandiflora_, raised by M. Roy, withstands cold several degrees lower than that which any other variety can resist. With camellias there is much difference in hardiness. One particular variety of Noisette rose withstood the severe frost of 1860 "untouched and hale amidst a universal destruction of other {309} Noisettes." In New York the "Irish yew is quite hardy, but the common yew is liable to be cut down." I may add that there are varieties of the sweet potato (_Convolvulus batatas_) which are suited for warmer, as well as for colder, climates.[782] The plants as yet mentioned have been found capable of resisting an unusual degree of cold or heat, when fully grown. The following cases refer to plants whilst young. In a large bed of young Araucarias of the same age, growing close together and equally exposed, it was observed,[783] after the unusually severe winter of 1860-61, that, "in the midst of the dying, numerous individuals remained on which the frost had absolutely made no kind of impression." Dr. Lindley, after alluding to this and other similar cases, remarks, "Among the lessons which the late formidable winter has taught us, is that, even in their power of resisting cold, individuals of the same species of plants are remarkably different." Near Salisbury, there was a sharp frost on the night of May 24th, 1836, and all the French beans (_Phaseolus vulgaris_) in a bed were killed except about one in thirty, which completely escaped.[784] On the same day of the month, but in the year 1864, there was a severe frost in Kent, and two rows of scarlet-runners (_P. multiflorus_) in my garden, containing 390 plants of the same age and equally exposed, were all blackened and killed except about a dozen plants. In an adjoining row of "Fulmer's dwarf bean" (_P. vulgaris_), one single plant escaped. A still more severe frost occurred four days afterwards, and of the dozen plants which had previously escaped only three survived; these were not taller or more vigorous than the other young plants, but they escaped completely, with not even the tips of their leaves browned. It was impossible to behold these three plants, with their blackened, withered, and dead brethren all round them, and not see at a glance that they differed widely in constitutional power of resisting frost. This work is not the proper place to show that wild plants {310} of the same species, naturally growing at different altitudes or under different latitudes, become to a certain extent acclimatised, as is proved by the different behaviour of their seedlings when raised in England. In my 'Origin of Species' I have alluded to some cases, and I could add others. One instance must suffice: Mr. Grigor, of Forres,[785] states that seedlings of the Scotch fir (_Pinus sylvestris_), raised from seed from the Continent and from the forests of Scotland, differ much. "The difference is perceptible in one-year-old, and more so in two-year-old seedlings; but the effects of the winter on the second year's growth almost uniformly makes those from the Continent quite brown, and so damaged, that by the month of March they are quite unsaleable, while the plants from the native Scotch pine, under the same treatment, and standing alongside, although considerably shorter, are rather stouter and quite green, so that the beds of the one can be known from the other when seen from the distance of a mile." Closely similar facts have been observed with seedling larches. Hardy varieties would alone be valued or noticed in Europe; whilst tender varieties, requiring more warmth, would generally be neglected; but such occasionally arise. Thus Loudon[786] describes a Cornish variety of the elm which is almost an evergreen, and of which the shoots are often killed by the autumnal frosts, so that its timber is of little value. Horticulturists know that some varieties are much more tender than others: thus all the varieties of the broccoli are more tender than cabbages; but there is much difference in this respect in the sub-varieties of the broccoli; the pink and purple kinds are a little hardier than the white Cape broccoli, "but they are not to be depended on after the thermometer falls below 24° Fahr.:" the Walcheren broccoli is less tender than the Cape, and there are several varieties which will stand much severer cold than the Walcheren.[787] Cauliflowers seed more freely in India than cabbages.[788] To give one instance with flowers: eleven plants raised from a hollyhock, called the _Queen of the Whites_,[789] were found to be much more tender than various other seedlings. It may be presumed that all tender varieties would succeed better under a climate warmer than ours. With fruit-trees, it is well known that certain varieties, for instance of the peach, stand forcing in a hot-house better than others; and this shows {311} either pliability of organisation or some constitutional difference. The same individual cherry-tree, when forced, has been observed during successive years gradually to change its period of vegetation.[790] Few pelargoniums can resist the heat of a stove, but _Alba multiflora_ will, as a most skilful gardener asserts, "stand pine-apple top and bottom heat the whole winter, without looking any more drawn than if it had stood in a common greenhouse; and _Blanche Fleur_ seems as if it had been made on purpose for growing in winter, like many bulbs, and to rest all summer."[791] There can hardly be a doubt that the _Alba multiflora_ pelargonium must have a widely different constitution from that of most other varieties of this plant; it would probably withstand even an equatorial climate. We have seen that according to Labat the vine and wheat require acclimatisation in order to succeed in the West Indies. Similar facts have been observed at Madras: "two parcels of mignonette-seed, one direct from Europe, the other saved at Bangalore (of which the mean temperature is much below that of Madras) were sown at the same time: they both vegetated equally favourably, but the former all died off a few days after they appeared above ground; the latter still survive, and are vigorous healthy plants." So again, "turnip and carrot seed saved at Hyderabad are found to answer better at Madras than seed from Europe or from the Cape of Good Hope."[792] Mr. J. Scott, of the Calcutta Botanic Gardens, informs me that seeds of the sweet-pea (_Lathyrus odoratus_) imported from England produce plants, with thick, rigid stems and small leaves, which rarely blossom and never yield seed; plants raised from French seed blossom sparingly, but all the flowers are sterile; on the other hand, plants raised from sweet-peas grown near Darjeeling in Upper India, but originally derived from England, can be successfully cultivated on the plains of India; for they flower and seed profusely, and their stems are lax and scandent. In some of the foregoing cases, as Dr. Hooker has remarked to me, the greater success may perhaps be attributed to the seeds having been more fully ripened under a more favourable climate; but this view can hardly be extended to so many cases, including plants, which, from being cultivated under a climate hotter than their native one, become fitted for a still hotter climate. We may therefore safely conclude that plants can to a certain extent become accustomed to a climate either hotter or colder than their own; although these latter cases have been more frequently observed. We will now consider the means by which acclimatisation may be effected, namely, through the spontaneous appearance of varieties having a different constitution, and through the effects of use or habit. In regard to the first process, there is no evidence that a change in the constitution of the {312} offspring necessarily stands in any direct relation with the nature of the climate inhabited by the parents. On the contrary, it is certain that hardy and tender varieties of the same species appear in the same country. New varieties thus spontaneously arising become fitted to slightly different climates in two different ways; firstly, they may have the power, either as seedlings or when full-grown, of resisting intense cold, as with the Moscow pear, or of resisting intense heat, as with some kinds of Pelargonium, or the flowers may withstand severe frost, as with the Forelle pear. Secondly, plants may become adapted to climates widely different from their own, from flowering and fruiting either earlier or later in the season. In both these cases the power of acclimatisation by man consists simply in the selection and preservation of new varieties. But without any direct intention on his part of securing a hardier variety, acclimatisation may be unconsciously effected by merely raising tender plants from seed, and by occasionally attempting their cultivation further and further northwards, as in the case of maize, the orange, and the peach. How much influence ought to be attributed to inherited habit or custom in the acclimatisation of animals and plants is a much more difficult question. In many cases natural selection can hardly have failed to have come into play and complicated the result. It is notorious that mountain sheep resist severe weather and storms of snow which would destroy lowland breeds; but then mountain sheep have been thus exposed from time immemorial, and all delicate individuals will have been destroyed, and the hardiest preserved. So with the Arrindy silk-moths of China and India; who can tell how far natural selection may have taken a share in the formation of the two races, which are now fitted for such widely different climates? It seems at first probable that the many fruit-trees, which are so well fitted for the hot summers and cold winters of North America, in contrast with their poor success under our climate, have become adapted through habit; but when we reflect on the multitude of seedlings annually raised in that country, and that none would succeed unless born with a fitting constitution, it is possible that mere habit may have done nothing towards their acclimatisation. On the other hand, when we {313} hear that Merino sheep, bred during no great number of generations at the Cape of Good Hope--that some European plants raised during only a few generations in the cooler parts of India, withstand the hotter parts of that country much better than the sheep or seeds imported directly from England, we must attribute some influence to habit. We are led to the same conclusion when we hear from Naudin[793] that the races of melons, squashes, and gourds, which have long been cultivated in Northern Europe, are comparatively more precocious, and need much less heat for maturing their fruit, than the varieties of the same species recently brought from tropical regions. In the reciprocal conversion of summer and winter wheat, barley, and vetches into each other, habit produces a marked effect in the course of a very few generations. The same thing apparently occurs with the varieties of maize, which, when carried from the Southern to the Northern States of America, or into Germany, soon become accustomed to their new homes. With vine-plants taken to the West Indies from Madeira, which are said to succeed better than plants brought directly from France, we have some degree of acclimatisation in the individual, independently of the production of new varieties by seed. The common experience of agriculturists is of some value, and they often advise persons to be cautious in trying in one country the productions of another. The ancient agricultural writers of China recommend the preservation and cultivation of the varieties peculiar to each country. During the classical period, Columella wrote, "Vernaculum pecus peregrino longe præstantius est."[794] I am aware that the attempt to acclimatise either animals or plants has been called a vain chimæra. No doubt the attempt in most cases deserves to be thus called, if made independently of the production of new varieties endowed with a different constitution. Habit, however much prolonged, rarely produces any effect on a plant propagated by buds; it apparently acts only through successive seminal generations. {314} The laurel, bay, laurestinus, &c., and the Jerusalem artichoke, which are propagated by cuttings or tubers, are probably now as tender in England as when first introduced; and this appears to be the case with the potato, which until recently was seldom multiplied by seed. With plants propagated by seed, and with animals, there will be little or no acclimatisation unless the hardier individuals are either intentionally or unconsciously preserved. The kidney-bean has often been advanced as an instance of a plant which has not become hardier since its first introduction into Britain. We hear, however, on excellent authority,[795] that some very fine seed, imported from abroad, produced plants "which blossomed most profusely, but were nearly all but abortive, whilst plants grown alongside from English seed podded abundantly;" and this apparently shows some degree of acclimatisation in our English plants. We have also seen that seedlings of the kidney-bean occasionally appear with a marked power of resisting frost; but no one, as far as I can hear, has ever separated such hardy seedlings, so as to prevent accidental crossing, and then gathered their seed, and repeated the process year after year. It may, however, be objected with truth that natural selection ought to have had a decided effect on the hardiness of our kidney-beans; for the tenderest individuals must have been killed during every severe spring, and the hardier preserved. But it should be borne in mind that the result of increased hardiness would simply be that gardeners, who are always anxious for as early a crop as possible, would sow their seed a few days earlier than formerly. Now, as the period of sowing depends much on the soil and elevation of each district, and varies with the season; and as new varieties have often been imported from abroad, can we feel sure that our kidney-beans are not somewhat hardier? I have not been able, by searching old horticultural works, to answer this question satisfactorily. On the whole the facts now given show that, though habit does something towards acclimatisation, yet that the spontaneous appearance of constitutionally different individuals is a far more effective agent. As no single instance has been recorded, either with animals or plants, of hardier individuals {315} having been long and steadily selected, though such selection is admitted to be indispensable for the improvement of any other character, it is not surprising that man has done little in the acclimatisation of domesticated animals and cultivated plants. We need not, however, doubt that under nature new races and new species would become adapted to widely different climates, by spontaneous variation, aided by habit, and regulated by natural selection. _Arrests of Development: Rudimentary and Aborted Organs._ These subjects are here introduced because there is reason to believe that rudimentary organs are in many cases the result of disuse. Modifications of structure from arrested development, so great or so serious as to deserve to be called monstrosities, are of common occurrence, but, as they differ much from any normal structure, they require here only a passing notice. When a part or organ is arrested during its embryonic growth, a rudiment is generally left. Thus the whole head may be represented by a soft nipple-like projection, and the limbs by mere papillæ. These rudiments of limbs are sometimes inherited, as has been observed in a dog.[796] Many lesser anomalies in our domesticated animals appear to be due to arrested development. What the cause of the arrest may be, we seldom know, except in the case of direct injury to the embryo within the egg or womb. That the cause does not generally act at a very early embryonic period we may infer from the affected organ seldom being wholly aborted,--a rudiment being generally preserved. The external ears are represented by mere vestiges in a Chinese breed of sheep; and in another breed, the tail is reduced "to a little button, suffocated, in a manner, by fat."[797] In tailless dogs and cats a stump is left; but I do not know whether it includes at an early embryonic age rudiments of all the caudal vertebræ. In certain breeds of fowls the comb and wattles are reduced to rudiments; in the Cochin-China breed scarcely more than rudiments of spurs exist. With polled Suffolk cattle, "rudiments of horns can often be felt at an early age;"[798] and with species in a state of nature, the relatively greater development of rudimentary organs at an early period of life is highly characteristic of such organs. With hornless breeds of cattle and sheep; another and singular kind of rudiment has been observed, namely, minute dangling horns attached to the skin alone, and which are often shed and grow again. With hornless goats, according to Desmarest,[799] {316} the bony protuberances which properly support the horns exist as mere rudiments. With cultivated plants it is far from rare to find the petals, stamens, and pistils represented by rudiments, like those observed in natural species. So it is with the whole seed in many fruits; thus near Astrakhan there is a grape with mere traces of seeds, "so small and lying so near the stalk that they are not perceived in eating the grape."[800] In certain varieties of the gourd, the tendrils, according to Naudin, are represented by rudiments or by various monstrous growths. In the broccoli and cauliflower the greater number of the flowers are incapable of expansion, and include rudimentary organs. In the Feather hyacinth (_Muscari comosum_) the upper and central flowers are brightly coloured but rudimentary; under cultivation the tendency to abortion travels downwards and outwards, and all the flowers become rudimentary; but the abortive stamens and pistils are not so small in the lower as in the upper flowers. In the _Viburnum opulus_, on the other hand, the outer flowers naturally have their organs of fructification in a rudimentary state, and the corolla is of large size; under cultivation, the change spreads to the centre, and all the flowers become affected; thus the well-known Snow-ball bush is produced. In the Compositæ, the so-called doubling of the flowers consists in the greater development of the corolla of the central florets, generally accompanied with some degree of sterility; and it has been observed[801] that the progressive doubling invariably spreads from the circumference to the centre,--that is, from the ray florets, which so often include rudimentary organs, to those of the disc. I may add, as bearing on this subject, that, with Asters, seeds taken from the florets of the circumference have been found to yield the greatest number of double flowers.[802] In these several cases we have a natural tendency in certain parts to become rudimentary, and this under culture spreads either to, or from, the axis of the plant. It deserves notice, as showing how the same laws govern the changes which natural species and artificial varieties undergo, that in a series of species in the genus Carthamus, one of the Compositæ, a tendency in the seeds to the abortion of the pappus may be traced extending from the circumference to the centre of the disc: thus, according to A. de Jussieu,[803] the abortion is only partial in _Carthamus creticus_, but more extended in _C. lanatus_; for in this species two or three alone of the central seeds are furnished with a pappus, the surrounding seeds being either quite naked or furnished with a few hairs; and lastly, in _C. tinctorius_, even the central seeds are destitute of pappus, and the abortion is complete. With animals and plants under domestication, when an organ disappears, leaving only a rudiment, the loss has generally been sudden, as with hornless and tailless breeds; and such cases may be ranked as inherited monstrosities. But in some few cases the loss has been gradual, and {317} has been partly effected by selection, as with the rudimentary combs and wattles of certain fowls. We have also seen that the wings of some domesticated birds have been slightly reduced by disuse, and the great reduction of the wings in certain silk-moths, with mere rudiments left, has probably been aided by disuse. With species in a state of nature, rudimentary organs are so extremely common that scarcely one can be named which is wholly free from a blemish of this nature. Such organs are generally variable, as several naturalists have observed; for, being useless, they are not regulated by natural selection, and they are more or less liable to reversion. The same rule certainly holds good with parts which have become rudimentary under domestication. We do not know through what steps under nature rudimentary organs have passed in being reduced to their present condition; but we so incessantly see in species of the same group the finest gradations between an organ in a rudimentary and perfect state, that we are led to believe that the passage must have been extremely gradual. It may be doubted whether a change of structure so abrupt as the sudden loss of an organ would ever be of service to a species in a state of nature; for the conditions to which all organisms are closely adapted usually change very slowly. Even if an organ did suddenly disappear in some one individual by an arrest of development, intercrossing with the other individuals of the same species would cause it to reappear in a more or less perfect manner, so that its final reduction could only be effected by the slow process of continued disuse or natural selection. It is much more probable that, from changed habits of life, organs first become of less and less use, and ultimately superfluous; or their place may be supplied by some other organ; and then disuse, acting on the offspring through inheritance at corresponding periods of life, would go on reducing the organ; but as most organs could be of no use at an early embryonic period, they would not be affected by disuse; consequently they would be preserved at this stage of growth, and would remain as rudiments. In addition to the effects of disuse, the principle of economy of growth, already alluded to in this chapter, would lead to the still further reduction of all superfluous parts. With respect to the final and total suppression or abortion of any organ, another and distinct principle, which will be discussed in the chapter on pangenesis, probably takes a share in the work. With animals and plants reared by man there is no severe or recurrent struggle for existence, and the principle of economy will not come into action. So far, indeed, is this from being the case, that in some instances organs, which are naturally rudimentary in the parent-species, become partially redeveloped in the domesticated descendants. Thus cows, like most other ruminants, properly have four active and two rudimentary mammæ; but in our domesticated animals, the latter occasionally become considerably developed and yield milk. The atrophied mammæ, which, in male domesticated animals, including man, have in some rare cases grown to full size and secreted milk, perhaps offer an analogous case. The hind feet of dogs include rudiments of a fifth toe, and in certain large breeds these toes, though still rudimentary, become considerably developed {318} and are furnished with claws. In the common Hen, the spurs and comb are rudimentary, but in certain breeds these become, independently of age or disease of the ovaria, well developed. The stallion has canine teeth, but the mare has only traces of the alveoli, which, as I am informed by the eminent veterinary Mr. G. T. Brown, frequently contain minute irregular nodules of bone. These nodules, however, sometimes become developed into imperfect teeth, protruding through the gums and coated with enamel; and occasionally they grow to a third or even a fourth of the length of the canines in the stallion. With plants I do not know whether the redevelopment of rudimentary organs occurs more frequently under culture than under nature. Perhaps the pear-tree may be a case in point, for when wild it bears thorns, which though useful as a protection are formed of branches in a rudimentary condition, but, when the tree is cultivated, the thorns are reconverted into branches. Finally, though organs which must be classed as rudimentary frequently occur in our domesticated animals and cultivated plants, these have generally been formed suddenly, through an arrest of development. They usually differ in appearance from the rudiments which so frequently characterise natural species. In the latter, rudimentary organs have been slowly formed through continued disuse, acting by inheritance at a corresponding age, aided by the principle of the economy of growth, all under the control of natural selection. With domesticated animals, on the other hand, the principle of economy is far from coming into action, and their organs, although often slightly reduced by disuse, are not thus almost obliterated with mere rudiments left. * * * * * {319} CHAPTER XXV. LAWS OF VARIATION, _continued_--CORRELATED VARIABILITY. EXPLANATION OF TERM--CORRELATION AS CONNECTED WITH DEVELOPMENT--MODIFICATIONS CORRELATED WITH THE INCREASED OR DECREASED SIZE OF PARTS--CORRELATED VARIATION OF HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--FEATHERED FEET IN BIRDS ASSUMING THE STRUCTURE OF THE WINGS--CORRELATION BETWEEN THE HEAD AND THE EXTREMITIES--BETWEEN THE SKIN AND DERMAL APPENDAGES--BETWEEN THE ORGANS OF SIGHT AND HEARING--CORRELATED MODIFICATIONS IN THE ORGANS OF PLANTS--CORRELATED MONSTROSITIES--CORRELATION BETWEEN THE SKULL AND EARS--SKULL AND CREST OF FEATHERS--SKULL AND HORNS--CORRELATION OF GROWTH COMPLICATED BY THE ACCUMULATED EFFECTS OF NATURAL SELECTION--COLOUR AS CORRELATED WITH CONSTITUTIONAL PECULIARITIES. All the parts of the organisation are to a certain extent connected or correlated together; but the connexion may be so slight that it hardly exists, as with compound animals or the buds on the same tree. Even in the higher animals various parts are not at all closely related; for one part may be wholly suppressed or rendered monstrous without any other part of the body being affected. But in some cases, when one part varies, certain other parts always, or nearly always, simultaneously vary; they are then subject to the law of correlated variation. Formerly I used the somewhat vague expression of correlation of growth, which may be applied to many large classes of facts. Thus, all the parts of the body are admirably coordinated for the peculiar habits of life of each organic being, and they may be said, as the Duke of Argyll insists in his 'Reign of Law,' to be correlated for this purpose. Again, in large groups of animals certain structures always co-exist; for instance, a peculiar form of stomach with teeth of peculiar form, and such structures may in one sense be said to be correlated. But these cases have no necessary connexion with the law to be discussed in the present chapter; for we do not know that {320} the initial or primary variations of the several parts were in any way related; slight modifications or individual differences may have been preserved, first in one and then in another part, until the final and perfectly co-adapted structure was acquired; but to this subject I shall presently recur. Again, in many groups of animals the males alone are furnished with weapons, or are ornamented with gay colours; and these characters manifestly stand in some sort of correlation with the male reproductive organs, for when the latter are destroyed these characters disappear. But it was shown in the twelfth chapter that the very same peculiarity may become attached at any age to either sex, and afterwards be exclusively transmitted by the same sex at a corresponding age. In these cases we have inheritance limited by, or correlated with, both sex and age; but we have no reason for supposing that the original cause of the variation was necessarily connected with the reproductive organs, or with the age of the affected being. In cases of true correlated variation, we are sometimes able to see the nature of the connexion; but in most cases the bond is hidden from us, and certainly differs in different cases. We can seldom say which of two correlated parts first varies, and induces a change in the other; or whether the two are simultaneously produced by some distinct cause. Correlated variation is an important subject for us; for when one part is modified through continued selection, either by man or under nature, other parts of the organisation will be unavoidably modified. From this correlation it apparently follows that, with our domesticated animals and plants, varieties rarely or never differ from each other by some single character alone. One of the simplest cases of correlation is that a modification which arises during an early stage of growth tends to influence the subsequent development of the same part, as well as of other and intimately connected parts. Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire states[804] that this may constantly be observed with monstrosities {321} in the animal kingdom; and Moquin-Tandon[805] remarks, that, as with plants the axis cannot become monstrous without in some way affecting the organs subsequently produced from it, so axial anomalies are almost always accompanied by deviations of structure in the appended parts. We shall presently see that with short-muzzled races of the dog certain histological changes in the basal elements of the bones arrest their development and shorten them, and this affects the position of the subsequently developed molar teeth. It is probable that certain modifications in the larvæ of insects would affect the structure of the mature insects. But we must be very careful not to extend this view too far, for, during the normal course of development, certain members in the same group of animals are known to pass through an extraordinary course of change, whilst other and closely allied members arrive at maturity with little change of structure. Another simple case of correlation is that with the increased or decreased dimensions of the whole body, or of any particular part, certain organs are increased or diminished in number, or are otherwise modified. Thus pigeon-fanciers have gone on selecting pouters for length of body, and we have seen that their vertebræ are generally increased in number, and their ribs in breadth. Tumblers have been selected for their small bodies, and their ribs and primary wing-feathers are generally lessened in number. Fantails have been selected for their large, widely-expanded tails, with numerous tail-feathers, and the caudal vertebræ are increased in size and number. Carriers have been selected for length of beak, and their tongues have become longer, but not in strict accordance with the length of beak. In this latter breed and in others having large feet, the number of the scutellæ on the toes is greater than in the breeds with small feet. Many similar cases could be given. In Germany it has been observed that the period of gestation is longer in large-sized than in small-sized breeds of cattle. With our highly-improved animals of all kinds the period of maturity has advanced, both with respect to the full growth of the body and the period of reproduction; and, in correspondence with this, the teeth are now developed earlier than formerly, so that, {322} to the surprise of agriculturists, the ancient rules for judging the age of an animal by the state of its teeth are no longer trustworthy.[806] _Correlated Variation of Homologous Parts._--Parts which are homologous tend to vary in the same manner; and this is what might have been expected, for such parts are identical in form and structure during an early period of embryonic development, and are exposed in the egg or womb to similar conditions. The symmetry, in most kinds of animals, of the corresponding or homologous organs on the right and left sides of the body, is the simplest case in point; but this symmetry sometimes fails, as with rabbits having only one ear, or stags with one horn, or with many-horned sheep which sometimes carry an additional horn on one side of their heads. With flowers which have regular corollas, the petals generally vary in the same manner, as we see in the same complicated and elegant pattern, on the flowers of the Chinese pink; but with irregular flowers, though the petals are of course homologous, this symmetry often fails, as with the varieties of the _Antirrhinum_ or snapdragon, or that variety of the kidney-bean (_Phaseolus multiflorus_) which has a white standard-petal. In the vertebrata the front and hind limbs are homologous, and they tend to vary in the same manner, as we see in long and short-legged, or in thick and thin-legged races of the horse and dog. Isidore Geoffroy[807] has remarked on the tendency of supernumerary digits in man to appear, not only on the right and left sides, but on the upper and lower extremities. Meckel has insisted[808] that, when the muscles of the arm depart in number or arrangement from their proper type, they almost always imitate those of the leg; and so conversely the varying muscles of the leg imitate the normal muscles of the arm. In several distinct breeds of the pigeon and fowl, the legs and the two outer toes are heavily feathered, so that in the trumpeter pigeon they appear like little wings. In the feather-legged bantam the "boots" or feathers, which grow from the outside of the leg and generally from the two outer toes, have, {323} according to the excellent authority of Mr. Hewitt,[809] been seen to exceed the wing-feathers in length, and in one case were actually nine and a half inches in length! As Mr. Blyth has remarked to me, these leg-feathers resemble the primary wing-feathers, and are totally unlike the fine down which naturally grows on the legs of some birds, such as grouse and owls. Hence it may be suspected that excess of food has first given redundancy to the plumage, and then that the law of homologous variation has led to the development of feathers on the legs, in a position corresponding with those on the wing, namely, on the outside of the tarsi and toes. I am strengthened in this belief by the following curious case of correlation, which for a long time seemed to me utterly inexplicable, namely, that in pigeons of any breed, if the legs are feathered, the two outer toes are partially connected by skin. These two outer toes correspond with our third and fourth toes. Now, in the wing of the pigeon or any other bird, the first and fifth digits are wholly aborted; the second is rudimentary and carries the so-called "bastard-wing;" whilst the third and fourth digits are completely united and enclosed by skin, together forming the extremity of the wing. So that in feather-footed pigeons, not only does the exterior surface support a row of long feathers, like wing-feathers, but the very same digits which in the wing are completely united by skin become partially united by skin in the feet; and thus by the law of the correlated variation of homologous parts we can understand the curious connection of feathered legs and membrane between the two outer toes. Andrew Knight[810] has remarked that the face or head and the limbs vary together in general proportions. Compare, for instance, the head and limbs of a dray and race-horse, or of a greyhound and mastiff. What a monster a greyhound would appear with the head of a mastiff! The _modern_ bulldog, however, has fine limbs, but this is a recently-selected character. From the measurements given in the sixth chapter, we clearly see that in all the breeds of the pigeon the length of the beak and the size of the feet are correlated. The view which, as before explained, seems the most probable is, that disuse in all cases tends {324} to diminish the feet, the beak becoming at the same time through correlation shorter; but that in those few breeds in which length of beak has been a selected point, the feet, notwithstanding disuse, have through correlation increased in size. With the increased length of the beak in pigeons, not only the tongue increases in length, but likewise the orifice of the nostrils. But the increased length of the orifice of the nostrils perhaps stands in closer correlation with the development of the corrugated skin or wattle at the base of the beak; for when there is much wattle round the eyes, the eyelids are greatly increased or even doubled in length. There is apparently some correlation even in colour between the head and the extremities. Thus with horses a large white star or blaze on the forehead is generally accompanied by white feet.[811] With white rabbits and cattle, dark marks often co-exist on the tips of the ears and on the feet. In black and tan dogs of different breeds, tan-coloured spots over the eyes and tan-coloured feet almost invariably go together. These latter cases of connected colouring may be due either to reversion or to analogous variation,--subjects to which we shall hereafter return,--but this does not necessarily determine the question of their original correlation. If those naturalists are correct who maintain that the jaw-bones are homologous with the limb-bones, then we can understand why the head and limbs tend to vary together in shape and even in colour; but several highly competent judges dispute the correctness of this view. The lopping forwards and downwards of the immense ears of fancy rabbits is in part due to the disuse of the muscles, and in part to the weight and length of the ears, which have been increased by selection during many generations. Now, with the increased size and changed direction of the ears, not only has the bony auditory meatus become changed in outline, direction, and greatly in size, but the whole skull has been slightly modified. This could be clearly seen in "half-lops"--that is, in rabbits with one ear alone lopping forward--for the opposite sides of their skulls were not strictly symmetrical. This seems to me a curious instance of correlation, between hard {325} bones and organs so soft and flexible, as well as so unimportant under a physiological point of view, as the external ears. The result no doubt is largely due to mere mechanical action, that is, to the weight of the ears, on the same principle that the skull of a human infant is easily modified by pressure. The skin and the appendages of hair, feathers, hoofs, horns, and teeth, are homologous over the whole body. Every one knows that the colour of the skin and that of the hair usually vary together; so that Virgil advises the shepherd to look whether the mouth and tongue of the ram are black, lest the lambs should not be purely white. With poultry and certain ducks we have seen that the colour of the plumage stands in some connexion with the colour of the shell of the egg,--that is, with the mucous membrane which secretes the shell. The colour of the skin and hair, and the odour emitted by the glands of the skin, are said[812] to be connected, even in the same race of men. Generally the hair varies in the same way all over the body in length, fineness, and curliness. The same rule holds good with feathers, as we see with the laced and frizzled breeds both of fowls and pigeons. In the common cock the feathers on the neck and loins are always of a particular shape, called hackles: now in the Polish breed, both sexes are characterised by a tuft of feathers on the head; but through correlation these feathers in the male always assume the form of hackles. The wing and tail-feathers, though arising from parts not homologous, vary in length together; so that long or short winged pigeons generally have long or short tails. The case of the Jacobin-pigeon is more curious, for the wing and tail feathers are remarkably long; and this apparently has arisen in correlation with the elongated and reversed feathers on the back of the neck, which form the hood. The hoofs and hair are homologous appendages; and a careful observer, namely Azara,[813] states that in Paraguay horses of various colours are often born with their hair curled and twisted like that on the head of a negro. This peculiarity is strongly inherited. But what is remarkable is that the hoofs of these horses "are absolutely like those of a mule." The hair also of the mane and tail is invariably much shorter than usual, being only from four {326} to twelve inches in length; so that curliness and shortness of the hair are here, as with the negro, apparently correlated. With respect to the horns of sheep, Youatt[814] remarks that "multiplicity of horns is not found in any breed of much value: it is generally accompanied by great length and coarseness of the fleece." Several tropical breeds of sheep, which are clothed with hair instead of wool, have horns almost like those of a goat. Sturm[815] expressly declares that in different races the more the wool is curled the more the horns are spirally twisted. We have seen in the third chapter, where other analogous facts have been given, that the parent of the Mauchamp breed, so famous for its fleece, had peculiarly shaped horns. The inhabitants of Angora assert[816] that "only the white goats which have horns wear the fleece in the long curly locks that are so much admired; those which are not horned having a comparatively close coat." From these cases we may conclude that the hair or wool and the horns vary in a correlated manner. Those who have tried hydropathy are aware that the frequent application of cold water stimulates the skin; and whatever stimulates the skin tends to increase the growth of the hair, as is well shown in the abnormal growth of hair near old inflamed surfaces. Now, Professor Low[817] is convinced that with the different races of British cattle thick skin and long hair depend on the humidity of the climate which they inhabit. We can thus see how a humid climate might act on the horns--in the first place directly on the skin and hair, and secondly by correlation on the horns. The presence or absence of horns, moreover, both in the case of sheep and cattle, acts, as will presently be shown, by some sort of correlation on the skull. With respect to hair and teeth, Mr. Yarrell[818] found many of the teeth deficient in three hairless "_Ægyptian_" dogs, and in a hairless terrier. The incisors, canines, and premolars suffered most, but in one case all the teeth, except the large tubercular molar on each side, were deficient. With man several striking cases have been recorded[819] of inherited baldness with {327} inherited deficiency, either complete or partial, of the teeth. We see the same connexion in those rare cases in which the hair has been renewed in old age, for this has "usually been accompanied by a renewal of the teeth." I have remarked in a former part of this volume that the great reduction in the size of the tusks in domestic boars probably stands in close relation with their diminished bristles, due to a certain amount of protection; and that the reappearance of the tusks in boars, which have become feral and are fully exposed to the weather, probably depends on the reappearance of the bristles. I may add, though not strictly connected with our present point, that an agriculturist[820] asserts that "pigs with little hair on their bodies are most liable to lose their tails, showing a weakness of the tegumental structure. It may be prevented by crossing with a more hairy breed." In the previous cases deficient hair, and teeth deficient in number or size, are apparently connected. In the following cases abnormally redundant hair, and teeth either deficient or redundant, are likewise connected. Mr. Crawfurd[821] saw at the Burmese Court a man, thirty years old, with his whole body, except the hands and feet, covered with straight silky hair, which on the shoulders and spine was five inches in length. At birth the ears alone were covered. He did not arrive at puberty, or shed his milk teeth, until twenty years old; and at this period he acquired five teeth in the upper jaw, namely four incisors and one canine, and four incisor teeth in the lower jaw; all the teeth were small. This man had a daughter, who was born with hair within her ears; and the hair soon extended over her body. When Captain Yule[822] visited the Court, he found this girl grown up; and she presented a strange appearance with even her nose densely covered with soft hair. Like her father, she was furnished with incisor teeth alone. The King had with difficulty bribed a man to marry her, and of her two children, one, a boy fourteen months old, had hair growing out of his ears, with a beard and moustache. This strange peculiarity had, therefore, been inherited for three generations, with the molar teeth deficient in the grandfather and mother; whether {328} these teeth would likewise fail in the infant could not be told. Here is another case communicated to me by Mr. Wallace on the authority of Dr. Purland, a dentist: Julia Pastrana, a Spanish dancer, was a remarkably fine woman, but she had a thick masculine beard and a hairy forehead; she was photographed, and her stuffed skin was exhibited as a show; but what concerns us is, that she had in both the upper and lower jaw an irregular double set of teeth, one row being placed within the other, of which Dr. Purland took a cast. From the redundancy of the teeth her mouth projected, and her face had a gorilla-like appearance. These cases and those of the hairless dogs forcibly call to mind the fact, that the two orders of mammals--namely, the Edentata and Cetacea--which are the most abnormal in their dermal covering, are likewise the most abnormal either by deficiency or redundancy of teeth. The organs of sight and hearing are generally admitted to be homologous, both with each other and with the various dermal appendages; hence these parts are liable to be abnormally affected in conjunction. Mr. White Cowper says "that in all cases of double microphthalmia brought under his notice he has at the same time met with defective development of the dental system." Certain forms of blindness seem to be associated with the colour of the hair; a man with black hair and a woman with light-coloured hair, both of sound constitution, married and had nine children, all of whom were born blind; of these children, five "with dark hair and brown iris were afflicted with amaurosis; the four others, with light-coloured hair and blue iris, had amaurosis and cataract conjoined." Several cases could be given, showing that some relation exists between various affections of the eyes and ears; thus Liebreich states that out of 241 deaf-mutes in Berlin, no less than fourteen suffered from the rare disease called pigmentary retinitis. Mr. White Cowper and Dr. Earle have remarked that inability to distinguish different colours, or colour-blindness, "is often associated with a corresponding inability to distinguish musical sounds."[823] {329} Here is a more curious case: white cats, if they have blue eyes, are almost always deaf. I formerly thought that the rule was invariable, but I have heard of a few authentic exceptions. The first two notices were published in 1829, and relate to English and Persian cats: of the latter, the Rev. W. T. Bree possessed a female, and he states "that of the offspring produced at one and the same birth, such as, like the mother, were entirely white (with blue eyes) were, like her, invariably deaf; while those that had the least speck of colour on their fur, as invariably possessed the usual faculty of hearing."[824] The Rev. W. Darwin Fox informs me that he has seen more than a dozen instances of this correlation in English, Persian, and Danish cats; but he adds "that, if one eye, as I have several times observed, be not blue, the cat hears. On the other hand, I have never seen a white cat with eyes of the common colour that was deaf." In France Dr. Sichel[825] has observed during twenty years similar facts; he adds the remarkable case of the iris beginning, at the end of four months, to grow dark-coloured, and then the cat first began to hear. This case of correlation in cats has struck many persons as marvellous. There is nothing unusual in the relation between blue eyes and white fur; and we have already seen that the organs of sight and hearing are often simultaneously affected. In the present instance the cause probably lies in a slight arrest of development in the nervous system in connection with the sense-organs. Kittens during the first nine days, whilst their eyes are closed, appear to be completely deaf; I have made a great clanging noise with a poker and shovel close to their heads, both when they were asleep and awake, without producing any effect. The trial must not be made by shouting close to their ears, for they are, even when asleep, extremely sensitive to a breath of air. Now, as long as the eyes continue closed, the iris is no doubt blue, for in all the kittens which I have seen this colour remains for some time after the eyelids open. Hence, if we suppose the development of the organs of sight and hearing to be arrested at the stage of the closed eyelids, the eyes would {330} remain permanently blue and the ears would be incapable of perceiving sound; and we should thus understand this curious case. As, however, the colour of the fur is determined long before birth, and as the blueness of the eyes and the whiteness of the fur are obviously connected, we must believe that some primary cause acts at an early period. The instances of correlated variability hitherto given have been chiefly drawn from the animal kingdom, and we will now turn to plants. Leaves, sepals, petals, stamens, and pistils are all homologous. In double flowers we see that the stamens and pistils vary in the same manner, and assume the form and colour of the petals. In the double columbine (_Aquilegia vulgaris_), the successive whorls of stamens are converted into cornucopias, which are enclosed within each other and resemble the petals. In hose-and-hose flowers the sepals mock the petals. In some cases the flowers and leaves vary together in tint: in all the varieties of the common pea, which have purple flowers, a purple mark may be seen on the stipules. In other cases the leaves and fruit and seeds vary together in colour, as in a curious pale-leaved variety of the sycamore, which has recently been described in France,[826] and as in the purple-leaved hazel, in which the leaves, the husk of the nut, and the pellicle round the kernel are all coloured purple.[827] Pomologists can predict to a certain extent, from the size and appearance of the leaves of their seedlings, the probable nature of the fruit; for, as Van Mons remarks,[828] variations in the leaves are generally accompanied by some modification in the flower, and consequently in the fruit. In the Serpent melon, which has a narrow tortuous fruit above a yard in length, the stem of the plant, the peduncle of the female flower, and the middle lobe of the leaf, are all elongated in a remarkable manner. On the other hand, several varieties of Cucurbita, which have dwarfed stems, all produce, as Naudin remarks with surprise, leaves of the same peculiar shape. Mr. G. Maw informs me that all the varieties of the scarlet Pelargoniums which have contracted or imperfect leaves have contracted flowers: the difference between {331} "Brilliant" and its parent "Tom Thumb" is a good instance of this. It may be suspected that the curious case described by Risso,[829] of a variety of the Orange which produces on the young shoots rounded leaves with winged petioles, and afterwards elongated leaves on long but wingless petioles, is connected with the remarkable change in form and nature which the fruit undergoes during its development. In the following instance we have the colour and form of the petals apparently correlated, and both dependent on the nature of the season. An observer, skilled in the subject, writes,[830] "I noticed, during the year 1842, that every Dahlia, of which the colour had any tendency to scarlet, was deeply notched--indeed to so great an extent as to give the petals the appearance of a saw; the indentures were, in some instances, more than a quarter of an inch deep." Again, Dahlias which have their petals tipped with a different colour from the rest are very inconstant, and during certain years some, or even all the flowers, become uniformly coloured; and it has been observed with several varieties,[831] that when this happens the petals grow much elongated and lose their proper shape. This, however, may be due to reversion, both in colour and form, to the aboriginal species. * * * * * In this discussion on correlation, we have hitherto treated of cases in which we can partly understand the bond of connexion; but I will now give cases in which we cannot even conjecture, or can only very obscurely see, what is the nature of the bond. Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, in his work on Monstrosities, insists,[832] "que certaines anomalies coexistent rarement entr'elles, d'autres fréquemment, d'autres enfin presque constamment, malgré la différence très-grande de leur nature, et quoiqu'elles puissent paraître _complètement indépendantes_ les unes des autres." We see something analogous in certain diseases: thus I hear from Mr. Paget that in a rare affection of the {332} renal capsules (of which the functions are unknown), the skin becomes bronzed; and in hereditary syphilis, both the milk and the second teeth assume a peculiar and characteristic form. Professor Rolleston, also, informs me that the incisor teeth are sometimes furnished with a vascular rim in correlation with intra-pulmonary deposition of tubercles. In other cases of phthisis and of cyanosis the nails and finger-ends become clubbed like acorns. I believe that no explanation has been offered of these and of many other cases of correlated disease. What can be more curious and less intelligible than the fact previously given, on the authority of Mr. Tegetmeier, that young pigeons of all breeds, which when mature have white, yellow, silver-blue, or dun-coloured plumage, come out of the egg almost naked; whereas pigeons of other colours when first born are clothed with plenty of down? White Pea-fowls, as has been observed both in England and France,[833] and as I have myself seen, are inferior in size to the common coloured kind; and this cannot be accounted for by the belief that albinism is always accompanied by constitutional weakness; for white or albino moles are generally larger than the common kind. To turn to more important characters: the niata cattle of the Pampas are remarkable from their short foreheads, upturned muzzles, and curved lower jaws. In the skull the nasal and premaxillary bones are much shortened, the maxillaries are excluded from any junction with the nasals, and all the bones are slightly modified, even to the plane of the occiput. From the analogical case of the dog, hereafter to be given, it is probable that the shortening of the nasal and adjoining bones is the proximate cause of the other modifications in the skull, including the upward curvature of the lower jaw, though we cannot follow out the steps by which these changes have been effected. Polish fowls have a large tuft of feathers on their heads; and their skulls are perforated by numerous holes, so that a pin can be driven into the brain without touching any bone. That this deficiency of bone is in some way connected with the tuft of feathers is clear from tufted ducks and geese likewise having {333} perforated skulls. The case would probably be considered by some authors as one of balancement or compensation. In the chapter on Fowls, I have shown that with Polish fowls the tuft of feathers was probably at first small; by continued selection it became larger, and then rested on a fleshy or fibrous mass; and finally, as it became still larger, the skull itself became more and more protuberant until it acquired its present extraordinary structure. Through correlation with the protuberance of the skull, the shape and even the relative connexion of the premaxillary and nasal bones, the shape of the orifice of the nostrils, the breadth of the frontal bone, the shape of the post-lateral processes of the frontal and squamosal bones, and the direction of the bony cavity of the ear, have all been modified. The internal configuration of the skull and the whole shape of the brain have likewise been altered in a truly marvellous manner. After this case of the Polish fowl it would be superfluous to do more than refer to the details previously given on the manner in which the changed form of the comb, in various breeds of the fowl, has affected the skull, causing by correlation crests, protuberances, and depressions on its surface. With our cattle and sheep the horns stand in close connexion with the size of the skull, and with the shape of the frontal bones; thus Cline[834] found that the skull of a horned ram weighed five times as much as that of a hornless ram of the same age. When cattle become hornless, the frontal bones are "materially diminished in breadth towards the poll;" and the cavities between the bony plates "are not so deep, nor do they extend beyond the frontals."[835] * * * * * It may be well here to pause and observe how the effects of correlated variability, of the increased use of parts, and of the accumulation through natural selection of so-called spontaneous variations, are in many cases inextricably commingled. We may borrow an illustration from Mr. Herbert Spencer, who remarks that, when the Irish elk acquired its gigantic horns, weighing above one hundred pounds, numerous co-ordinated {334} changes of structure would have been indispensable,--namely, a thickened skull to carry the horns; strengthened cervical vertebræ, with strengthened ligaments; enlarged dorsal vertebræ to support the neck, with powerful fore-legs and feet; all these parts being supplied with proper muscles, blood-vessels, and nerves. How then could these admirably co-ordinated modifications of structure have been acquired? According to the doctrine which I maintain, the horns of the male elk were slowly gained through sexual selection,--that is, by the best-armed males conquering the worse-armed, and leaving a greater number of descendants. But it is not at all necessary that the several parts of the body should have simultaneously varied. Each stag presents individual differences, and in the same district those which had slightly heavier horns, or stronger necks, or stronger bodies, or were the most courageous, would secure the greater number of does, and consequently leave a greater number of offspring. The offspring would inherit, in a greater or less degree, these same qualities, would occasionally intercross with each other, or with other individuals varying in some favourable manner; and of their offspring, those which were the best endowed in any respect would continue multiplying; and so onwards, always progressing, sometimes in one direction, and sometimes in another, towards the present excellently co-ordinated structure of the male elk. To make this clear, let us reflect on the probable steps, as shown in the twentieth chapter, by which our race and dray-horses have arrived at their present state of excellence; if we could view the whole series of intermediate forms between one of these animals and an early unimproved progenitor, we should behold a vast number of animals, not equally improved in each generation throughout their entire structure, but sometimes a little more in one point, and sometimes in another, yet on the whole gradually approaching in character to our present race or dray-horses, which are so admirably fitted in the one case for fleetness and in the other for draught. Although natural selection would thus[836] tend to give to the {335} male elk its present structure, yet it is probable that the inherited influence of use has played an equal or more important part. As the horns gradually increased in weight, the muscles of the neck, with the bones to which they are attached, would increase in size and strength; and these parts would react on the body and legs. Nor must we overlook the fact that certain parts of the skull and the extremities would, judging by analogy, tend from the first to vary in a correlated manner. The increased weight of the horns would also act directly on the skull, in the same manner as, when one bone is removed in the leg of a dog, the other bone, which has to carry the whole weight of the body, increases in thickness. But from the facts given with respect to horned and hornless cattle, it is probable that the horns and skull would immediately act on each other through the principle of correlation. Lastly, the growth and subsequent wear and tear of the augmented muscles and bones would require an increased supply of blood, and consequently an increased supply of food; and this again would require increased powers of mastication, digestion, respiration, and excretion. _Colour as Correlated with Constitutional Peculiarities._ It is an old belief that with man there is a connexion between complexion and constitution; and I find that some of the best authorities believe in this to the present day.[837] Thus Dr. Beddoe by his tables shows[838] that a relation exists between liability to consumption and the colour of the hair, eyes, and skin. It has been affirmed[839] that, in the French army which invaded Russia, soldiers having a dark complexion, from the {336} southern parts of Europe, withstood the intense cold better than those with lighter complexions from the north; but no doubt such statements are liable to error. In the second chapter on Selection I have given several cases proving that with animals and plants differences in colour are correlated with constitutional differences, as shown by greater or less immunity from certain diseases, from the attacks of parasitic plants and animals, from burning by the sun, and from the action of certain poisons. When all the individuals of any one variety possess an immunity of this nature, we cannot feel sure that it stands in any sort of correlation with their colour; but when several varieties of the same species, which are similarly coloured, are thus characterised, whilst other coloured varieties are not thus favoured, we must believe in the existence of a correlation of this kind. Thus in the United States purple-fruited plums of many kinds are far more affected by a certain disease than green or yellow-fruited varieties. On the other hand, yellow-fleshed peaches of various kinds suffer from another disease much more than the white-fleshed varieties. In the Mauritius red sugar-canes are much less affected by a particular disease than the white canes. White onions and verbenas are the most liable to mildew; and in Spain the green-fruited grapes suffered from the vine-disease more than other coloured varieties. Dark-coloured pelargoniums and verbenas are more scorched by the sun than varieties of other colours. Red wheats are believed to be hardier than white; whilst red-flowered hyacinths were more injured during one particular winter in Holland than other coloured varieties. With animals, white terriers suffer most from the distemper, white chickens from a parasitic worm in their tracheæ, white pigs from scorching by the sun, and white cattle from flies; but the caterpillars of the silk-moth which yield white cocoons suffered in France less from the deadly parasitic fungus than those producing yellow silk. The cases of immunity from the action of certain vegetable poisons, in connexion with colour, are more interesting, and are at present wholly inexplicable. I have already given a remarkable instance, on the authority of Professor Wyman, of all the hogs, excepting those of a black colour, suffering severely in Virginia from eating the root of the _Lachnanthes tinctoria_. {337} According to Spinola and others,[840] buckwheat (_Polygonum fagopyrum_), when in flower, is highly injurious to white or white-spotted pigs, if they are exposed to the heat of the sun, but is quite innocuous to black pigs. By two accounts, the _Hypericum crispum_ in Sicily is poisonous to white sheep alone; their heads swell, their wool falls off, and they often die; but this plant, according to Lecce, is poisonous only when it grows in swamps; nor is this improbable, as we know how readily the poisonous principle in plants is influenced by the conditions under which they grow. Three accounts have been published in Eastern Prussia, of white and white-spotted horses being greatly injured by eating mildewed and honeydewed vetches; every spot of skin bearing white hairs becoming inflamed and gangrenous. The Rev. J. Rodwell informs me that his father turned out about fifteen cart-horses into a field of tares which in parts swarmed with black aphides, and which no doubt were honeydewed, and probably mildewed; the horses, with two exceptions, were chesnuts and bays with white marks on their faces and pasterns, and the white parts alone swelled and became angry scabs. The two bay horses with no white marks entirely escaped all injury. In Guernsey, when horses eat fools' parsley (_Æthusa cynapium_) they are sometimes violently purged; and this plant "has a peculiar effect on the nose and lips, causing deep cracks and ulcers, particularly on horses with white muzzles."[841] With cattle, independently of the action of any poison, cases have been published by Youatt and Erdt of cutaneous diseases with much constitutional disturbance (in one instance after exposure to a hot sun) affecting every single point which bore a white hair, but completely passing over other parts of the body. Similar cases have been observed with horses.[842] We thus see that not only do those parts of the skin which bear white hair differ in a remarkable manner from those bearing {338} hair of any other colour, but that in addition some great, constitutional difference must stand in correlation with the colour of the hair; for in the above-mentioned cases, vegetable poisons caused fever, swelling of the head, as well as other symptoms, and even death, to all the white or white-spotted animals. * * * * * {339} CHAPTER XXVI. LAWS OF VARIATION, _continued_--SUMMARY. ON THE AFFINITY AND COHESION OF HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--ON THE VARIABILITY OF MULTIPLE AND HOMOLOGOUS PARTS--COMPENSATION OF GROWTH--MECHANICAL PRESSURE--RELATIVE POSITION OF FLOWERS WITH RESPECT TO THE AXIS OF THE PLANT, AND OF SEEDS IN THE CAPSULE, AS INDUCING VARIATION--ANALOGOUS OR PARALLEL VARIETIES--SUMMARY OF THE THREE LAST CHAPTERS. _On the Affinity of Homologous Parts._--This law was first generalised by Geoffroy Saint Hilaire, under the expression of _La loi de l'affinité de soi pour soi_. It has been fully discussed and illustrated by his son, Isidore Geoffroy, with respect to monsters in the animal kingdom,[843] and by Moquin-Tandon, with respect to monstrous plants. When similar or homologous parts, whether belonging to the same embryo or to two distinct embryos, are brought during an early stage of development into contact, they often blend into a single part or organ; and this complete fusion indicates some mutual affinity between the parts, otherwise they would simply cohere. Whether any power exists which tends to bring homologous parts into contact seems more doubtful. The tendency to complete fusion is not a rare or exceptional fact. It is exhibited in the most striking manner by double monsters. Nothing can be more extraordinary than the manner, as shown in various published plates, in which the corresponding parts of two embryos become intimately fused together. This is perhaps best seen in monsters with two heads, which are united, summit to summit, or face to face, or, Janus-like, back to back, or obliquely side to side. In one instance of two heads united almost face to face, but a little obliquely, four ears were developed, and on one side a perfect face, which was manifestly formed by the union of two {340} half-faces. Whenever two bodies or two heads are united, each bone, muscle, vessel, and nerve on the line of junction seems to seek out its fellow, and becomes completely fused with it. Lereboullet,[844] who carefully studied the development of double monsters in fishes, observed in fifteen instances the steps by which two heads gradually became fused into one. In this and other such cases, no one, I presume, supposes that the two already formed heads actually blend together, but that the corresponding parts of each head grow into one during the further progress of development, accompanied as it always is with incessant absorption and renovation. Double monsters were formerly thought to be formed by the union of two originally distinct embryos developed upon distinct vitelli; but now it is admitted that "their production is due to the spontaneous divarication of the embryonic mass into two halves;"[845] this, however, is effected by different methods. But the belief that double monsters originate from the division of one germ, does not necessarily affect the question of subsequent fusion, or render less true the law of the affinity of homologous parts. The cautious and sagacious J. Müller,[846] when speaking of Janus-like monsters, says, that "without the supposition that some kind of affinity or attraction is exerted between corresponding parts, unions of this kind are inexplicable." On the other hand, Vrolik, and he is followed by others, disputes this conclusion, and argues from the existence of a whole series of monstrosities, graduating from a perfectly double monster to a mere rudiment of an additional digit, that "an excess of formative power" is the cause and origin of every monstrous duplicity. That there are two distinct classes of cases, and that parts may be doubled independently of the existence of two embryos, is certain; for a single embryo, or even a single adult animal, may produce doubled organs. Thus Valentin, as quoted by Vrolik, injured the caudal extremity of an embryo, and three days afterwards it produced rudiments of a double pelvis and of double hind limbs. {341} Hunter and others have observed lizards with their tails reproduced and doubled. When Bonnet divided longitudinally the foot of the salamander, several additional digits were occasionally formed. But neither these cases, nor the perfect series from a double monster to an additional digit, seem to me opposed to the belief that corresponding parts have a mutual affinity, and consequently tend to fuse together. A part may be doubled and remain in this state, or the two parts thus formed may afterwards through the law of affinity become blended; or two homologous parts in two separate embryos may, through the same principle, unite and form a single part. The law of the affinity and fusion of similar parts applies to the homologous organs of the same individual animal, as well as to double monsters. Isidore Geoffroy gives a number of instances of two or more digits, of two whole legs, of two kidneys, and of several teeth becoming symmetrically fused together in a more or less perfect manner. Even the two eyes have been known to unite into a single eye, forming a cyclopean monster, as have the two ears, though naturally standing so far apart. As Geoffroy remarks, these facts illustrate in an admirable manner the normal fusion of various organs which during an early embryonic period are double, but which afterwards always unite into a single median organ. Organs of this nature are generally found in a permanently double condition in other members of the same class. These cases of normal fusion appear to me to afford the strongest support in favour of the present law. Adjoining parts which are not homologous sometimes cohere; but this cohesion appears to result from mere juxtaposition, and not from mutual affinity. In the vegetable kingdom Moquin-Tandon[847] gives a long list of cases, showing how frequently homologous parts, such as leaves, petals, stamens, and pistils, as well as aggregates of homologous parts, such as buds, flowers, and fruit, become blended into each other with perfect symmetry. It is interesting to examine a compound flower of this nature, formed of exactly double the proper number of sepals, petals, stamens, and pistils, with each whorl of organs circular, and with no trace left of the {342} process of fusion. The tendency in homologous parts to unite during their early development, Moquin-Tandon considers as one of the most striking laws governing the production of monsters. It apparently explains a multitude of cases, both in the animal and vegetable kingdoms; it throws a clear light on many normal structures which have evidently been formed by the union of originally distinct parts, and it possesses, as we shall see in a future chapter, much theoretical interest. * * * * * _On the Variability of Multiple and Homologous Parts._--Isidore Geoffroy[848] insists that, when any part or organ is repeated many times in the same animal, it is particularly liable to vary both in number and structure. With respect to number, the proposition may, I think, be considered as fully established; but the evidence is chiefly derived from organic beings living under their natural conditions, with which we are not here concerned. When the vertebræ, or teeth, or rays in the fins of fishes, or feathers in the tails of birds, or petals, stamens, pistils, and seeds in plants, are very numerous, the number is generally variable. The explanation of this simple fact is by no means obvious. With respect to the variability in structure of multiple parts, the evidence is not so decisive; but the fact, as far as it may be trusted, probably depends on multiple parts being of less physiological importance than single parts; consequently their perfect standard of structure has been less rigorously enforced by natural selection. * * * * * _Compensation of Growth, or Balancement._--This law, as applied to natural species, was propounded by Goethe and Geoffroy St. Hilaire at nearly the same time. It implies that, when much organised matter is used in building up some one part, other parts are starved and become reduced. Several authors, especially botanists, believe in this law; others reject it. As far as I can judge, it occasionally holds good; but its importance has probably been exaggerated. It is scarcely possible to distinguish between the supposed effects of such compensation of growth, and the effects of long-continued selection, which {343} may at the same time lead to the augmentation of one part and the diminution of another. There can be no doubt that an organ may be greatly increased without any corresponding diminution in the adjoining parts. To recur to our former illustration of the Irish elk, it may be asked what part has suffered in consequence of the immense development of the horns? It has already been observed that the struggle for existence does not bear hard on our domesticated productions; consequently the principle of economy of growth will seldom affect them, and we ought not to expect to find frequent evidence of compensation. We have, however, some such cases. Moquin-Tandon describes a monstrous bean,[849] in which the stipules were enormously developed, and the leaflets apparently in consequence completely aborted; this case is interesting, as it represents the natural condition of _Lathyrus aphaca_, with its stipules of great size, and its leaves reduced to mere threads, which act as tendrils. De Candolle[850] has remarked that the varieties of _Raphanus sativus_ which have small roots yield numerous seed, valuable from containing oil, whilst those with large roots are not productive in this latter respect; and so it is with _Brassica asperifolia_. The varieties of the potato which produce tubers very early in the season rarely bear flowers; but Andrew Knight,[851] by checking the growth of the tubers, forced the plants to flower. The varieties of _Cucurbita pepo_ which produce large fruit yield, according to Naudin, few in number; whilst those producing small fruit yield a vast number. Lastly, I have endeavoured to show in the eighteenth chapter that with many cultivated plants unnatural treatment checks the full and proper action of the reproductive organs, and they are thus rendered more or less sterile; consequently, in the way of compensation, the fruit becomes greatly enlarged, and, in double flowers, the petals are greatly increased in number. With animals, it has been found difficult to produce cows which should first yield much milk, and afterwards be capable of {344} fattening well. With fowls which have large topknots and beards the comb and wattles are generally much reduced in size. Perhaps the entire absence of the oil-gland in fantail pigeons may be connected with the great development of their tails. * * * * * _Mechanical Pressure as a Cause of Modifications._--In some few cases there is reason to believe that mere mechanical pressure has affected certain structures. Every one knows that savages alter the shape of their infants' skulls by pressure at an early age; but there is no reason to believe that the result is ever inherited. Nevertheless Vrolik and Weber[852] maintain that the shape of the human head is influenced by the shape of the mother's pelvis. The kidneys in different birds differ much in form, and St. Ange[853] believes that this is determined by the form of the pelvis, which again, no doubt, stands in close relation with their various habits of locomotion. In snakes, the viscera are curiously displaced, in comparison with their position in other vertebrates; and this has been attributed by some authors to the elongation of their bodies; but here, as in so many previous cases, it is impossible to disentangle any direct result of this kind from that consequent on natural selection. Godron has argued[854] that the normal abortion of the spur on the inner side of the flower in Corydalis, is caused by the buds being closely pressed at a very early period of growth, whilst under ground, against each other and against the stem. Some botanists believe that the singular difference in the shape both of the seed and corolla, in the interior and exterior florets in certain compositous and umbelliferous plants, is due to the pressure to which the inner florets are subjected; but this conclusion is doubtful. The facts just given do not relate to domesticated productions, and therefore do not strictly concern us. But here is a more appropriate case: H. Müller[855] has shown that in {345} short-faced races of the dog some of the molar teeth are placed in a slightly different position from that which they occupy in other dogs, especially in those having elongated muzzles; and as he remarks, any inherited change in the arrangement of the teeth deserves notice, considering their classificatory importance. This difference in position is due to the shortening of certain facial bones, and the consequent want of space; and the shortening results from a peculiar and abnormal state of the basal cartilages of the bones. _Relative Position of Flowers with respect to the Axis, and of Seeds in the Capsule, as inducing Variation._ In the thirteenth chapter various peloric flowers were described, and their production was shown to be due either to arrested development, or to reversion to a primordial condition. Moquin-Tandon has remarked that the flowers which stand on the summit of the main stem or of a lateral branch are more liable to become peloric than those on the sides;[856] and he adduces, amongst other instances, that of _Teucrium campanulatum_. In another Labiate plant grown by me, viz. the _Galeobdolon luteum_, the peloric flowers were always produced on the summit of the stem, where flowers are not usually borne. In Pelargonium, a _single_ flower in the truss is frequently peloric, and when this occurs I have during several years invariably observed it to be the central flower. This is of such frequent occurrence that one observer[857] gives the names of ten varieties flowering at the same time, in every one of which the central flower was peloric. Occasionally more than one flower in the truss is peloric, and then of course the additional ones must be lateral. These flowers are interesting as showing how the whole structure is correlated. In the common Pelargonium the upper sepal is produced into a nectary which coheres with the flower-peduncle; the two upper petals differ a little in shape from the three lower ones, and are marked with dark shades of colour; the stamens are graduated in length and upturned. In the peloric flowers, the nectary aborts; all the petals become alike both in shape and colour; the stamens are generally reduced in number and become straight, so that the whole flower resembles that of the allied genus Erodium. The correlation between these changes is well shown when one of the two upper petals alone loses its dark mark, for in this case the nectary does not entirely abort, but is usually much reduced in length.[858] {346} Morren has described[859] a marvellous flask-shaped flower of the Calceolaria, nearly four inches in length, which was almost completely peloric; it grew on the summit of the plant, with a normal flower on each side; Prof. Westwood also has described[860] three similar peloric flowers, which all occupied a central position on the flower-branches. In the Orchideous genus, Phalænopsis, the terminal flower has been seen to become peloric. In a Laburnum-tree I observed that about a fourth part of the racemes produced terminal flowers which had lost their papilionaceous structure. These were produced after almost all the other flowers on the same racemes had withered. The most perfectly pelorised examples had six petals, each marked with black striæ like those on the standard-petal. The keel seemed to resist the change more than the other petals. Dutrochet has described[861] an exactly similar case in France, and I believe these are the only two instances of pelorism in the laburnum which have been recorded. Dutrochet remarks that the racemes on this tree do not properly produce a terminal flower, so that, as in the case of the Galeobdolon, their position as well as their structure are both anomalies, which no doubt are in some manner related. Dr. Masters has briefly described another leguminous plant,[862] namely, a species of clover, in which the uppermost and central flowers were regular or had lost their papilionaceous structure. In some of these plants the flower-heads were also proliferous. Lastly, Linaria produces two kinds of peloric flowers, one having simple petals, and the other having them all spurred. The two forms, as Naudin remarks,[863] not rarely occur on the same plant, but in this case the spurred form almost invariably stands on the summit of the spike. The tendency in the terminal or central flower to become peloric more frequently than other flowers, probably results from "the bud which stands on the end of a shoot receiving the most sap; it grows out into a stronger shoot than those situated lower down."[864] I have discussed the connection between pelorism and a central position, partly because some few plants are known normally to produce a terminal flower different in structure from the lateral ones; but chiefly on account of the following case, in which we see a tendency to variability or to reversion connected with the same position. A great judge of Auriculas[865] states that when an Auricula throws up a side bloom it is pretty sure to keep its character; but that if it grows from the centre or heart of the plant, whatever the colour of the edging ought to be, "it is just as likely to come in any other class as in the one to which it properly belongs." This is so notorious a {347} fact, that some florists regularly pinch off the central trusses of flowers. Whether in the highly improved varieties the departure of the central trusses from their proper type is due to reversion, I do not know. Mr. Dombrain insists that, whatever may be the commonest kind of imperfection in each variety, this is generally exaggerated in the central truss. Thus one variety "sometimes has the fault of producing a little green floret in the centre of the flower," and in central blooms these become excessive in size. In some central blooms, sent to me by Mr. Dombrain, all the organs of the flower were rudimentary in structure, of minute size, and of a green colour, so that by a little further change all would have been converted into small leaves. In this case we clearly see a tendency to prolification--a term which, I may explain to those who have never attended to botany, means the production of a branch or flower, or head of flowers, out of another flower. Now Dr. Masters[866] states that the central or uppermost flower on a plant is generally the most liable to prolification. Thus, in the varieties of the Auricula, the loss of their proper character and a tendency to prolification, and in other plants a tendency to prolification and pelorism, are all connected together, and are due either to arrested development, or to reversion to a former condition. The following is a more interesting case; Metzger[867] cultivated in Germany several kinds of maize brought from the hotter parts of America, and he found, as has been previously described, that in two or three generations the grains became greatly changed in form, size, and colour; and with respect to two races he expressly states that in the first generation, whilst the lower grains on each head retained their proper character, the uppermost grains already began to assume that character which in the third generation all the grains acquired. As we do not know the aboriginal parent of the maize, we cannot tell whether these changes are in any way connected with reversion. In the two following cases, reversion, as influenced by the position of the seed in the capsule, evidently acts. The Blue Imperial pea is the offspring of the Blue Prussian, and has larger seed and broader pods than its parent. Now Mr. Masters, of Canterbury, a careful observer and a raiser of new varieties of the pea, states[868] that the Blue Imperial always has a strong tendency to revert to its parent-stock, and the reversion "occurs in this manner: the last (or uppermost) pea in the pod is frequently much smaller than the rest; and if these small peas are carefully collected and sown separately, very many more, in proportion, will revert to their origin, than those taken from the other parts of the pod." Again M. Chaté[869] says that in raising seedling stocks he succeeds in getting eighty per cent. to bear double flowers, by leaving only a few of the secondary branches to seed; but in addition to this, "at the time of extracting the seeds, the upper portion of the pod is separated and {348} placed aside, because it has been ascertained that the plants coming from the seeds situated in this portion of the pod, give eighty per cent. of single flowers." Now the production of single-flowering plants from the seed of double-flowering plants is clearly a case of reversion. These latter facts, as well as the connection between a central position and pelorism and prolification, show in an interesting manner how small a difference--namely a little greater freedom in the flow of sap towards one part of the same plant--determines important changes of structure. * * * * * _Analogous or Parallel Variation._--By this term I wish to express that similar characters occasionally make their appearance in the several varieties or races descended from the same species, and more rarely in the offspring of widely distinct species. We are here concerned, not as hitherto with the causes of variation, but with the results; but this discussion could not have been more conveniently introduced elsewhere. The cases of analogous variation, as far as their origin is concerned, may be grouped, disregarding minor subdivisions, under two main heads; firstly, those due to unknown causes having acted on organic beings with nearly the same constitution, and which consequently vary in an analogous manner; and secondly, those due to the reappearance of characters which were possessed by a more or less remote progenitor. But these two main divisions can often be only conjecturally separated, and graduate, as we shall presently see, into each other. Under the first head of analogous variations, not due to reversion, we have the many cases of trees belonging to quite different orders which have produced pendulous and fastigate varieties. The beech, hazel, and barberry have given rise to purple-leaved varieties; and as Bernhardi has remarked,[870] a multitude of plants, as distinct as possible, have yielded varieties with deeply-cut or laciniated leaves. Varieties descended from three distinct species of Brassica have their stems, or so-called roots, enlarged into globular masses. The nectarine is the offspring of the peach; and the varieties of both these trees offer a remarkable parallelism in the fruit being white, red, or yellow fleshed--in being clingstones or freestones--in the flowers being large or small--in the leaves being serrated or crenated, furnished with globose or reniform glands, or quite destitute of glands. It should be remarked that each variety of the nectarine has not derived its character from a corresponding variety of the peach. The several varieties also of a closely allied genus, namely the apricot, differ from each other in nearly the same parallel manner. There is no reason {349} to believe that in any of these cases long-lost characters have reappeared, and in most of them this certainly has not occurred. Three species of Cucurbita have yielded a multitude of races, which correspond so closely in character that, as Naudin insists, they may be arranged in an almost strictly parallel series. Several varieties of the melon are interesting from resembling in important characters other species, either of the same genus or of allied genera; thus, one variety has fruit so like, both externally and internally, the fruit of a perfectly distinct species, namely, the cucumber, as hardly to be distinguished from it; another has long cylindrical fruit twisting about like a serpent; in another the seeds adhere to portions of the pulp; in another the fruit, when ripe, suddenly cracks and falls into pieces; and all these highly remarkable peculiarities are characteristic of species belonging to allied genera. We can hardly account for the appearance of so many unusual characters by reversion to a single ancient form; but we must believe that all the members of the family have inherited a nearly similar constitution from an early progenitor. Our cereal and many other plants offer similar cases. With animals we have fewer cases of analogous variation, independently of direct reversion. We see something of the kind in the resemblance between the short-muzzled races of the dog, such as the pug and bulldog; in feather-footed races of the fowl, pigeon, and canary-bird; in horses of the most different races presenting the same range of colour; in all black-and-tan dogs having tan-coloured eye-spots and feet, but in this latter case reversion may possibly have played a part. Low has remarked[871] that several breeds of cattle are "sheeted,"--that is, have a broad band of white passing round their bodies like a sheet; this character is strongly inherited and sometimes originates from a cross; it may be the first step in reversion to an original or early type, for, as was shown in the third chapter, white cattle with dark ears, feet, and tip of tail formerly existed, and now exist in a feral or semi-feral condition in several quarters of the world. Under our second main division, namely, of analogous variations due to reversion, the best cases are afforded by animals, and by none better than by pigeons. In all the most distinct breeds sub-varieties occasionally appear coloured exactly like the parent rock-pigeon, with black wing-bars, white loins, banded tail, &c.; and no one can doubt that these characters are simply due to reversion. So with minor details; turbits properly have white tails, but occasionally a bird is born with a dark-coloured and banded tail; pouters properly have white primary wing-feathers, but not rarely a "sword-flighted" bird, that is, one with the few first primaries dark-coloured, appears; and in these cases we have characters proper to the rock-pigeon, but new to the breed, evidently appearing from reversion. In some domestic varieties the wing-bars, instead of being simply black, as in the rock-pigeon, are beautifully edged with different zones of colour, and they then present a striking analogy with the wing-bars in certain natural species of the same family, such as _Phaps chalcoptera_; and this may probably be accounted for by {350} all the forms descended from the same remote progenitor having a tendency to vary in the same manner. Thus also we can perhaps understand the fact of some Laugher-pigeons cooing almost like turtle-doves, and of several races having peculiarities in their flight, for certain natural species (viz. _C. torquatrix_ and _palumbus_) display singular vagaries in this respect. In other cases a race, instead of imitating in character a distinct species, resembles some other race; thus certain runts tremble and slightly elevate their tails, like fantails; and turbits inflate the upper part of their oesophagus, like pouter-pigeons. It is a common circumstance to find certain coloured marks persistently characterising all the species of a genus, but differing much in tint; and the same thing occurs with the varieties of the pigeon: thus, instead of the general plumage being blue with the wing-bars black, there are snow-white varieties with red bars, and black varieties with white bars; in other varieties the wing-bars, as we have seen, are elegantly zoned with different tints. The Spot pigeon is characterised by the whole plumage being white, excepting the tail and a spot on the forehead; but these parts may be red, yellow, or black. In the rock-pigeon and in many varieties the tail is blue, with the outer edges of the outer feathers white; but in one sub-variety of the monk-pigeon we have a reversed variation, for the tail is white, except the outer edges of the outer feathers, which are black.[872] With some species of birds, for instance with gulls, certain coloured parts appear as if almost washed out, and I have observed exactly the same appearance in the terminal dark tail-bar in certain pigeons, and in the whole plumage of certain varieties of the duck. Analogous facts in the vegetable kingdom could be given. Many sub-varieties of the pigeon have reversed and somewhat lengthened feathers on the back part of their heads, and this is certainly not due to reversion to the parent-species, which shows no trace of such structure; but when we remember that sub-varieties of the fowl, turkey, canary-bird, duck, and goose, all have topknots or reversed feathers on their heads; and when we remember that scarcely a single large natural group of birds can be named, in which some members have not a tuft of feathers on their heads, we may suspect that reversion to some extremely remote form has come into action. Several breeds of the fowl have either spangled or pencilled feathers; and these cannot be derived from the parent-species, the _Gallus bankiva_; though of course it is possible that an early progenitor of this species may have been spangled, and a still earlier or a later progenitor may have been pencilled. But as many gallinaceous birds are spangled or pencilled, it is a more probable view that the several domestic breeds of the fowl have acquired this kind of plumage from all the members of the family inheriting a tendency to vary in a like manner. The same principle may account for the ewes in certain breeds of sheep being hornless, like the females of some other hollow-horned ruminants; it may account for certain domestic cats having slightly-tufted ears, like those of the lynx; and for the skulls of domestic rabbits often differing from each {351} other in the same characters by which the skulls of the various species of the genus Lepus differ. I will only allude to one other case, already discussed. Now that we know that the wild parent of the ass has striped legs, we may feel confident that the occasional appearance of stripes on the legs of the domestic ass is due to direct reversion; but this will not account for the lower end of the shoulder-stripe being sometimes angularly bent or slightly forked. So, again, when we see dun and other coloured horses with stripes on the spine, shoulders, and legs, we are led, from reasons formerly given, to believe that they reappear from direct reversion to the wild parent-horse. But when horses have two or three shoulder-stripes with one of them occasionally forked at the lower end, or when they have stripes on their faces, or as foals are faintly striped over nearly their whole bodies, with the stripes angularly bent one under the other on the forehead, or irregularly branched in other parts, it would be rash to attribute such diversified characters to the reappearance of those proper to the aboriginal wild horse. As three African species of the genus are much striped, and as we have seen that the crossing of the unstriped species often leads to the hybrid offspring being conspicuously striped--bearing also in mind that the act of crossing certainly causes the reappearance of long-lost characters--it is a more probable view that the above-specified stripes are due to reversion, not to the immediate wild parent-horse, but to the striped progenitor of the whole genus. I have discussed this subject of analogous variation at considerable length, because, in a future work on natural species, it will be shown that the varieties of one species frequently mock distinct species--a fact in perfect harmony with the foregoing cases, and explicable only on the theory of descent. Secondly, because these facts are important from showing, as remarked in a former chapter, that each trifling variation is governed by law, and is determined in a much higher degree by the nature of the organisation, than by the nature of the conditions to which the varying being has been exposed. Thirdly, because these facts are to a certain extent related to a more general law, namely, that which Mr. B. D. Walsh[873] has called the "Law of _Equable Variability_," or, as he explains it, "if any given character is very variable in one species of a group, it will tend to be variable in allied species; and if any given character is perfectly constant in one species of a group, it will tend to be constant in allied species." This leads me to recall a discussion in the chapter on Selection, in which it was shown that with domestic races, which are {352} now undergoing rapid improvement, those parts or characters which are the most valued vary the most. This naturally follows from recently selected characters continually tending to revert to their former less improved standard, and from their being still acted on by the same agencies, whatever these may be, which first caused the characters in question to vary. The same principle is applicable to natural species, for, as stated in my 'Origin of Species,' generic characters are less variable than specific characters; and the latter are those which have been modified by variation and natural selection, since the period when all the species belonging to the same genus branched off from a common progenitor, whilst generic characters are those which have remained unaltered from a much more remote epoch, and accordingly are now less variable. This statement makes a near approach to Mr. Walsh's law of Equable Variability. Secondary sexual characters, it may be added, rarely serve to characterise distinct genera, for they usually differ much in the species of the same genus, and are highly variable in the individuals of the same species; we have also seen in the earlier chapters of this work how variable secondary sexual characters become under domestication. _Summary of the three previous Chapters, on the Laws of Variation._ In the twenty-third chapter we have seen that changed conditions occasionally act in a definite manner on the organisation, so that all, or nearly all, the individuals thus exposed become modified in the same manner. But a far more frequent result of changed conditions, whether acting directly on the organisation or indirectly through the reproductive system being affected is indefinite and fluctuating variability. In the three latter chapters we have endeavoured to trace some of the laws by which such variability is regulated. Increased use adds the size of a muscle, together with the blood-vessels, nerves, ligaments, the crests of bone to which these are attached, the whole bone and other connected bones. So it is with various glands. Increased functional activity strengthens the sense-organs. Increased and intermittent pressure thickens the epidermis; and a change in the nature of the food sometimes modifies the coats of the stomach, and increases or {353} decreases the length of the intestines. Continued disuse, on the other hand, weakens and diminishes all parts of the organisation. Animals which during many generations have taken but little exercise, have their lungs reduced in size, and as a consequence the bony fabric of the chest, and the whole form of the body, become modified. With our anciently domesticated birds, the wings have been little used, and they are slightly reduced; with their decrease, the crest of the sternum, the scapulæ, coracoids, and furcula, have all been reduced. With domesticated animals, the reduction of a part from disuse is never carried so far that a mere rudiment is left, but we have good reason to believe that this has often occurred under nature. The cause of this difference probably is that with domestic animals not only sufficient time has not been granted for so profound a change, but that, from not being exposed to a severe struggle for life, the principle of the economy of organisation does not come into action. On the contrary, we sometimes see that structures which are rudimentary in the parent-species become partially redeveloped in their domesticated progeny. When rudiments are formed or left under domestication, they are the result of a sudden arrest of development, and not of long-continued disuse with the absorption of all superfluous parts; nevertheless they are of interest, as showing that rudiments are the relics of organs once perfectly developed. Corporeal, periodical, and mental habits, though the latter have been almost passed over in this work, become changed under domestication, and the changes are often inherited. Such changed habits in any organic being, especially when living a free life, would often lead to the augmented or diminished use of various organs, and consequently to their modification. From long-continued habit, and more especially from the occasional birth of individuals with a slightly different constitution, domestic animals and cultivated plants become to a certain extent acclimatised, or adapted to a climate different from that proper to the parent-species. Through the principle of correlated variability, when one part varies other parts vary,--either simultaneously, or one after the other. Thus an organ modified during an early embryonic period affects other parts subsequently developed. When an {354} organ, such as the beak, increases or decreases in length, adjoining or correlated parts, as the tongue and the orifice of the nostrils, tend to vary in the same manner. When the whole body increases or decreases in size, various parts become modified; thus with pigeons the ribs increase or decrease in number and breadth. Homologous parts, which are identical during their early development and are exposed to similar conditions, tend to vary in the same or in some connected manner,--as in the case of the right and left sides of the body, of the front and hind limbs, and even of the head and limbs. So it is with the organs of sight and hearing; for instance, white cats with blue eyes are almost always deaf. There is a manifest relation throughout the body between the skin and its various appendages of hair, feathers, hoofs, horns, and teeth. In Paraguay, horses with curly hair have hoofs like those of a mule; the wool and the horns of sheep vary together; hairless dogs are deficient in their teeth; men with redundant hair have abnormal teeth, either deficient or in excess. Birds with long wing-feathers usually have long tail-feathers. When long feathers grow from the outside of the legs and toes of pigeons, the two outer toes are connected by membrane; for the whole leg tends to assume the structure of the wing. There is a manifest relation between a crest of feathers on the head and a marvellous amount of change in the skull of various fowls; and in a lesser degree, between the greatly elongated, lopping ears of rabbits and the structure of their skulls. With plants, the leaves, various parts of the flower, and the fruit, often vary together in a correlated manner. In some cases we find correlation without being able even to conjecture what is the nature of the connexion, as with various correlated monstrosities and diseases. This is likewise the case with the colour of the adult pigeon, in connexion with the presence of down on the young bird. Numerous curious instances have been given of peculiarities of constitution, in correlation with colour, as shown by the immunity of individuals of some one colour from certain diseases, from the attacks of parasites, and from the action of certain vegetable poisons. Correlation is an important subject; for with species, and in a lesser degree with domestic races, we continually find that {355} certain parts have been greatly modified to serve some useful purpose; but we almost invariably find that other parts have likewise been more or less modified, without our being able to discover any advantage in the change. No doubt great caution is necessary in coming to this conclusion, for it is difficult to overrate our ignorance on the use of various parts of the organisation; but from what we have now seen, we may believe that many modifications are of no direct service, having arisen in correlation with other and useful changes. Homologous parts during their early development evince an affinity for each other,--that is, they tend to cohere and fuse together much more readily than other parts. This tendency to fusion explains a multitude of normal structures. Multiple and homologous organs are especially liable to vary in number and probably in form. As the supply of organised matter is not unlimited, the principle of compensation sometimes comes into action; so that, when one part is greatly developed, adjoining parts or functions are apt to be reduced; but this principle is probably of much less importance than the more general one of the economy of growth. Through mere mechanical pressure hard parts occasionally affect soft adjoining parts. With plants the position of the flowers on the axis, and of the seeds in the capsule, sometimes leads, through a freer flow of sap, to changes of structure; but these changes are often due to reversion. Modifications, in whatever manner caused, will be to a certain extent regulated by that co-ordinating power or _nisus formativus_, which is in fact a remnant of one of the forms of reproduction, displayed by many lowly organised beings in their power of fissiparous generation and budding. Finally, the effects of the laws, which directly or indirectly govern variability, may be largely influenced by man's selection, and will so far be determined by natural selection that changes advantageous to any race will be favoured and disadvantageous changes checked. Domestic races descended from the same species, or from two or more allied species, are liable to revert to characters derived from their common progenitor, and, as they have much in common in their constitutions, they are also liable under changed conditions to vary in the same manner; from these {356} two causes analogous varieties often arise. When we reflect on the several foregoing laws, imperfectly as we understand them, and when we bear in mind how much remains to be discovered, we need not be surprised at the extremely intricate manner in which our domestic productions have varied, and still go on varying. * * * * * {357} CHAPTER XXVII. PROVISIONAL HYPOTHESIS OF PANGENESIS. PRELIMINARY REMARKS.--FIRST PART:--THE FACTS TO BE CONNECTED UNDER A SINGLE POINT OF VIEW, NAMELY, THE VARIOUS KINDS OF REPRODUCTION--THE DIRECT ACTION OF THE MALE ELEMENT ON THE FEMALE--DEVELOPMENT--THE FUNCTIONAL INDEPENDENCE OF THE ELEMENTS OR UNITS OF THE BODY--VARIABILITY--INHERITANCE--REVERSION. SECOND PART:--STATEMENT OF THE HYPOTHESIS--HOW FAR THE NECESSARY ASSUMPTIONS ARE IMPROBABLE--EXPLANATION BY AID OF THE HYPOTHESIS OF THE SEVERAL CLASSES OF FACTS SPECIFIED IN THE FIRST PART--CONCLUSION. In the previous chapters large classes of facts, such as those bearing on bud-variation, the various forms of inheritance, the causes and laws of variation, have been discussed; and it is obvious that these subjects, as well as the several modes of reproduction, stand in some sort of relation to each other. I have been led, or rather forced, to form a view which to a certain extent connects these facts by a tangible method. Every one would wish to explain to himself, even in an imperfect manner, how it is possible for a character possessed by some remote ancestor suddenly to reappear in the offspring; how the effects of increased or decreased use of a limb can be transmitted to the child; how the male sexual element can act not solely on the ovule, but occasionally on the mother-form; how a limb can be reproduced on the exact line of amputation, with neither too much nor too little added; how the various modes of reproduction are connected, and so forth. I am aware that my view is merely a provisional hypothesis or speculation; but until a better one be advanced, it may be serviceable by bringing together a multitude of facts which are at present left disconnected by any efficient cause. As Whewell, the historian of the inductive sciences, remarks:--"Hypotheses may often be of service to science, when they involve a certain portion of incompleteness, and even of error." Under this point of view I venture to advance the hypothesis of Pangenesis, which {358} implies that the whole organisation, in the sense of every separate atom or unit, reproduces itself. Hence ovules and pollen-grains,--the fertilised seed or egg, as well as buds,--include and consist of a multitude of germs thrown off from each separate atom of the organism. In the First Part I will enumerate as briefly as I can the groups of facts which seem to demand connection; but certain subjects, not hitherto discussed, must be treated at disproportionate length. In the Second Part the hypothesis will be given; and we shall see, after considering how far the necessary assumptions are in themselves improbable, whether it serves to bring under a single point of view the various facts. PART I. Reproduction may be divided into two main classes, namely, sexual and asexual. The latter is effected in many ways--by gemmation, that is by the formation of buds of various kinds, and by fissiparous generation, that is by spontaneous or artificial division. It is notorious that some of the lower animals, when cut into many pieces, reproduce so many perfect individuals: Lyonnet cut a Nais or freshwater worm into nearly forty pieces, and these all reproduced perfect animals.[874] It is probable that segmentation could be carried much further in some of the protozoa, and with some of the lowest plants each cell will reproduce the parent-form. Johannes Müller thought that there was an important distinction between gemmation and fission; for in the latter case the divided portion, however small, is more perfectly organised; but most physiologists are now convinced that the two processes are essentially alike.[875] Prof. Huxley remarks, "fission is little more than a peculiar {359} mode of budding," and Prof. H. J. Clark, who has especially attended to this subject, shows in detail that there is sometimes "a compromise between self-division and budding." When a limb is amputated, or when the whole body is bisected, the cut extremities are said to bud forth; and as the papilla, which is first formed, consists of undeveloped cellular tissue like that forming an ordinary bud, the expression is apparently correct. We see the connection of the two processes in another way; for Trembley observed that with the hydra the reproduction of the head after amputation was checked as soon as the animal began to bud.[876] Between the production, by fissiparous generation, of two or more complete individuals, and the repair of even a very slight injury, we have, as remarked in a former chapter, so perfect and insensible a gradation, that it is impossible to doubt that they are connected processes. Between the power which repairs a trifling injury in any part, and the power which previously "was occupied in its maintenance by the continued mutation of its particles," there cannot be any great difference; and we may follow Mr. Paget in believing them to be the selfsame power. As at each stage of growth an amputated part is replaced by one in the same state of development, we must likewise follow Mr. Paget in admitting "that the powers of development from the embryo are identical with those exercised for the restoration from injuries: in other words, that the powers are the same by which perfection is first achieved, and by which, when lost, it is recovered."[877] Finally, we may conclude that the several forms of gemmation, and of fissiparous generation, the repair of injuries, the maintenance of each part in its proper state, and the growth or progressive development of the whole structure of the embryo, are all essentially the results of one and the same great power. _Sexual Generation._--The union of the two sexual elements seems to make a broad distinction between sexual and asexual reproduction. But the well-ascertained cases of Parthenogenesis prove that the distinction is not really so great as it at first appears; for ovules occasionally, and even in some cases {360} frequently, become developed into perfect beings, without the concourse of the male element. J. Müller and others admit that ovules and buds have the same essential nature. Certain bodies, which during their early development cannot be distinguished by any external character from true ovules, nevertheless must be classed as buds, for though formed within the ovarium they are incapable of fertilisation. This is the case with the germ-balls of the Cecidomyide larvæ, as described by Leuckart.[878] Ovules and the male element, before they become united, have, like buds, an independent existence.[879] Both have the power of transmitting every single character possessed by the parent-form. We see this clearly when hybrids are paired _inter se_, for the characters of either grandparent often reappear, either perfectly or by segments, in the progeny. It is an error to suppose that the male transmits certain characters and the female other characters; though no doubt, from unknown causes, one sex sometimes has a stronger power of transmission than the other. It has been maintained by some authors that a bud differs essentially from a fertilised germ, by always reproducing the perfect character of the parent-stock; whilst fertilised germs become developed into beings which differ, in a greater or less degree, from each other and from their parents. But there is no such broad distinction as this. In the eleventh chapter, numerous cases were given showing that buds occasionally grow into plants having new and strongly marked characters; and varieties thus produced can be propagated for a length of time by buds, and occasionally by seed. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that beings produced sexually are much more liable to vary than those produced asexually; and of this fact a partial explanation will hereafter be attempted. The variability in both cases is determined by the same general causes, and is governed by the same laws. Hence new varieties arising from buds cannot be distinguished from those arising from seed. Although bud-varieties usually retain their character during {361} successive bud-generations, yet they occasionally revert, even after a long series of bud-generations, to their former character. This tendency to reversion in buds is one of the most remarkable of the several points of agreement between the offspring from bud and seminal reproduction. There is, however, one difference between beings produced sexually and asexually, which is very general. The former usually pass in the course of their development from a lower to a higher grade, as we see in the metamorphoses of insects and in the concealed metamorphoses of the vertebrata; but this passage from a lower to a higher grade cannot be considered as a necessary accompaniment of sexual reproduction, for hardly anything of the kind occurs in the development of Aphis amongst insects, or with certain crustaceans, cephalopods, or with any of the higher vascular plants. Animals propagated asexually by buds or fission are on the other hand never known to undergo a retrogressive metamorphosis; that is, they do not first sink to a lower, before passing on to their higher and final stage of development. But during the act of asexual production or subsequently to it, they often advance in organisation, as we see in the many cases of "alternate generation." In thus speaking of alternate generation, I follow those naturalists who look at the process as essentially one of internal budding or of fissiparous generation. Some of the lower plants, however, such as mosses and certain algæ, according to Dr. L. Radlkofer,[880] when propagated asexually, do undergo a retrogressive metamorphosis. We can to a certain extent understand, as far as the final cause is concerned, why beings propagated by buds should so rarely retrogress during development; for with each organism the structure acquired at each stage of development must be adapted to its peculiar habits. Now, with beings produced by gemmation,--and this, differently from sexual reproduction, may occur at any period of growth,--if there were places for the support of many individuals at some one stage of development, the simplest plan would be that they should be multiplied by gemmation at that stage, and not that they should first retrograde in their development to an earlier or simpler structure, which might not be fitted for the surrounding conditions. {362} From the several foregoing considerations we may conclude that the difference between sexual and asexual generation is not nearly so great as it at first appears; and we have already seen that there is the closest agreement between gemmation, fissiparous generation, the repair of injuries, and ordinary growth or development. The capacity of fertilisation by the male element seems to be the chief distinction between an ovule and a bud; and this capacity is not invariably brought into action, as in the cases of parthenogenetic reproduction. We are here naturally led to inquire what the final cause can be of the necessity in ordinary generation for the concourse of the two sexual elements. Seeds and ova are often highly serviceable as the means of disseminating plants and animals, and of preserving them during one or more seasons in a dormant state; but unimpregnated seeds or ova, and detached buds, would be equally serviceable for both purposes. We can, however, indicate two important advantages gained by the concourse of the two sexes, or rather of two individuals belonging to opposite sexes; for, as I have shown in a former chapter, the structure of every organism appears to be especially adapted for the concurrence, at least occasionally, of two individuals. In nearly the same manner as it is admitted by naturalists that hybridism, from inducing sterility, is of service in keeping the forms of life distinct and fitted for their proper places; so, when species are rendered highly variable by changed conditions of life, the free intercrossing of the varying individuals will tend to keep each form fitted for its proper place in nature; and crossing can be effected only by sexual generation, but whether the end thus gained is of sufficient importance to account for the first origin of sexual intercourse is very doubtful. Secondly, I have shown, from the consideration of a large body of facts, that, as a slight change in the conditions of life is beneficial to each creature, so, in an analogous manner, is the change effected in the germ by sexual union with a distinct individual; and I have been led, from observing the many widely-extended provisions throughout nature for this purpose, and from the greater vigour of crossed organisms of all kinds, as proved by direct experiments, as well as from the evil effects of close interbreeding when long {363} continued, to believe that the advantage thus gained is very great. Besides these two important ends, there may, of course, be others, as yet unknown to us, gained by the concourse of the two sexes. Why the germ, which before impregnation undergoes a certain amount of development, ceases to progress and perishes, unless it be acted on by the male element; and why conversely the male element, which is enabled to keep alive for even four or five years within the spermatheca of a female insect, likewise perishes, unless it acts on or unites with the germ, are questions which cannot be answered with any certainty. It is, however, possible that both sexual elements perish, unless brought into union, simply from including too little formative matter for independent existence and development; for certainly they do not in ordinary cases differ in their power of giving character to the embryo. This view of the importance of the quantity of formative matter seems probable from the following considerations. There is no reason to suspect that the spermatozoa or pollen-grains of the same individual animal or plant differ from each other; yet Quatrefages has shown in the case of the Teredo,[881] as did formerly Prevost and Dumas with other animals, that more than one spermatozoon is requisite to fertilise an ovule. This has likewise been clearly proved by Newport,[882] who adds the important fact, established by numerous experiments, that, when a very small number of spermatozoa are applied to the ova of Batrachians, they are only partially impregnated and the embryo is never fully developed: the first step, however, towards development, namely, the partial segmentation of the yelk, does occur to a greater or less extent, but is never completed up to granulation. The rate of the segmentation is likewise determined by the number of the spermatozoa. With respect to plants, nearly the same results were obtained by Kölreuter and Gärtner. This last careful observer found,[883] after making successive trials on a Malva with more and more pollen-grains, that even thirty grains did not fertilise a single seed; but when forty grains were applied to the {364} stigma, a few seeds of small size were formed. The pollen-grains of Mirabilis are extraordinarily large, and the ovarium contains only a single ovule; and these circumstances led Naudin[884] to make the following interesting experiments: a flower was fertilised by three grains and succeeded perfectly; twelve flowers were fertilised by two grains, and seventeen flowers by a single grain, and of these one flower alone in each lot perfected its seed; and it deserves especial notice that the plants produced by these two seeds never attained their proper dimensions, and bore flowers of remarkably small size. From these facts we clearly see that the quantity of the peculiar formative matter which is contained within the spermatozoa and pollen-grains is an all-important element in the act of fertilisation, not only in the full development of the seed, but in the vigour of the plant produced from such seed. We see something of the same kind in certain cases of parthenogenesis, that is, when the male element is wholly excluded; for M. Jourdan[885] found that, out of about 58,000 eggs laid by unimpregnated silk-moths, many passed through their early embryonic stages, showing that they were capable of self-development, but only twenty-nine out of the whole number produced caterpillars. Therefore it is not an improbable view that deficient bulk or quantity in the formative matter, contained within the sexual elements, is the main cause of their not having the capacity of prolonged separate existence and development. The belief that it is the function of the spermatozoa to communicate life to the ovule seems a strange one, seeing that the unimpregnated ovule is already alive and continues for a considerable time alive. We shall hereafter see that it is probable that the sexual elements, or possibly only the female element, include certain primordial cells, that is, such as have undergone no differentiation, and which are not present in an active state in buds. _Graft-hybrids._--When discussing in the eleventh chapter the curious case of the _Cytisus adami_, facts were given which render it to a certain degree probable, in accordance with the belief of some distinguished botanists, that, when the tissues of two plants {365} belonging to distinct species or varieties are intimately united, buds are afterwards occasionally produced which, like hybrids, combine the characters of the two united forms. It is certain that when trees with variegated leaves are grafted or budded on a common stock, the latter sometimes produces buds bearing variegated leaves; but this may perhaps be looked at as a case of inoculated disease. Should it ever be proved that hybridised buds can be formed by the union of two distinct vegetative tissues, the essential identity of sexual and asexual reproduction would be shown in the most interesting manner; for the power of combining in the offspring the characters of both parents, is the most striking of all the functions of sexual generation. _Direct Action of the Male Element on the Female._--In the chapter just referred to, I have given abundant proofs that foreign pollen occasionally affects the mother-plant in a direct manner. Thus, when Gallesio fertilised an orange-flower with pollen from the lemon, the fruit bore stripes of perfectly characterised lemon-peel: with peas, several observers have seen the colour of the seed-coats and even of the pod directly affected by the pollen of a distinct variety; so it has been with the fruit of the apple, which consists of the modified calyx and upper part of the flower-stalk. These parts in ordinary cases are wholly formed by the mother-plant. We here see the male element affecting and hybridising not that part which it is properly adapted to affect, namely the ovule, but the partially developed tissues of a distinct individual. We are thus brought half-way towards a graft-hybrid, in which the cellular tissue of one form, instead of its pollen, is believed to hybridise the tissues of a distinct form. I formerly assigned reasons for rejecting the belief that the mother-plant is affected through the intervention of the hybridised embryo; but even if this view were admitted, the case would become one of graft-hybridism, for the fertilised embryo and the mother-plant must be looked at as distinct individuals. With animals which do not breed until nearly mature, and of which all the parts are then fully developed, it is hardly possible that the male element should directly affect the female. But we have the analogous and perfectly well-ascertained case of the male element of a distinct form, as with the {366} quagga and Lord Morton's mare, affecting the ovarium of the female, so that the ovules and offspring subsequently produced by her when impregnated by other males are plainly affected and hybridised by the first male. _Development._--The fertilised germ reaches maturity by a vast number of changes: these are either slight and slowly effected, as when the child grows into the man, or are great and sudden, as with the metamorphoses of most insects. Between these extremes we have, even within the same class, every gradation: thus, as Sir J. Lubbock has shown,[886] there is an Ephemerous insect which moults above twenty times, undergoing each time a slight but decided change of structure; and these changes, as he further remarks, probably reveal to us the normal stages of development which are concealed and hurried through, or suppressed, in most other insects. In ordinary metamorphoses, the parts and organs appear to become changed into the corresponding parts in the next stage of development; but there is another form of development, which has been called by Professor Owen metagenesis. In this case "the new parts are not moulded upon the inner surface of the old ones. The plastic force has changed its course of operation. The outer case, and all that gave form and character to the precedent individual, perish and are cast off; they are not changed into the corresponding parts of the new individual. These are due to a new and distinct developmental process," &c.[887] Metamorphosis, however, graduates so insensibly into metagenesis, that the two processes cannot be distinctly separated. For instance, in the last change which Cirripedes undergo, the alimentary canal and some other organs are moulded on pre-existing parts; but the eyes of the old and the young animal are developed in entirely different parts of the body; the tips of the mature limbs are formed within the larval limbs, and may be said to be metamorphosed from them; but their basal portions and the whole thorax are developed in a plane actually at right angles to the limbs and thorax of the larva; and this {367} may be called metagenesis. The metagenetic process is carried to an extreme degree in the development of some Echinoderms, for the animal in the second stage of development is formed almost like a bud within the animal of the first stage, the latter being then cast off like an old vestment, yet sometimes still maintaining for a short period an independent vitality.[888] If, instead of a single individual, several were to be thus developed metagenetically within a pre-existing form, the process would be called one of alternate generation. The young thus developed may either closely resemble the encasing parent-form, as with the larvæ of Cecidomyia, or may differ to an astonishing degree, as with many parasitic worms and with jelly-fishes; but this does not make any essential difference in the process, any more than the greatness or abruptness of the change in the metamorphoses of insects. The whole question of development is of great importance for our present subject. When an organ, the eye for instance, is metagenetically formed in a part of the body where during the previous stage of development no eye existed, we must look at it as a new and independent growth. The absolute independence of new and old structures, which correspond in structure and function, is still more obvious when several individuals are formed within a previous encasing form, as in the cases of alternate generation. The same important principle probably comes largely into play even in the case of continuous growth, as we shall see when we consider the inheritance of modifications at corresponding ages. We are led to the same conclusion, namely, the independence of parts successively developed, by another and quite distinct group of facts. It is well known that many animals belonging to the same class, and therefore not differing widely from each other, pass through an extremely different course of development. Thus certain beetles, not in any way remarkably different from others of the same order, undergo what has been called a hyper-metamorphosis--that is, they pass through an early stage wholly different from the ordinary grub-like larva. In the same sub-order of crabs, namely, the Macroura, as Fritz {368} Müller remarks, the river cray-fish is hatched under the same form which it ever afterwards retains; the young lobster has divided legs, like a Mysis; the Palæmon appears under the form of a Zoea, and Peneus under the Nauplius-form; and how wonderfully these larval forms differ from each other, is known to every naturalist.[889] Some other crustaceans, as the same author observes, start from the same point and arrive at nearly the same end, but in the middle of their development are widely different from each other. Still more striking cases could be given with respect to the Echinodermata. With the Medusæ or jelly-fishes Professor Allman observes, "the classification of the Hydroida would be a comparatively simple task if, as has been erroneously asserted, generically-identical medusoids always arose from generically-identical polypoids; and on the other hand, that generically-identical polypoids always gave origin to generically-identical medusoids." So, again, Dr. Strethill Wright remarks, "in the life-history of the Hydroidæ any phase, planuloid, polypoid, or medusoid, may be absent."[890] According to the belief now generally accepted by our best naturalists, all the members of the same order or class, the Macrourous crustaceans for instance, are descended from a common progenitor. During their descent they have diverged much in structure, but have retained much in common; and this divergence and retention of character has been effected, though they have passed and still pass through marvellously different metamorphoses. This fact well illustrates how independent each structure must be from that which precedes and follows it in the course of development. _The Functional Independence of the Elements or Units of the Body._--Physiologists agree that the whole organism consists of a multitude of elemental parts, which are to a great extent independent of each other. Each organ, says Claude Bernard,[891] {369} has its proper life, its autonomy; it can develop and reproduce itself independently of the adjoining tissues. The great German authority, Virchow,[892] asserts still more emphatically that each system, as the nervous or osseous system, or the blood, consists of an "enormous mass of minute centres of action.... Every element has its own special action, and even though it derive its stimulus to activity from other parts, yet alone effects the actual performance of its duties.... Every single epithelial and muscular fibre-cell leads a sort of parasitical existence in relation to the rest of the body.... Every single bone-corpuscle really possesses conditions of nutrition peculiar to itself." Each element, as Mr. Paget remarks, lives its appointed time, and then dies, and, after being cast off or absorbed, is replaced.[893] I presume that no physiologist doubts that, for instance, each bone-corpuscle of the finger differs from the corresponding corpuscle in the corresponding joint of the toe; and there can hardly be a doubt that even those on the corresponding sides of the body differ, though almost identical in nature. This near approach to identity is curiously shown in many diseases in which the same exact points on the right and left sides of the body are similarly affected; thus Mr. Paget[894] gives a drawing of a diseased pelvis, in which the bone has grown into a most complicated pattern, but "there is not one spot or line on one side which is not represented, as exactly as it would be in a mirror, on the other." Many facts support this view of the independent life of each minute element of the body. Virchow insists that a single bone-corpuscle or a single cell in the skin may become diseased. The spur of a cock, after being inserted into the eye of an ox, lived for eight years, and acquired a weight of 306 grammes, or nearly fourteen ounces.[895] The tail of a pig has been grafted into the middle of its back, and reacquired sensibility. Dr. Ollier[896] inserted a piece of periosteum from the bone of a young dog under the skin of a rabbit, and true bone was developed. A multitude of similar facts could be given. The {370} frequent presence of hairs and of perfectly developed teeth, even teeth of the second dentition, in ovarian tumours,[897] are facts leading to the same conclusion. Whether each of the innumerable autonomous elements of the body is a cell or the modified product of a cell, is a more doubtful question, even if so wide a definition be given to the term, as to include cell-like bodies without walls and without nuclei.[898] Professor Lionel Beale uses the term "germinal matter" for the contents of cells, taken in this wide acceptation, and he draws a broad distinction between germinal matter and "formed material" or the various products of cells.[899] But the doctrine of _omnis cellula e cellulâ_ is admitted for plants, and is a widely prevalent belief with respect to animals.[900] Thus Virchow, the great supporter of the cellular theory, whilst allowing that difficulties exist, maintains that every atom of tissue is derived from cells, and these from pre-existing cells, and these primarily from the egg, which he regards as a great cell. That cells, still retaining the same nature, increase by self-division or proliferation, is admitted by almost every one. But when an organism undergoes a great change of structure during development, the cells, which at each stage are supposed to be directly derived from previously-existing cells, must likewise be greatly changed in nature; this change is apparently attributed by the supporters of the cellular doctrine to some inherent power which the cells possess, and not to any external agency. Another school maintains that cells and tissues of all kinds may be formed, independently of pre-existing cells, from plastic lymph or blastema; and this it is thought is well exhibited in the repair of wounds. As I have not especially attended to histology, it would be presumptuous in me to express an opinion on the two opposed doctrines. But every one appears to admit that the body consists of a multitude of "organic units,"[901] {371} each of which possesses its own proper attributes, and is to a certain extent independent of all others. Hence it will be convenient to use indifferently the terms cells or organic units or simply units. _Variability and Inheritance._--We have seen in the twenty-second chapter that variability is not a principle co-ordinate with life or reproduction, but results from special causes, generally from changed conditions acting during successive generations. Part of the fluctuating variability thus induced is apparently due to the sexual system being easily affected by changed conditions, so that it is often rendered impotent; and when not so seriously affected, it often fails in its proper function of transmitting truly the characters of the parents to the offspring. But variability is not necessarily connected with the sexual system, as we see from the cases of bud-variation; and although we may not be able to trace the nature of the connexion, it is probable that many deviations of structure which appear in sexual offspring result from changed conditions acting directly on the organisation, independently of the reproductive organs. In some instances we may feel sure of this, when all, or nearly all the individuals which have been similarly exposed are similarly and definitely affected--as in the dwarfed and otherwise changed maize brought from hot countries when cultivated in Germany; in the change of the fleece in sheep within the tropics; to a certain extent in the increased size and early maturity of our highly-improved domesticated animals; in inherited gout from intemperance; and in many other such cases. Now, as such changed conditions do not especially affect the reproductive organs, it seems mysterious on any ordinary view why their product, the new organic being, should be similarly affected. How, again, can we explain to ourselves the inherited effects of the use or disuse of particular organs? The domesticated duck flies less and walks more than the wild duck, and its limb-bones have become in a corresponding manner diminished and increased in comparison with those of the wild duck. A horse is trained to certain paces, and the colt inherits similar consensual movements. The domesticated rabbit becomes tame from close confinement; the dog intelligent from associating with man; the retriever is taught to fetch and carry: and these {372} mental endowments and bodily powers are all inherited. Nothing in the whole circuit of physiology is more wonderful. How can the use or disuse of a particular limb or of the brain affect a small aggregate of reproductive cells, seated in a distant part of the body, in such a manner that the being developed from these cells inherits the characters of either one or both parents? Even an imperfect answer to this question would be satisfactory. Sexual reproduction does not essentially differ, as we have seen, from budding or self-division, and these processes graduate through the repair of injuries into ordinary development and growth; it might therefore be expected that every character would be as regularly transmitted by all the methods of reproduction as by continued growth. In the chapters devoted to inheritance it was shown that a multitude of newly-acquired characters, whether injurious or beneficial, whether of the lowest or highest vital importance, are often faithfully transmitted--frequently even when one parent alone possesses some new peculiarity. It deserves especial attention that characters appearing at any age tend to reappear at a corresponding age. We may on the whole conclude that in all cases inheritance is the rule, and non-inheritance the anomaly. In some instances a character is not inherited, from the conditions of life being directly opposed to its development; in many instances, from the conditions incessantly inducing fresh variability, as with grafted fruit-trees and highly cultivated flowers. In the remaining cases the failure may be attributed to reversion, by which the child resembles its grandparents or more remote progenitors, instead of its parents. This principle of Reversion is the most wonderful of all the attributes of Inheritance. It proves to us that the transmission of a character and its development, which ordinarily go together and thus escape discrimination, are distinct powers; and these powers in some cases are even antagonistic, for each acts alternately in successive generations. Reversion is not a rare event, depending on some unusual or favourable combination of circumstances, but occurs so regularly with crossed animals and plants, and so frequently with uncrossed breeds, that it is evidently an essential part of the principle of inheritance. We know that {373} changed conditions have the power of evoking long-lost characters, as in the case of some feral animals. The act of crossing in itself possesses this power in a high degree. What can be more wonderful than that characters, which have disappeared during scores, or hundreds, or even thousands of generations, should suddenly reappear perfectly developed, as in the case of pigeons and fowls when purely bred, and especially when crossed; or as with the zebrine stripes on dun-coloured horses, and other such cases? Many monstrosities come under this same head, as when rudimentary organs are redeveloped, or when an organ which we must believe was possessed by an early progenitor, but of which not even a rudiment is left, suddenly reappears, as with the fifth stamen in some Scrophulariaceæ. We have already seen that reversion acts in bud-reproduction; and we know that it occasionally acts during the growth of the same individual animal, especially, but not exclusively, when of crossed parentage,--as in the rare cases described of individual fowls, pigeons, cattle, and rabbits, which have reverted as they advanced in years to the colours of one of their parents or ancestors. We are led to believe, as formerly explained, that every character which occasionally reappears is present in a latent form in each generation, in nearly the same manner as in male and female animals secondary characters of the opposite sex lie latent, ready to be evolved when the reproductive organs are injured. This comparison of the secondary sexual characters which are latent in both sexes, with other latent characters, is the more appropriate from the case recorded of the Hen, which assumed some of the masculine characters, not of her own race, but of an early progenitor; she thus exhibited at the same time the redevelopment of latent characters of both kinds and connected both classes. In every living creature we may feel assured that a host of lost characters lie ready to be evolved under proper conditions. How can we make intelligible, and connect with other facts, this wonderful and common capacity of reversion,--this power of calling back to life long-lost characters? {374} PART II. I have now enumerated the chief facts which every one would desire to connect by some intelligible bond. This can be done, as it seems to me, if we make the following assumptions; if the first and chief one be not rejected, the others, from being supported by various physiological considerations, will not appear very improbable. It is almost universally admitted that cells, or the units of the body, propagate themselves by self-division or proliferation, retaining the same nature, and ultimately becoming converted into the various tissues and substances of the body. But besides this means of increase I assume that cells, before their conversion into completely passive or "formed material," throw off minute granules or atoms, which circulate freely throughout the system, and when supplied with proper nutriment multiply by self-division, subsequently becoming developed into cells like those from which they were derived. These granules for the sake of distinctness may be called cell-gemmules, or, as the cellular theory is not fully established, simply gemmules. They are supposed to be transmitted from the parents to the offspring, and are generally developed in the generation which immediately succeeds, but are often transmitted in a dormant state during many generations and are then developed. Their development is supposed to depend on their union with other partially developed cells or gemmules which precede them in the regular course of growth. Why I use the term union, will be seen when we discuss the direct action of pollen on the tissues of the mother-plant. Gemmules are supposed to be thrown off by every cell or unit, not only during the adult state, but during all the stages of development. Lastly, I assume that the gemmules in their dormant state have a mutual affinity for each other, leading to their aggregation either into buds or into the sexual elements. Hence, speaking strictly, it is not the reproductive elements, nor the buds, which generate new organisms, but the cells themselves throughout the body. These assumptions constitute the provisional hypothesis which I have called Pangenesis. Nearly {375} similar views have been propounded, as I find, by other authors, more especially by Mr. Herbert Spencer;[902] but they are here modified and amplified. {376} Before proceeding to show, firstly, how far these assumptions are in themselves probable, and secondly, how far they connect and explain the various groups of facts with which we are concerned, it may be useful to give an illustration of the hypothesis. If one of the simplest Protozoa be formed, as appears under the microscope, of a small mass of homogeneous gelatinous matter, a minute atom thrown off from any part and nourished under favourable circumstances would naturally reproduce the whole; but if the upper and lower surfaces were to differ in texture from the central portion, then all three parts would have to throw off atoms or gemmules, which when aggregated by mutual affinity would form either buds or the sexual elements. Precisely the same view may be extended to one of the higher animals; although in this case many thousand gemmules must be thrown off from the various parts of the body. Now, when the leg, for instance, of a salamander is cut off, a slight crust forms over the wound, and beneath this crust the uninjured cells or units of bone, muscle, nerves, &c., are supposed to unite with the diffused gemmules of those cells which in the perfect leg come next in order; and these as they become slightly developed unite with others, and so on until a papilla of soft cellular tissue, the "budding leg," is formed, and in time a perfect leg.[903] Thus, that portion of the leg which had {377} been cut off, neither more nor less, would be reproduced. If the tail or leg of a young animal had been cut off, a young tail or leg would have been reproduced, as actually occurs with the amputated tail of the tadpole; for gemmules of all the units which compose the tail are diffused throughout the body at all ages. But during the adult state the gemmules of the larval tail would remain dormant, for they would not meet with pre-existing cells in a proper state of development with which to unite. If from changed conditions or any other cause any part of the body should become permanently modified, the gemmules, which are merely minute portions of the contents of the cells forming the part, would naturally reproduce the same modification. But gemmules previously derived from the same part before it had undergone any change, would still be diffused throughout the organisation, and would be transmitted from generation to generation, so that under favourable circumstances they might be redeveloped, and then the new modification would be for a time or for ever lost. The aggregation of gemmules derived from every part of the body, through their mutual affinity, would form buds, and their aggregation in some special manner, apparently in small quantity, together probably with the presence of gemmules of certain primordial cells, would constitute the sexual elements. By means of these illustrations the hypothesis of pangenesis has, I hope, been rendered intelligible. * * * * * Physiologists maintain, as we have seen, that each cell, though to a large extent dependent on others, is likewise, to a certain extent, independent or autonomous. I go one small step further, and assume that each cell casts off a free gemmule, which is capable of reproducing a similar cell. There is some analogy between this view and what we see in compound animals and in the flower-buds on the same tree; for these are distinct individuals capable of true or seminal reproduction, yet have parts in common and are dependent on each other; thus {378} the tree has its bark and trunk, and certain corals, as the Virgularia, have not only parts, but movements in common. The existence of free gemmules is a gratuitous assumption, yet can hardly be considered as very improbable, seeing that cells have the power of multiplication through the self-division of their contents. Gemmules differ from true ovules or buds inasmuch as they are supposed to be capable of multiplication in their undeveloped state. No one probably will object to this capacity as improbable. The blastema within the egg has been known to divide and give birth to two embryos; and Thuret[904] has seen the zoospore of an alga divide itself, and both halves germinate. An atom of small-pox matter, so minute as to be borne by the wind, must multiply itself many thousand-fold in a person thus inoculated.[905] It has recently been ascertained[906] that a minute portion of the mucous discharge from an animal affected with rinderpest, if placed in the blood of a healthy ox, increases so fast that in a short space of time "the whole mass of blood, weighing many pounds, is infected, and every small particle of that blood contains enough poison to give, within less than forty-eight hours, the disease to another animal." The retention of free and undeveloped gemmules in the same body from early youth to old age may appear improbable, but we should remember how long seeds lie dormant in the earth and buds in the bark of a tree. Their transmission from generation to generation may appear still more improbable; but here again we should remember that many rudimentary and useless organs are transmitted and have been transmitted during an indefinite number of generations. We shall presently see how well the long-continued transmission of undeveloped gemmules explains many facts. As each unit, or group of similar units throughout the body, casts off its gemmules, and as all are contained within the smallest egg or seed, and within each spermatozoon or pollen-grain, their number and minuteness must be something {379} inconceivable. I shall hereafter recur to this objection, which at first appears so formidable; but it may here be remarked that a cod-fish has been found to produce 4,872,000 eggs, a single Ascaris about 64,000,000 eggs, and a single Orchidaceous plant probably as many million seeds.[907] In these several cases, the spermatozoa and pollen-grains must exist in considerably larger numbers. Now, when we have to deal with numbers such as these, which the human intellect cannot grasp, there is no good reason for rejecting our present hypothesis on account of the assumed existence of cell-gemmules a few thousand times more numerous. The gemmules in each organism must be thoroughly diffused; nor does this seem improbable considering their minuteness, and the steady circulation of fluids throughout the body. So it must be with the gemmules of plants, for with certain kinds even a minute fragment of a leaf will reproduce the whole. But a difficulty here occurs; it would appear that with plants, and probably with compound animals, such as corals, the gemmules do not spread from bud to bud, but only through the tissues developed from each separate bud. We are led to this conclusion from the stock being rarely affected by the insertion of a bud or graft from a distinct variety. This non-diffusion of the gemmules is still more plainly shown in the case of ferns; for Mr. Bridgman[908] has proved that, when spores (which it should be remembered are of the nature of buds) are taken from a monstrous part of a frond, and others from an ordinary part, {380} each reproduces the form of the part whence derived. But this non-diffusion of the gemmules from bud to bud may be only apparent, depending, as we shall hereafter see, on the nature of the first-formed cells in the buds. The assumed elective affinity of each gemmule for that particular cell which precedes it in the order of development is supported by many analogies. In all ordinary cases of sexual reproduction the male and female elements have a mutual affinity for each other: thus, it is believed that about ten thousand species of Compositæ exist, and there can be no doubt that if the pollen of all these species could be, simultaneously or successively, placed on the stigma of any one species, this one would elect with unerring certainty its own pollen. This elective capacity is all the more wonderful, as it must have been acquired since the many species of this great group of plants branched off from a common progenitor. On any view of the nature of sexual reproduction, the protoplasm contained within the ovules and within the sperm-cells (or the "spermatic force" of the latter, if so vague a term be preferred) must act on each other by some law of special affinity, either during or subsequently to impregnation, so that corresponding parts alone affect each other; thus, a calf produced from a short-horned cow by a long-horned bull has its horns and not its horny hoofs affected by the union of the two forms, and the offspring from two birds with differently coloured tails have their tails and not their whole plumage affected. The various tissues of the body plainly show, as many physiologists have insisted,[909] an affinity for special organic substances, whether natural or foreign to the body. We see this in the cells of the kidneys attracting urea from the blood; in the worrara poison affecting the nerves; upas and digitalis the muscles; the Lytta vesicatoria the kidneys; and in the poisonous matter of many diseases, as small-pox, scarlet-fever, hooping-cough, glanders, cancer, and hydrophobia, affecting certain definite parts of the body or certain tissues or glands. The affinity of various parts of the body for each other during {381} their early development was shown in the last chapter, when discussing the tendency to fusion in homologous parts. This affinity displays itself in the normal fusion of organs which are separate at an early embryonic age, and still more plainly in those marvellous cases of double monsters in which each bone, muscle, vessel, and nerve in the one embryo, blends with the corresponding part in the other. The affinity between homologous organs may come into action with single parts, or with the entire individual, as in the case of flowers or fruits which are symmetrically blended together with all their parts doubled, but without any other trace of fusion. It has also been assumed that the development of each gemmule depends on its union with another cell or unit which has just commenced its development, and which, from preceding it in order of growth, is of a somewhat different nature. Nor is it a very improbable assumption that the development of a gemmule is determined by its union with a cell slightly different in nature, for abundant evidence was given in the seventeenth chapter, showing that a slight degree of differentiation in the male and female sexual elements favours in a marked manner their union and subsequent development. But what determines the development of the gemmules of the first-formed or primordial cell in the unimpregnated ovule, is beyond conjecture. It must also be admitted that analogy fails to guide us towards any determination on several other points: for instance, whether cells, derived from the same parent-cell, may, in the regular course of growth, become developed into different structures, from absorbing peculiar kinds of nutriment, independently of their union with distinct gemmules. We shall appreciate this difficulty if we call to mind, what complex yet symmetrical growths the cells of plants yield when they are inoculated by the poison of a gall-insect. With animals various polypoid excrescences and tumours are now generally admitted[910] to be the direct product, through proliferation, of normal cells which have become abnormal. In the regular growth and repair of bones, the tissues undergo, as Virchow remarks,[911] a whole series of permutations and substitutions. "The cartilage-cells may be {382} converted by a direct transformation into marrow-cells, and continue as such; or they may first be converted into osseous and then into medullary tissue; or lastly, they may first be converted into marrow and then into bone. So variable are the permutations of these tissues, in themselves so nearly allied, and yet in their external appearance so completely distinct." But as these tissues thus change their nature at any age, without any obvious change in their nutrition, we must suppose in accordance with our hypothesis that gemmules derived from one kind of tissue combine with the cells of another kind, and cause the successive modifications. It is useless to speculate at what period of development each organic unit casts off its gemmules; for the whole subject of the development of the various elemental tissues is as yet involved in much doubt. Some physiologists, for instance, maintain that muscle or nerve-fibres are developed from cells, which are afterwards nourished by their own proper powers of absorption; whilst other physiologists deny their cellular origin; and Beale maintains that such fibres are renovated exclusively by the conversion of fresh germinal matter (that is the so-called nuclei) into "formed material." However this may be, it appears probable that all external agencies, such as changed nutrition, increased use or disuse, &c., which induced any permanent modification in a structure, would at the same time or previously act on the cells, nuclei, germinal or formative matter, from which the structures in question were developed, and consequently would act on the gemmules or cast-off atoms. There is another point on which it is useless to speculate, namely, whether all gemmules are free and separate, or whether some are from the first united into small aggregates. A feather, for instance, is a complex structure, and, as each separate part is liable to inherited variations, I conclude that each feather certainly generates a large number of gemmules; but it is possible that these may be aggregated into a compound gemmule. The same remark applies to the petals of a flower, which in some cases are highly complex, with each ridge and hollow contrived for special purposes, so that each part must have been separately modified, and the modifications transmitted; consequently, separate gemmules, according to our hypothesis, {383} must have been thrown off from each cell or part. But, as we sometimes see half an anther or a small portion of a filament becoming petaliform, or parts or mere stripes of the calyx assuming the colour and texture of the corolla, it is probable that with petals the gemmules of each cell are not aggregated together into a compound gemmule, but are freely and separately diffused. * * * * * Having now endeavoured to show that the several foregoing assumptions are to a certain extent supported by analogous facts, and having discussed some of the most doubtful points, we will consider how far the hypothesis brings under a single point of view the various cases enumerated in the First Part. All the forms of reproduction graduate into each other and agree in their product; for it is impossible to distinguish between organisms produced from buds, from self-division, or from fertilised germs; such organisms are liable to variations of the same nature and to reversion of character; and as we now see that all the forms of reproduction depend on the aggregation of gemmules derived from the whole body, we can understand this general agreement. It is satisfactory to find that sexual and asexual generation, by both of which widely different processes the same living creature is habitually produced, are fundamentally the same. Parthenogenesis is no longer wonderful; in fact, the wonder is that it should not oftener occur. We see that the reproductive organs do not actually create the sexual elements; they merely determine or permit the aggregation of the gemmules in a special manner. These organs, together with their accessory parts, have, however, high functions to perform; they give to both elements a special affinity for each other, independently of the contents of the male and female cells, as is shown in the case of plants by the mutual reaction of the stigma and pollen-grains; they adapt one or both elements for independent temporary existence, and for mutual union. The contrivances for these purposes are sometimes wonderfully complex, as with the spermatophores of the Cephalopoda. The male element sometimes possesses attributes which, if observed in an independent animal, would be put down to instinct guided by sense-organs, as when the {384} spermatozoon of an insect finds its way into the minute micropyle of the egg, or as when the antherozoids of certain algæ swim by the aid of their ciliæ to the female plant, and force themselves into a minute orifice. In these latter cases, however, we must believe that the male element has acquired its powers, on the same principle with the larvæ of animals, namely by successive modifications developed at corresponding periods of life: we can hardly avoid in these cases looking at the male element as a sort of premature larva, which unites, or, like one of the lower algæ, conjugates, with the female element. What determines the aggregation of the gemmules within the sexual organs we do not in the least know; nor do we know why buds are formed in certain definite places, leading to the symmetrical growth of trees and corals, nor why adventitious buds may be formed almost anywhere, even on a petal, and frequently upon healed wounds.[912] As soon as the gemmules have aggregated themselves, development apparently commences, but in the case of buds is often afterwards suspended, and in the case of the sexual elements soon ceases, unless the elements of the opposite sexes combine; even after this has occurred, the fertilised germ, as with seeds buried in the ground, may remain during a lengthened period in a dormant state. The antagonism which has long been observed,[913] though exceptions occur,[914] between active growth and the power of sexual reproduction--between the repair of injuries and gemmation--and with plants, between rapid increase by buds, rhizomes, &c., and the production of seed, is partly explained by the gemmules not existing in sufficient numbers for both processes. {385} But this explanation hardly applies to those plants which naturally produce a multitude of seeds, but which, through a comparatively small increase in the number of the buds on their rhizomes or offsets, yield few or no seed. As, however, we shall presently see that buds probably include tissue which has already been to a certain extent developed or differentiated, some additional organised matter will thus have been expended. From one of the forms of Reproduction, namely, spontaneous self-division, we are led by insensible steps to the repair of the slightest injury; and the existence of gemmules, derived from every cell or unit throughout the body and everywhere diffused, explains all such cases,--even the wonderful fact that, when the limbs of the salamander were cut off many times successively by Spallanzani and Bonnet, they were exactly and completely reproduced. I have heard this process compared with the recrystallisation which occurs when the angles of a broken crystal are repaired; and the two processes have this much in common, that in the one case the polarity of the molecules is the efficient cause, and in the other the affinity of the gemmules for particular nascent cells. Pangenesis does not throw much light on Hybridism, but agrees well with most of the ascertained facts. We may conclude from the fact of a single spermatozoon or pollen-grain being insufficient for impregnation, that a certain number of gemmules derived from each cell or unit are required for the development of each part. From the occurrence of parthenogenesis, more especially in the case of the silk-moth, in which the embryo is often partially formed, we may also infer that the female element includes nearly sufficient gemmules of all kinds for independent development, so that when united with the male element the gemmules must be superabundant. Now, as a general rule, when two species or races are crossed reciprocally, the offspring do not differ, and this shows that both sexual elements agree in power, in accordance with the view that they include the same gemmules. Hybrids and mongrels are generally intermediate in character between the two parent-forms, yet occasionally they closely resemble one parent in one part and the other parent in another part, or even in their whole structure: nor is this difficult to understand on {386} the admission that the gemmules in the fertilised germ are superabundant in number, and that those derived from one parent have some advantage in number, affinity, or vigour over those derived from the other parent. Crossed forms sometimes exhibit the colour or other characters of either parent in stripes or blotches; and this may occur in the first generation, or through reversion in succeeding bud and seminal generations, as in the several instances given in the eleventh chapter. In these cases we must follow Naudin,[915] and admit that the "essence" or "element" of the two species, which terms I should translate into the gemmules, have an affinity for their own kind, and thus separate themselves into distinct stripes or blotches; and reasons were given, when discussing in the fifteenth chapter the incompatibility of certain characters to unite, for believing in such mutual affinity. When two forms are crossed, one is not rarely found to be prepotent in the transmission of character over the other; and this we can explain only by again assuming that the one form has some advantage in the number, vigour, or affinity of its gemmules, except in those cases, where certain characters are present in the one form and latent in the other. For instance, there is a latent tendency in all pigeons to become blue, and, when a blue pigeon is crossed with one of any other colour, the blue tint is generally prepotent. When we consider latent characters, the explanation of this form of prepotency will be obvious. When one species is crossed with another it is notorious that they do not yield the full or proper number of offspring; and we can only say on this head that, as the development of each organism depends on such nicely-balanced affinities between a host of gemmules and developing cells or units, we need not feel at all surprised that the commixture of gemmules derived from two distinct species should lead to a partial or complete failure of development. With respect to the sterility of hybrids produced from the union of two distinct species, it was shown in the nineteenth chapter that this depends exclusively on the reproductive organs being specially affected; but why these organs should be thus affected we do not know, any more than {387} why unnatural conditions of life, though compatible with health, should cause sterility; or why continued close interbreeding, or the illegitimate unions of dimorphic and trimorphic plants, induce the same result. The conclusion that the reproductive organs alone are affected, and not the whole organisation, agrees perfectly with the unimpaired or even increased capacity in hybrid plants for propagation by buds; for this implies, according to our hypothesis, that the cells of the hybrids throw off hybridised cell-gemmules, which become aggregated into buds, but fail to become aggregated within the reproductive organs, so as to form the sexual elements. In a similar manner many plants, when placed under unnatural conditions, fail to produce seed, but can readily be propagated by buds. We shall presently see that pangenesis agrees well with the strong tendency to reversion exhibited by all crossed animals and plants. It was shown in the discussion on graft-hybrids that there is some reason to believe that portions of cellular tissue taken from distinct plants become so intimately united, as afterwards occasionally to produce crossed or hybridised buds. If this fact were fully established, it would, by the aid of our hypothesis, connect gemmation and sexual reproduction in the closest manner. Abundant evidence has been advanced proving that pollen taken from one species or variety and applied to the stigma of another sometimes directly affects the tissues of the mother-plant. It is probable that this occurs with many plants during fertilisation, but can only be detected when distinct forms are crossed. On any ordinary theory of reproduction this is a most anomalous circumstance, for the pollen-grains are manifestly adapted to act on the ovule, but in these cases they act on the colour, texture, and form of the coats of the seeds, on the ovarium itself, which is a modified leaf, and even on the calyx and upper part of the flower-peduncle. In accordance with the hypothesis of pangenesis pollen includes gemmules, derived from every part of the organisation, which diffuse themselves and multiply by self-division; hence it is not surprising that gemmules within the pollen, which are derived from the parts near the reproductive organs, should sometimes be able to affect the same parts, whilst still undergoing development, in the mother-plant. {388} As, during all the stages of development, the tissues of plants consist of cells, and as new cells are not known to be formed between, or independently of, pre-existing cells, we must conclude that the gemmules derived from the foreign pollen do not become developed merely in contact with pre-existing cells, but actually penetrate the nascent cells of the mother-plant. This process may be compared with the ordinary act of fertilisation, during which the contents of the pollen-tubes penetrate the closed embryonic sack within the ovule, and determine the development of the embryo. According to this view, the cells of the mother-plant may almost literally be said to be fertilised by the gemmules derived from the foreign pollen. With all organisms, as we shall presently see, the cells or organic units of the embryo during the successive stages of development may in like manner be said to be fertilised by the gemmules of the cells, which come next in the order of formation. Animals, when capable of sexual reproduction, are fully developed, and it is scarcely possible that the male element should affect the tissues of the mother in the same direct manner as with plants; nevertheless it is certain that her ovaria are sometimes affected by a previous impregnation, so that the ovules subsequently fertilised by a distinct male are plainly influenced in character; and this, as in the case of foreign pollen, is intelligible through the diffusion, retention, and action of the gemmules included within the spermatozoa of the previous male. Each organism reaches maturity through a longer or shorter course of development. The changes may be small and insensibly slow, as when a child grows into a man, or many, abrupt, and slight, as in the metamorphoses of certain ephemerous insects, or again few and strongly marked, as with most other insects. Each part may be moulded within a previously existing and corresponding part, and in this case it will appear, falsely as I believe, to be formed from the old part; or it may be developed within a wholly distinct part of the body, as in the extreme cases of metagenesis. An eye, for instance, may be developed at a spot where no eye previously existed. We have also seen that allied organic beings in the course of their metamorphoses sometimes attain nearly the same structure after passing {389} through widely different forms; or conversely, after passing through nearly the same early forms, arrive at a widely different termination. In these cases it is very difficult to believe that the early cells or units possess the inherent power, independently of any external agent, of producing new structures wholly different in form, position, and function. But these cases become plain on the hypothesis of pangenesis. The organic units, during each stage of development, throw off gemmules, which, multiplying, are transmitted to the offspring. In the offspring, as soon as any particular cell or unit in the proper order of development becomes partially developed, it unites with (or to speak metaphorically is fertilised by) the gemmule of the next succeeding cell, and so onwards. Now, supposing that at any stage of development, certain cells or aggregates of cells had been slightly modified by the action of some disturbing cause, the cast-off gemmules or atoms of the cell-contents could hardly fail to be similarly affected, and consequently would reproduce the same modification. This process might be repeated until the structure of the part at this particular stage of development became greatly changed, but this would not necessarily affect other parts whether previously or subsequently developed. In this manner we can understand the remarkable independence of structure in the successive metamorphoses, and especially in the successive metageneses of many animals. The term growth ought strictly to be confined to mere increase of size, and development to change of structure.[916] Now, a child is said to grow into a man, and a foal into a horse, but, as in these cases there is much change of structure, the process properly belongs to the order of development. We have indirect evidence of this in many variations and diseases supervening during so-called growth at a particular period, and being inherited at a corresponding period. In the case, however, of diseases which supervene during old age, subsequently to the ordinary period of procreation, and which nevertheless are sometimes inherited, as occurs with brain and heart complaints, we {390} must suppose that the organs were in fact affected at an earlier age and threw off at this period affected gemmules; but that the affection became visible or injurious only after the prolonged growth of the part in the strict sense of the word. In all the changes of structure which regularly supervene during old age, we see the effects of deteriorated growth, and not of true development. In the so-called process of _alternate generation_ many individuals are generated asexually during very early or later stages of development. These individuals may closely resemble the preceding larval form, but generally are wonderfully dissimilar. To understand this process we must suppose that at a certain stage of development the gemmules are multiplied at an unusual rate, and become aggregated by mutual affinity at many centres of attraction, or buds. These buds, it may be remarked, must include gemmules not only of all the succeeding but likewise of all the preceding stages of development; for when mature they have the power of transmitting by sexual generation gemmules of all the stages, however numerous these may be. It was shown in the First Part, at least in regard to animals, that the new beings which are thus at any period asexually generated do not retrograde in development--that is, they do not pass through those earlier stages, through which the fertilised germ of the same animal has to pass; and an explanation of this fact was attempted as far as the final or teleological cause is concerned. We can likewise understand the proximate cause, if we assume, and the assumption is far from improbable, that buds, like chopped-up fragments of a hydra, are formed of tissue which has already passed through several of the earlier stages of development; for in this case their component cells or units would not unite with the gemmules derived from the earlier-formed cells, but only with those which came next in the order of development. On the other hand, we must believe that, in the sexual elements, or probably in the female alone, gemmules of certain primordial cells are present; and these, as soon as their development commences, unite in due succession with the gemmules of every part of the body, from the first to the last period of life. The principle of the independent formation of each part, in {391} so far as its development depends on the union of the proper gemmules with certain nascent cells, together with the superabundance of the gemmules derived from both parents and self-multiplied, throws light on a widely different group of facts, which on any ordinary view of development appears very strange. I allude to organs which are abnormally multiplied or transposed. Thus gold-fish often have supernumerary fins placed on various parts of their bodies. We have seen that, when the tail of a lizard is broken off, a double tail is sometimes reproduced, and when the foot of the salamander is divided longitudinally, additional digits are occasionally formed. When frogs, toads, &c., are born with their limbs doubled, as sometimes occurs, the doubling, as Gervais remarks,[917] cannot be due to the complete fusion of two embryos, with the exception of the limbs, for the larvæ are limbless. The same argument is applicable[918] to certain insects produced with multiple legs or antennæ, for these are metamorphosed from apodal or antennæless larvæ. Alphonse Milne-Edwards[919] has described the curious case of a crustacean in which one eye-peduncle supported, instead of a complete eye, only an imperfect cornea, out of the centre of which a portion of an antenna was developed. A case has been recorded[920] of a man who had during both dentitions a double tooth in place of the left second incisor, and he inherited this peculiarity from his paternal grandfather. Several cases are known[921] of additional teeth having been developed in the palate, more especially with horses, and in the orbit of the eye. Certain breeds of sheep bear a whole crowd of horns on their foreheads. Hairs occasionally appear in strange situations, as within the ears of the Siamese hairy family; and hairs "quite natural in structure" have been observed "within the substance of the brain."[922] As many as five spurs have been seen on both legs in certain Game-fowls. In the Polish fowl the male is ornamented with a topknot of hackles {392} like those on his neck, whilst the female has one of common feathers. In feather-footed pigeons and fowls, feathers like those on the wing arise from the outer side of the legs and toes. Even the elemental parts of the same feather may be transposed; for in the Sebastopol goose, barbules are developed on the divided filaments of the shaft. Analogous cases are of such frequent occurrence with plants that they do not strike us with sufficient surprise. Supernumerary petals, stamens, and pistils, are often produced. I have seen a leaflet low down in the compound leaf of _Vicia sativa_ converted into a tendril, and a tendril possesses many peculiar properties, such as spontaneous movement and irritability. The calyx sometimes assumes, either wholly or by stripes, the colour and texture of the corolla. Stamens are so frequently converted, more or less completely, into petals, that such cases are passed over as not deserving notice; but as petals have special functions to perform, namely, to protect the included organs, to attract insects, and in not a few cases to guide their entrance by well-adapted contrivances, we can hardly account for the conversion of stamens into petals merely by unnatural or superfluous nourishment. Again, the edge of a petal may occasionally be found including one of the highest products of the plant, namely the pollen; for instance, I have seen in an Ophrys a pollen-mass with its curious structure of little packets, united together and to the caudicle by elastic threads, formed between the edges of an upper petal. The segments of the calyx of the common pea have been observed partially converted into carpels, including ovules, and with their tips converted into stigmas. Numerous analogous facts could be given.[923] I do not know how physiologists look at such facts as the foregoing. According to the doctrine of pangenesis, the free and superabundant gemmules of the transposed organs are developed in the wrong place, from uniting with wrong cells or aggregates of cells during their nascent state; and this would follow from a slight modification in the elective affinity of such cells, or possibly of certain gemmules. Nor ought we to feel much surprise at the affinities of cells and gemmules varying {393} under domestication, when we remember the many curious cases given, in the seventeenth chapter, of cultivated plants which absolutely refuse to be fertilised by their own pollen or by that of the same species, but are abundantly fertile with pollen of a distinct species; for this implies that their sexual elective affinities--and this is the term used by Gärtner--have been modified. As the cells of adjoining or homologous parts will have nearly the same nature, they will be liable to acquire by variation each other's elective affinities; and we can thus to a certain extent understand such cases as a crowd of horns on the heads in certain sheep, of several spurs on the leg, and of hackles on the head of the fowl, and with the pigeon the occurrence of wing-feathers on their legs and of membrane between their toes; for the leg is the homologue of the wing. As all the organs of plants are homologous and spring from a common axis, it is natural that they should be eminently liable to transposition. It ought to be observed that when any compound part, such as an additional limb or an antenna, springs from a false position, it is only necessary that the few first gemmules should be wrongly attached; for these whilst developing would attract others in due succession, as in the regrowth of an amputated limb. When parts which are homologous and similar in structure, as the vertebræ in snakes or the stamens in polyandrous flowers, &c., are repeated many times in the same organism, closely allied gemmules must be extremely numerous, as well as the points to which they ought to become united; and, in accordance with the foregoing views, we can to a certain extent understand Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire's law, namely, that parts, which are already multiple, are extremely liable to vary in number. The same general principles apply to the fusion of homologous parts; and with respect to mere cohesion there is probably always some degree of fusion, at least near the surface. When two embryos during their early development come into close contact, as both include corresponding gemmules, which must be in all respects almost identical in nature, it is not surprising that some derived from one embryo and some from the other should unite at the point of contact with a single nascent cell or aggregate of cells, and thus give rise to a single part or organ. For instance, two embryos might thus come to have on their {394} adjoining sides a single symmetrical arm, which in one sense will have been formed by the fusion of the bones, muscles, &c., belonging to the arms of both embryos. In the case of the fish described by Lereboullet, in which a double head was seen gradually to fuse into a single one, the same process must have taken place, together with the absorption of all the parts which had been already formed. These cases are exactly the reverse of those in which a part is doubled either spontaneously or after an injury; for in the case of doubling, the superabundant gemmules of the same part are separately developed in union with adjoining points; whilst in the case of fusion the gemmules derived from two homologous parts become mingled and form a single part; or it may be that the gemmules from one of two adjoining embryos alone become developed. * * * * * Variability often depends, as I have attempted to show, on the reproductive organs being injuriously affected by changed conditions; and in this case the gemmules derived from the various parts of the body are probably aggregated in an irregular manner, some superfluous and others deficient. Whether a superabundance of gemmules, together with fusion during development, would lead to the increased size of any part cannot be told; but we can see that their partial deficiency, without necessarily leading to the entire abortion of the part, might cause considerable modifications; for in the same manner as a plant, if its own pollen be excluded, is easily hybridised, so, in the case of a cell, if the properly succeeding gemmules were absent, it would probably combine easily with other and allied gemmules. We see this in the case of imperfect nails growing on the stumps of amputated fingers,[924] for the gemmules of the nails have manifestly been developed at the nearest point. In variations caused by the direct action of changed conditions, whether of a definite or indefinite nature, as with the fleeces of sheep in hot countries, with maize grown in cold countries, with inherited gout, &c., the tissues of the body, according to the doctrine of pangenesis, are directly affected by the new conditions, and consequently throw off modified gemmules, which are transmitted with their newly acquired peculiarities to the offspring. On any ordinary view it is unintelligible how changed {395} conditions, whether acting on the embryo, the young or adult animal, can cause inherited modifications. It is equally or even more unintelligible on any ordinary view, how the effects of the long-continued use or disuse of any part, or of changed habits of body or mind, can be inherited. A more perplexing problem can hardly be proposed; but on our view we have only to suppose that certain cells become at last not only functionally but structurally modified; and that these throw off similarly modified gemmules. This may occur at any period of development, and the modification will be inherited at a corresponding period; for the modified gemmules will unite in all ordinary cases with the proper preceding cells, and they will consequently be developed at the same period at which the modification first arose. With respect to mental habits or instincts, we are so profoundly ignorant on the relation between the brain and the power of thought that we do not know whether an inveterate habit or trick induces any change in the nervous system; but when any habit or other mental attribute, or insanity, is inherited, we must believe that some actual modification is transmitted;[925] and this implies, according to our hypothesis, that gemmules derived from modified nerve-cells are transmitted to the offspring. It is generally, perhaps always, necessary that an organism should be exposed during several generations to changed conditions or habits, in order that any modification in the structure of the offspring should ensue. This may be partly due to the changes not being at first marked enough to catch the attention, but this explanation is insufficient; and I can account for the fact, only by the assumption, which we shall see under the head of reversion is strongly supported, that gemmules derived from each cell before it had undergone the least modification are transmitted in large numbers to successive generations, but that the gemmules derived from the same cells after modification, naturally go on increasing under the same favouring conditions, until at last they become sufficiently numerous to overpower and supplant the old gemmules. Another difficulty may be here noticed; we have seen that {396} there is an important difference in the frequency, though not in the nature, of the variations in plants propagated by sexual and asexual generation. As far as variability depends on the imperfect action of the reproductive organs under changed conditions, we can at once see why seedlings should be far more variable than plants propagated by buds. We know that extremely slight causes,--for instance, whether a tree has been grafted or grows on its own stock, the position of the seeds within the capsule, and of the flowers on the spike,--sometimes suffice to determine the variation of a plant, when raised from seed. Now, it is probable, as explained when discussing alternate generation, that a bud is formed of a portion of already differentiated tissue; consequently an organism thus formed does not pass through the earlier phases of development, and cannot be so freely exposed, at the age when its structure would be most readily modified, to the various causes inducing variability; but it is very doubtful whether this is a sufficient explanation of the difficulty. With respect to the tendency to reversion, there is a similar difference between plants propagated from buds and seed. Many varieties, whether originally produced from seed or buds, can be securely propagated by buds, but generally or invariably revert by seed. So, also, hybridised plants can be multiplied to any extent by buds, but are continually liable to reversion by seed,--that is, to the loss of their hybrid or intermediate character. I can offer no satisfactory explanation of this fact. Here is a still more perplexing case: certain plants with variegated leaves, phloxes with striped flowers, barberries with seedless fruit, can all be securely propagated by the buds on cuttings; but the buds developed from the roots of these cuttings almost invariably lose their character and revert to their former condition. Finally, we can see on the hypothesis of pangenesis that variability depends on at least two distinct groups of causes. Firstly, on the deficiency, superabundance, fusion, and transposition of gemmules, and on the redevelopment of those which have long been dormant. In these cases the gemmules themselves have undergone no modification; but the mutations in the above respects will amply account for much fluctuating {397} variability. Secondly, in the cases in which the organisation has been modified by changed conditions, the increased use or disuse of parts, or any other cause, the gemmules cast off from the modified units of the body will be themselves modified, and, when sufficiently multiplied, will be developed into new and changed structures. * * * * * Turning now to Inheritance: if we suppose a homogeneous gelatinous protozoon to vary and assume a reddish colour, a minute separated atom we aid naturally, as it grew to full size, retain the same colour; and we should have the simplest form of inheritance.[926] Precisely the same view may be extended to the infinitely numerous and diversified units of which the whole body in one of the higher animals is composed; and the separated atoms are our gemmules. We have already sufficiently discussed the inheritance of the direct effects of changed conditions, and of increased use or disuse of parts, and, by implication, the important principle of inheritance at corresponding ages. These groups of facts are to a large extent intelligible on the hypothesis of pangenesis, and on no other hypothesis as yet advanced. A few words must be added on the complete abortion or suppression of organs. When a part becomes diminished by disuse prolonged during many generations, the principle of economy of growth, as previously explained, will tend to reduce it still further; but this will not account for the complete or almost complete obliteration of, for instance, a minute papilla of cellular tissue representing a pistil, or of a microscopically minute nodule of bone representing a tooth. In certain cases of suppression not yet completed, in which a rudiment occasionally reappears through reversion, diffused gemmules derived from this part must, according to our view, still exist; hence we must suppose that the cells, in union with which the rudiment was formerly developed, in these cases fail in their affinity for such gemmules. But in the cases of complete and final abortion the gemmules themselves no doubt have perished; nor is this {398} in any way improbable, for, though a vast number of active and long-dormant gemmules are diffused and nourished in each living creature, yet there must be some limit to their number; and it appears natural that gemmules derived from an enfeebled and useless rudiment would be more liable to perish than those derived from other parts which are still in full functional activity. With respect to mutilations, it is certain that a part may be removed or injured during many generations, and no inherited result follow; and this is an apparent objection to the hypothesis which will occur to every one. But, in the first place, a being can hardly be intentionally mutilated during its early stages of growth whilst in the womb or egg; and such mutilations, when naturally caused, would appear like congenital deficiencies, which are occasionally inherited. In the second place, according to our hypothesis, gemmules multiply by self-division and are transmitted from generation to generation; so that during a long period they would be present and ready to reproduce a part which was repeatedly amputated. Nevertheless it appears, from the facts given in the twelfth chapter, that in some rare cases mutilations have been inherited, but in most of these the mutilated surface became diseased. In this case it may be conjectured that the gemmules of the lost part were gradually all attracted by the partially diseased surface, and thus perished. Although this would occur in the injured individual alone, and therefore in only one parent, yet this might suffice for the inheritance of a mutilation, on the same principle that a hornless animal of either sex, when crossed with a perfect animal of the opposite sex, often transmits its deficiency. The last subject that need here be discussed, namely Reversion, rests on the principle that transmission and development, though generally acting in conjunction, are distinct powers; and the transmission of gemmules and their subsequent development show us how the existence of these two distinct powers is possible. We plainly see this distinction in the many cases in which a grandfather transmits to his grandson, through his daughter, characters which she does not, or cannot, possess. Why the development of certain characters, not necessarily in any way connected with the reproductive organs, should be confined to one sex alone--that is, why certain cells in one sex {399} should unite with and cause the development of certain gemmules--we do not in the least know; but it is the common attribute of most organic beings in which the sexes are separate. The distinction between transmission and development is likewise seen in all ordinary cases of Reversion; but before discussing this subject it may be advisable to say a few words on those characters which I have called latent, and which would not be classed under Reversion in its usual sense. Most, or perhaps all, the secondary characters, which appertain to one sex, lie dormant in the other sex; that is, gemmules capable of development into the secondary male sexual characters are included within the female; and conversely female characters in the male. Why in the female, when her ovaria become diseased or fail to act, certain masculine gemmules become developed, we do not clearly know, any more than why when a young bull is castrated his horns continue growing until they almost resemble those of a cow; or why, when a stag is castrated, the gemmules derived from the antlers of his progenitors quite fail to be developed. But in many cases, with variable organic beings, the mutual affinities of the cells and gemmules become modified, so that parts are transposed or multiplied; and it would appear that a slight change in the constitution of an animal, in connection with the state of the reproductive organs, leads to changed affinities in the tissues of various parts of the body. Thus, when male animals first arrive at puberty, and subsequently during each recurrent season, certain cells or parts acquire an affinity for certain gemmules, which become developed into the secondary masculine characters; but if the reproductive organs be destroyed, or even temporarily disturbed by changed conditions, these affinities are not excited. Nevertheless, the male, before he arrives at puberty, and during the season when the species does not breed, must include the proper gemmules in a latent state. The curious case formerly given of a Hen which assumed the masculine characters, not of her own breed but of a remote progenitor, illustrates the connexion between latent sexual characters and ordinary reversion. With those animals and plants which habitually produce several forms, as with certain butterflies described by Mr. Wallace, in which three female forms and {400} the male exist, or as with the trimorphic species of Lythrum and Oxalis, gemmules capable of reproducing several widely-different forms must be latent in each individual. The same principle of the latency of certain characters, combined with the transposition of organs, may be applied to those singular cases of butterflies and other insects, in which exactly one half or one quarter of the body resembles the male, and the other half or three quarters the female; and when this occurs the opposite sides of the body, separated from each other by a distinct line, sometimes differ in the most conspicuous manner. Again, these same principles apply to the cases given in the thirteenth chapter, in which the right and left sides of the body differ to an extraordinary degree, as in the spiral winding of certain shells, and as in the genus Verruca among cirripedes; for in these cases it is known that either side indifferently may undergo the same remarkable change of development. Reversion, in the ordinary sense of the word, comes into action so incessantly, that it evidently forms an essential part of the general law of inheritance. It occurs with beings, however propagated, whether by buds or seminal generation, and sometimes may even be observed in the same individual as it advances in age. The tendency to reversion is often induced by a change of conditions, and in the plainest manner by the act of crossing. Crossed forms are generally at first nearly intermediate in character between their two parents; but in the next generation the offspring generally revert to one or both of their grandparents, and occasionally to more remote ancestors. How can we account for these facts? Each organic unit in a hybrid must throw off, according to the doctrine of pangenesis, an abundance of hybridised gemmules, for crossed plants can be readily and largely propagated by buds; but by the same hypothesis there will likewise be present dormant gemmules derived from both pure parent-forms; and as these latter retain their normal condition, they would, it is probable, be enabled to multiply largely during the lifetime of each hybrid. Consequently the sexual elements of a hybrid will include both pure and hybridised gemmules; and when two hybrids pair, the combination of pure gemmules derived from the one hybrid with the pure gemmules of the same parts derived from the other would {401} necessarily lead to complete reversion of character; and it is, perhaps, not too bold a supposition that unmodified and undeteriorated gemmules of the same nature would be especially apt to combine. Pure gemmules in combination with hybridised gemmules would lead to partial reversion. And lastly, hybridised gemmules derived from both parent-hybrids would simply reproduce the original hybrid form.[927] All these cases and degrees of reversion incessantly occur. It was shown in the fifteenth chapter that certain characters are antagonistic to each other or do not readily blend together; hence, when two animals with antagonistic characters are crossed, it might well happen that a sufficiency of gemmules in the male alone for the reproduction of his peculiar characters, and in the female alone for the reproduction of her peculiar characters, would not be present; and in this case dormant gemmules derived from some remote progenitor might easily gain the ascendency, and cause the reappearance of long-lost characters. For instance, when black and white pigeons, or black and white fowls, are crossed,--colours which do not readily blend,--blue plumage in the one case, evidently derived from the rock-pigeon, and red plumage in the other case, derived from the wild jungle-cock, occasionally reappear. With uncrossed breeds the same result would follow, under conditions which favoured the multiplication and development of certain dormant gemmules, as when animals become feral and revert to their pristine character. A certain number of gemmules being requisite for the development of each character, as is known to be the case from several spermatozoa or pollen-grains being necessary for fertilisation, and time favouring their multiplication, will together account for the curious cases, insisted on by Mr. Sedgwick, of certain diseases regularly appearing in alternate generations. This likewise holds good, more or less strictly, with other weakly inherited modifications. Hence, as I have heard it remarked, certain diseases appear actually to gain strength by the intermission of a generation. The transmission of dormant gemmules during many successive generations is hardly in itself more improbable, as {402} previously remarked, than the retention during many ages of rudimentary organs, or even only of a tendency to the production of a rudiment; but there is no reason to suppose that all dormant gemmules would be transmitted and propagated for ever. Excessively minute and numerous as they are believed to be, an infinite number derived, during a long course of modification and descent, from each cell of each progenitor, could not be supported or nourished by the organism. On the other hand, it does not seem improbable that certain gemmules, under favourable conditions, should be retained and go on multiplying for a longer period than others. Finally, on the views here given, we certainly gain some clear insight into the wonderful fact that the child may depart from the type of both its parents, and resemble its grandparents, or ancestors removed by many generations. _Conclusion._ The hypothesis of Pangenesis, as applied to the several great classes of facts just discussed, no doubt is extremely complex; but so assuredly are the facts. The assumptions, however, on which the hypothesis rests cannot be considered as complex in any extreme degree--namely, that all organic units, besides having the power, as is generally admitted, of growing by self-division, throw off free and minute atoms of their contents, that is gemmules. These multiply and aggregate themselves into buds and the sexual elements; their development depends on their union with other nascent cells or units; and they are capable of transmission in a dormant state to successive generations. In a highly organised and complex animal, the gemmules thrown off from each different cell or unit throughout the body must be inconceivably numerous and minute. Each unit of each part, as it changes during development, and we know that some insects undergo at least twenty metamorphoses, must throw off its gemmules. All organic beings, moreover, include many dormant gemmules derived from their grandparents and more remote progenitors, but not from all their progenitors. These almost infinitely numerous and minute gemmules must be included in each bud, ovule, spermatozoon, and pollen-grain. Such an admission will be declared impossible; but, as previously {403} remarked, number and size are only relative difficulties, and the eggs or seeds produced by certain animals or plants are so numerous that they cannot be grasped by the intellect. The organic particles with which the wind is tainted over miles of space by certain offensive animals must be infinitely minute and numerous; yet they strongly affect the olfactory nerves. An analogy more appropriate is afforded by the contagious particles of certain diseases, which are so minute that they float in the atmosphere and adhere to smooth paper; yet we know how largely they increase within the human body, and how powerfully they act. Independent organisms exist which are barely visible under the highest powers of our recently-improved microscopes, and which probably are fully as large as the cells or units in one of the higher animals; yet these organisms no doubt reproduce themselves by germs of extreme minuteness, relatively to their own minute size. Hence the difficulty, which at first appears insurmountable, of believing in the existence of gemmules so numerous and so small as they must be according to our hypothesis, has really little weight. The cells or units of the body are generally admitted by physiologists to be autonomous, like the buds on a tree, but in a less degree. I go one step further and assume that they throw off reproductive gemmules. Thus an animal does not, as a whole, generate its kind through the sole agency of the reproductive system, but each separate cell generates its kind. It has often been said by naturalists that each cell of a plant has the actual or potential capacity of reproducing the whole plant; but it has this power only in virtue of containing gemmules derived from every part. If our hypothesis be provisionally accepted, we must look at all the forms of asexual reproduction, whether occurring at maturity or as in the case of alternate generation during youth, as fundamentally the same, and dependent on the mutual aggregation and multiplication of the gemmules. The regrowth of an amputated limb or the healing of a wound is the same process partially carried out. Sexual generation differs in some important respects, chiefly, as it would appear, in an insufficient number of gemmules being aggregated within the separate sexual elements, and probably in the presence of certain primordial cells. The development of each being, including all the {404} forms of metamorphosis and metagenesis, as well as the so-called growth of the higher animals, in which structure changes though not in a striking manner, depends on the presence of gemmules thrown off at each period of life, and on their development, at a corresponding period, in union with preceding cells. Such cells may be said to be fertilised by the gemmules which come next in the order of development. Thus the ordinary act of impregnation and the development of each being are closely analogous processes. The child, strictly speaking, does not grow into the man, but includes germs which slowly and successively become developed and form the man. In the child, as well as in the adult, each part generates the same part for the next generation. Inheritance must be looked at as merely a form of growth, like the self-division of a lowly-organised unicellular plant. Reversion depends on the transmission from the forefather to his descendants of dormant gemmules, which occasionally become developed under certain known or unknown conditions. Each animal and plant may be compared to a bed of mould full of seeds, most of which soon germinate, some lie for a period dormant, whilst others perish. When we hear it said that a man carries in his constitution the seeds of an inherited disease, there is much literal truth in the expression. Finally, the power of propagation possessed by each separate cell, using the term in its largest sense, determines the reproduction, the variability, the development and renovation of each living organism. No other attempt, as far as I am aware, has been made, imperfect as this confessedly is, to connect under one point of view these several grand classes of facts. We cannot fathom the marvellous complexity of an organic being; but on the hypothesis here advanced this complexity is much increased. Each living creature must be looked at as a microcosm--a little universe, formed of a host of self-propagating organisms, inconceivably minute and as numerous as the stars in heaven. * * * * * {405} CHAPTER XXVIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS. DOMESTICATION--NATURE AND CAUSES OF VARIABILITY--SELECTION--DIVERGENCE AND DISTINCTNESS OF CHARACTER--EXTINCTION OF RACES--CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOURABLE TO SELECTION BY MAN--ANTIQUITY OF CERTAIN RACES--THE QUESTION WHETHER EACH PARTICULAR VARIATION HAS BEEN SPECIALLY PREORDAINED. As summaries have been added to nearly all the chapters, and as, in the chapter on pangenesis, various subjects, such as the forms of reproduction, inheritance, reversion, the causes and laws of variability, &c., have been recently discussed, I will here only make a few general remarks on the more important conclusions which may be deduced from the multifarious details given throughout this work. Savages in all parts of the world easily succeed in taming wild animals; and those inhabiting any country or island, when first invaded by man, would probably have been still more easily tamed. Complete subjugation generally depends on an animal being social in its habits, and on receiving man as the chief of the herd or family. Domestication implies almost complete fertility under new and changed conditions of life, and this is far from being invariably the case. An animal would not have been worth the labour of domestication, at least during early times, unless of service to man. From these circumstances the number of domesticated animals has never been large. With respect to plants, I have shown in the ninth chapter how their varied uses were probably first discovered, and the early steps in their cultivation. Man could not have known, when he first domesticated an animal or plant, whether it would flourish and multiply when transported to other countries, therefore he could not have been thus influenced in his choice. We see that the close adaptation of the reindeer and camel to extremely cold and hot countries has not prevented their domestication. Still less {406} could man have foreseen whether his animals and plants would vary in succeeding generations and thus give birth to new races; and the small capacity of variability in the goose and ass has not prevented their domestication from the remotest epoch. With extremely few exceptions, all animals and plants which have been long domesticated, have varied greatly. It matters not under what climate, or for what purpose, they are kept, whether as food for man or beast, for draught or hunting, for clothing or mere pleasure,--under all these circumstances domesticated animals and plants have varied to a much greater extent than the forms which in a state of nature are ranked as one species. Why certain animals and plants have varied more under domestication than others we do not know, any more than why some are rendered more sterile than others under changed conditions of life. But we frequently judge of the amount of variation by the production of numerous and diversified races, and we can clearly see why in many cases this has not occurred, namely, because slight successive variations have not been steadily accumulated; and such variations will never be accumulated when an animal or plant is not closely observed, or much valued, or kept in large numbers. The fluctuating, and, as far as we can judge, never-ending variability of our domesticated productions,--the plasticity of their whole organisation,--is one of the most important facts which we learn from the numerous details given in the earlier chapters of this work. Yet domesticated animals and plants can hardly have been exposed to greater changes in their conditions than have many natural species during the incessant geological, geographical, and climatal changes of the whole world. The former will, however, commonly have been exposed to more sudden changes and to less continuously uniform conditions. As man has domesticated so many animals and plants belonging to widely different classes, and as he certainly did not with prophetic instinct choose those species which would vary most, we may infer that all natural species, if subjected to analogous conditions, would, on an average, vary to the same degree. Few men at the present day will maintain that animals and plants were created with a tendency to vary, which long remained dormant, in order that fanciers in after ages might {407} rear, for instance, curious breeds of the fowl, pigeon, or canary-bird. From several causes it is difficult to judge of the amount of modification which our domestic productions have undergone. In some cases the primitive parent-stock has become extinct, or cannot be recognised with certainty owing to its supposed descendants having been so much modified. In other cases two or more closely allied forms, after being domesticated, have crossed; and then it is difficult to estimate how much of the change ought to be attributed to variation. But the degree to which our domestic breeds have been modified by the crossing of distinct natural forms has probably been exaggerated by some authors. A few individuals of one form would seldom permanently affect another form existing in much greater numbers; for, without careful selection, the stain of the foreign blood would soon be obliterated, and during early and barbarous times, when our animals were first domesticated, such care would seldom have been taken. There is good reason to believe that several of the breeds of the dog, ox, pig, and of some other animals, are respectively descended from distinct wild prototypes; nevertheless the belief in the multiple origin of our domesticated animals has been extended by some few naturalists and by many breeders to an unauthorised extent. Breeders refuse to look at the whole subject under a single point of view; I have heard one, who maintained that our fowls were the descendants of at least half-a-dozen aboriginal species, protest that he was in no way concerned with the origin of pigeons, ducks, rabbits, horses, or any other animal. They overlook the improbability of many species having been domesticated at an early and barbarous period. They do not consider the improbability of species having existed in a state of nature which, if like our present domestic breeds, would have been highly abnormal in comparison with all their congeners. They maintain that certain species, which formerly existed, have become extinct or unknown, although the world is now so much better known. The assumption of so much recent extinction is no difficulty in their eyes; for they do not judge of its probability by the facility or difficulty of the extinction of other closely allied wild forms. Lastly, {408} they often ignore the whole subject of geographical distribution as completely as if its laws were the result of chance. Although from the reasons just assigned it is often difficult to judge accurately of the amount of change which our domesticated productions have undergone, yet this can be ascertained in the cases in which we know that all the breeds are descended from a single species, as with the pigeon, duck, rabbit, and almost certainly with the fowl; and by the aid of analogy this is to a certain extent possible in the case of animals descended from several wild stocks. It is impossible to read the details given in the earlier chapters, and in many published works, or to visit our various exhibitions, without being deeply impressed with the extreme variability of our domesticated animals and cultivated plants. I have in many instances purposely given details on new and strange peculiarities which have arisen. No part of the organisation escapes the tendency to vary. The variations generally affect parts of small vital or physiological importance, but so it is with the differences which exist between closely allied species. In these unimportant characters there is often a greater difference between the breeds of the same species than between the natural species of the same genus, as Isidore Geoffroy has shown to be the case with size, and as is often the case with the colour, texture, form, &c., of the hair, feathers, horns, and other dermal appendages. It has often been asserted that important parts never vary under domestication, but this is a complete error. Look at the skull of the pig in any one of the highly improved breeds, with the occipital condyles and other parts greatly modified; or look at that of the niata ox. Or again, in the several breeds of the rabbit, observe the elongated skull, with the differently shaped occipital foramen, atlas, and other cervical vertebræ. The whole shape of the brain, together with the skull, has been modified in Polish fowls; in other breeds of the fowl the number of the vertebræ and the forms of the cervical vertebræ have been changed. In certain pigeons the shape of the lower jaw, the relative length of the tongue, the size of the nostrils and eyelids, the number and shape of the ribs, the form and size of the oesophagus, have all varied. In certain quadrupeds the length of the intestines has been much increased or {409} diminished. With plants we see wonderful differences in the stones of various fruits. In the Cucurbitaceæ several highly important characters have varied, such as the sessile position of the stigmas on the ovarium, the position of the carpels within the ovarium, and its projection out of the receptacle. But it would be useless to run through the many facts given in the earlier chapters. It is notorious how greatly the mental disposition, tastes, habits, consensual movements, loquacity or silence, and the tone of voice have varied and been inherited with our domesticated animals. The dog offers the most striking instance of changed mental attributes, and these differences cannot be accounted for by descent from distinct wild types. New mental characters have certainly often been acquired, and natural ones lost, under domestication. New characters may appear and disappear at any stage of growth, and be inherited at a corresponding period. We see this in the difference between the eggs of various breeds of the fowl, and in the down on chickens; and still more plainly in the differences between the caterpillars and cocoons of various breeds of the silk-moth. These facts, simple as they appear, throw light on the characters which distinguish the larval and adult states of natural species, and on the whole great subject of embryology. New characters are liable to become attached exclusively to that sex in which they first appeared, or they may be developed in a much higher degree in the one than the other sex; or again, after having become attached to one sex, they may be partially transferred to the opposite sex. These facts, and more especially the circumstance that new characters seem to be particularly liable, from some unknown cause, to become attached to the male sex, have an important bearing on the acquirement by animals in a state of nature of secondary sexual characters. It has sometimes been said that our domestic productions do not differ in constitutional peculiarities, but this cannot be maintained. In our improved cattle, pigs, &c., the period of maturity, including that of the second dentition, has been much hastened. The period of gestation varies much, but has been modified in a fixed manner in only one or two cases. In {410} our poultry and pigeons the acquirement of down and of the first plumage by the young, and of the secondary sexual characters by the males, differ. The number of moults through which the larvæ of silk-moths pass, varies. The tendency to fatten, to yield much milk, to produce many young or eggs at a birth or during life, differs in different breeds. We find different degrees of adaptation to climate, and different tendencies to certain diseases, to the attacks of parasites, and to the action of certain vegetable poisons. With plants, adaptation to certain soils, as with some kinds of plums, the power of resisting frost, the period of flowering and fruiting, the duration of life, the period of shedding the leaves and of retaining them throughout the winter, the proportion and nature of certain chemical compounds in the tissues or seeds, all vary. There is, however, one important constitutional difference between domestic races and species; I refer to the sterility which almost invariably follows, in a greater or less degree, when species are crossed, and to the perfect fertility of the most distinct domestic races, with the exception of a very few plants, when similarly crossed. It certainly appears a remarkable fact that many closely allied species which in appearance differ extremely little should yield when united only a few, more or less sterile offspring, or none at all; whilst domestic races which differ conspicuously from each other, are when united remarkably fertile, and yield perfectly fertile offspring. But this fact is not in reality so inexplicable as it at first appears. In the first place, it was clearly shown in the nineteenth chapter that the sterility of crossed species does not closely depend on differences in their external structure or general constitution, but results exclusively from differences in the reproductive system, analogous with those which cause the lessened fertility of the illegitimate unions and illegitimate offspring of dimorphic and trimorphic plants. In the second place, the Pallasian doctrine, that species after having been long domesticated lose their natural tendency to sterility when crossed, has been shown to be highly probable; we can scarcely avoid this conclusion when we reflect on the parentage and present fertility of the several breeds of the dog, of Indian and European cattle, sheep, and pigs. Hence it would be unreasonable to expect that races formed under domestication {411} should acquire sterility when crossed, whilst at the same time we admit that domestication eliminates the normal sterility of crossed species. Why with closely allied species their reproductive systems should almost invariably have been modified in so peculiar a manner as to be mutually incapable of acting on each other--though in unequal degrees in the two sexes, as shown by the difference in fertility between reciprocal crosses in the same species--we do not know, but may with much probability infer the cause to be as follows. Most natural species have been habituated to nearly uniform conditions of life for an incomparably longer period of time than have domestic races; and we positively know that changed conditions exert an especial and powerful influence on the reproductive system. Hence this difference in habituation may well account for the different action of the reproductive organs when domestic races and when species are crossed. It is a nearly analogous fact, that most domestic races may be suddenly transported from one climate to another, or be placed under widely different conditions, and yet retain their fertility unimpaired; whilst a multitude of species subjected to lesser changes are rendered incapable of breeding. With the exception of fertility, domestic varieties resemble species when crossed in transmitting their characters in the same unequal manner to their offspring, in being subject to the prepotency of one form over the other, and in their liability to reversion. By repeated crosses a variety or a species may be made completely to absorb another. Varieties, as we shall see when we treat of their antiquity, sometimes inherit their new characters almost, or even quite, as firmly as species. With both, the conditions leading to variability and the laws governing its nature appear to be the same. Domestic varieties can be classed in groups under groups, like species under genera, and these under families and orders; and the classification may be either artificial,--that is, founded on any arbitrary character,--or natural. With varieties a natural classification is certainly founded, and with species is apparently founded, on community of descent, together with the amount of modification which the forms have undergone. The characters by which domestic varieties differ from each other are more {412} variable than those distinguishing species, though hardly more so than with certain protean species; but this greater degree of variability is not surprising, as varieties have generally been exposed within recent times to fluctuating conditions of life, are much more liable to have been crossed, and are still in many cases undergoing, or have recently undergone, modification by man's methodical or unconscious selection. Domestic varieties as a general rule certainly differ from each other in less important parts of their organisation than do species; and when important differences occur, they are seldom firmly fixed; but this fact is intelligible if we consider man's method of selection. In the living animal or plant he cannot observe internal modifications in the more important organs; nor does he regard them as long as they are compatible with health and life. What does the breeder care about any slight change in the molar teeth of his pigs, or for an additional molar tooth in the dog; or for any change in the intestinal canal or other internal organ? The breeder cares for the flesh of his cattle being well marbled with fat, and for an accumulation of fat within the abdomen of his sheep, and this he has effected. What would the floriculturist care for any change in the structure of the ovarium or of the ovules? As important internal organs are certainly liable to numerous slight variations, and as these would probably be inherited, for many strange monstrosities are transmitted, man could undoubtedly effect a certain amount of change in these organs. When he has produced any modification in an important part, it has generally been unintentionally in correlation with some other conspicuous part, as when he has given ridges and protuberances to the skulls of fowls, by attending to the form of the comb, and in the case of the Polish fowl to the plume of feathers on the head. By attending to the external form of the pouter-pigeon, he has enormously increased the size of the oesophagus, and has added to the number of the ribs, and given them greater breadth. With the carrier-pigeon, by increasing, through steady selection, the wattles on the upper mandible, he has greatly modified the form of the lower mandible; and so in many other cases. Natural species, on the other hand, have been modified exclusively for their own good, to fit them for infinitely {413} diversified conditions of life, to avoid enemies of all kinds, and to struggle against a host of competitors. Hence, under such complex conditions, it would often happen that modifications of the most varied kinds, in important as well as in unimportant parts, would be advantageous or even necessary; and they would slowly but surely be acquired through the survival of the fittest. Various indirect modifications would likewise arise through the law of correlated variation. Domestic breeds often have an abnormal or semi-monstrous character, as the Italian greyhound, bulldog, Blenheim spaniel, and bloodhound amongst dogs,--some breeds of cattle and pigs, several breeds of the fowl, and the chief breeds of the pigeon. The differences between such abnormal breeds occur in parts which in closely-allied natural species differ but slightly or not at all. This may be accounted for by man's often selecting, especially at first, conspicuous and semi-monstrous deviations of structure. We should, however, be cautious in deciding what deviations ought to be called monstrous: there can hardly be a doubt that, if the brush of horse-like hair on the breast of the turkey-cock had first appeared on the domesticated bird, it would have been considered a monstrosity; the great plume of feathers on the head of the Polish cock has been thus designated, though plumes are common with many kinds of birds; we might call the wattle or corrugated skin round the base of the beak of the English carrier-pigeon a monstrosity, but we do not thus speak of the globular fleshy excrescence at the base of the beak of the male _Carpophaga oceanica_. Some authors have drawn a wide distinction between artificial and natural breeds; although in extreme cases the distinction is plain, in many other cases an arbitrary line has to be drawn. The difference depends chiefly on the kind of selection which has been applied. Artificial breeds are those which have been intentionally improved by man; they frequently have an unnatural appearance, and are especially liable to loss of excellence through reversion and continued variability. The so-called natural breeds, on the other hand, are those which are now found in semi-civilised countries, and which formerly inhabited separate districts in nearly all the European kingdoms. They have been rarely acted on by man's {414} intentional selection; more frequently, it is probable, by unconscious selection, and partly by natural selection, for animals kept in semi-civilised countries have to provide largely for their own wants. Such natural breeds will also, it may be presumed, have been directly acted on to some extent by the differences, though slight, in the surrounding physical conditions. It is a much more important distinction that some breeds have been from their first origin modified in so slow and insensible a manner, that if we could see their early progenitors we should hardly be able to say when or how the breed first arose; whilst other breeds have originated from a strongly-marked or semi-monstrous deviation of structure, which, however, may subsequently have been augmented by selection. From what we know of the history of the racehorse, greyhound, gamecock, &c., and from their general appearance, we may feel nearly confident that they were formed by a slow process of improvement: and with the carrier-pigeon, as well as with some other pigeons, we know that this has been the case. On the other hand, it is certain that the ancon and mauchamp breeds of sheep, and almost certain that the niata cattle, turnspit and pug-dogs, jumper and frizzled fowls, short-faced tumbler pigeons, hook-billed ducks, &c., and with plants a multitude of varieties, suddenly appeared in nearly the same state as we now see them. The frequency of these cases is likely to lead to the false belief that natural species have often originated in the same abrupt manner. But we have no evidence of the appearance, or at least of the continued procreation, under nature, of abrupt modifications of structure; and various general reasons could be assigned against such a belief: for instance, without separation a single monstrous variation would almost certainly be soon obliterated by crossing. On the other hand, we have abundant evidence of the constant occurrence under nature of slight individual differences of the most diversified kinds; and thus we are led to conclude that species have generally originated by the natural selection, not of abrupt modifications, but of extremely slight differences. This process may be strictly compared with the slow and gradual improvement of the racehorse, greyhound, and gamecock. As every detail of structure in each species is closely adapted to its general {415} habits of life, it will rarely happen that one part alone will be modified; but the co-adapted modifications, as formerly shown, need not be absolutely simultaneous. Many variations, however, are from the first connected by the law of correlation. Hence it follows that even closely-allied species rarely or never differ from each other by some one character alone; and this same remark applies to a certain extent to domestic races; for these, if they differ much, generally differ in many respects. Some naturalists boldly insist[928] that species are absolutely distinct productions, never passing by intermediate links into each other; whilst they maintain that domestic varieties can always be connected either with each other or with their parent-forms. But if we could always find the links between the several breeds of the dog, horse, cattle, sheep, pigs, &c., the incessant doubts whether they are descended from one or several species would not have arisen. The greyhound genus, if such a term may be used, cannot be closely connected with any other breed, unless, perhaps, we go back to the ancient Egyptian monuments. Our English bulldog also forms a very distinct breed. In all these cases crossed breeds must of course be excluded, for the most distinct natural species can thus be connected. By what links can the Cochin fowl be closely united with others? By searching for breeds still preserved in distant lands, and by going back to historical records, tumbler-pigeons, carriers, and barbs can be closely connected with the parent rock-pigeon; but we cannot thus connect the turbit or the pouter. The degree of distinctness between the various domestic breeds depends on the amount of modification which they have undergone, and especially on the neglect and final extinction of the linking, intermediate, and less valued forms. It has often been argued that no light is thrown, from the admitted changes of domestic races, on the changes which natural species are believed to undergo, as the former are said to be mere temporary productions, always reverting, as soon as they become feral, to their pristine form. This argument has been well combated by Mr. Wallace;[929] and full details were given in the thirteenth chapter, showing that the tendency to reversion in feral {416} animals and plants has been greatly exaggerated, though no doubt to a certain extent it exists. It would be opposed to all the principles inculcated in this work, if domestic animals, when exposed to new conditions and compelled to struggle for their own wants against a host of foreign competitors, were not in the course of time in some manner modified. It should also be remembered that many characters lie latent in all organic beings ready to be evolved under fitting conditions; and in breeds modified within recent times the tendency to reversion is particularly strong. But the antiquity of various breeds clearly proves that they remain nearly constant as long as their conditions of life remain the same. It has been boldly maintained by some authors that the amount of variation to which our domestic productions are liable is strictly limited; but this is an assertion resting on little evidence. Whether or not the amount in any particular direction is fixed, the tendency to general variability seems unlimited. Cattle, sheep, and pigs have been domesticated and have varied from the remotest period, as shown by the researches of Rütimeyer and others, yet these animals have, within quite recent times, been improved in an unparalleled degree; and this implies continued variability of structure. Wheat, as we know from the remains found in the Swiss lake-habitations, is one of the most anciently cultivated plants, yet at the present day new and better varieties occasionally arise. It may be that an ox will never be produced of larger size or finer proportions than our present animals, or a race-horse fleeter than Eclipse, or a gooseberry larger than the London variety; but he would be a bold man who would assert that the extreme limit in these respects has been finally attained. With flowers and fruit it has repeatedly been asserted that perfection has been reached, but the standard has soon been excelled. A breed of pigeons may never be produced with a beak shorter than that of the present short-faced tumbler, or with one longer than that of the English carrier, for these birds have weak constitutions and are bad breeders; but the shortness and length of the beak are the points which have been steadily improved during at least the last 150 years; and some of the best judges deny that the goal has yet been reached. We may, also, reasonably suspect, from what {417} we see in natural species of the variability of extremely modified parts, that any structure, after remaining constant during a long series of generations, would, under new and changed conditions of life, recommence its course of variability, and might again be acted on by selection. Nevertheless, as Mr. Wallace[930] has recently remarked with much force and truth, there must be both with natural and domestic productions a limit to change in certain directions; for instance, there must be a limit to the fleetness of any terrestrial animal, as this will be determined by the friction to be overcome, the weight to be carried, and the power of contraction in the muscular fibres. The English racehorse may have reached this limit; but it already surpasses in fleetness its own wild progenitor, and all other equine species. It is not surprising, seeing the great difference between many domestic breeds, that some few naturalists have concluded that all are descended from distinct aboriginal stocks, more especially as the principle of selection has been ignored, and the high antiquity of man, as a breeder of animals, has only recently become known. Most naturalists, however, freely admit that various extremely dissimilar breeds are descended from a single stock, although they do not know much about the art of breeding, cannot show the connecting links, nor say where and when the breeds arose. Yet these same naturalists will declare, with an air of philosophical caution, that they can never admit that one natural species has given birth to another until they behold all the transitional steps. But fanciers have used exactly the same language with respect to domestic breeds; thus an author of an excellent treatise says he will never allow that carrier and fantail pigeons are the descendants of the wild rock-pigeon, until the transitions have "actually been observed, and can be repeated whenever man chooses to set about the task." No doubt it is difficult to realise that slight changes added up during long centuries can produce such results; but he who wishes to understand the origin of domestic breeds or natural species must overcome this difficulty. The causes inducing and the laws governing variability have been so lately discussed, that I need here only enumerate the leading points. As domesticated organisms are much more {418} liable to slight deviations of structure and to monstrosities, than species living under their natural conditions, and as widely-ranging species vary more than those which inhabit restricted areas, we may infer that variability mainly depends on changed conditions of life. We must not overlook the effects of the unequal combination of the characters derived from both parents, nor reversion to former progenitors. Changed conditions have an especial tendency to render the reproductive organs more or less impotent, as shown in the chapter devoted to this subject; and these organs consequently often fail to transmit faithfully the parental characters. Changed conditions also act directly and definitely on the organisation, so that all or nearly all the individuals of the same species thus exposed become modified in the same manner; but why this or that part is especially affected we can seldom or never say. In most cases, however, of the direct action of changed conditions, independently of the indirect variability caused by the reproductive organs being affected, indefinite modifications are the result; in nearly the same manner as exposure to cold or the absorption of the same poison affects different individuals in various ways. We have reason to suspect that an habitual excess of highly nutritious food, or an excess relatively to the wear and tear of the organisation from exercise, is a powerful exciting cause of variability. When we see the symmetrical and complex outgrowths, caused by a minute atom of the poison of a gall-insect, we may believe that slight changes in the chemical nature of the sap or blood would lead to extraordinary modifications of structure. The increased use of a muscle with its various attached parts, and the increased activity of a gland or other organ, lead to their increased development. Disuse has a contrary effect. With domesticated productions organs sometimes become rudimentary through abortion; but we have no reason to suppose that this has ever followed from mere disuse. With natural species, on the contrary, many organs appear to have been rendered rudimentary through disuse, aided by the principle of the economy of growth, and by the hypothetical principle discussed in the last chapter, namely, the final destruction of the germs or gemmules of such useless parts. This difference may be partly {419} accounted for by disuse having acted on domestic forms for an insufficient length of time, and partly from their exemption from any severe struggle for existence, entailing rigid economy in the development of each part, to which all species under nature are subjected. Nevertheless the law of compensation or balancement apparently affects, to a certain extent, our domesticated productions. We must not exaggerate the importance of the definite action of changed conditions in modifying all the individuals of the same species in the same manner, or of use and disuse. As every part of the organisation is highly variable, and as variations are so easily selected, both consciously and unconsciously, it is very difficult to distinguish between the effects of the selection of indefinite variations, and the direct action of the conditions of life. For instance, it is possible that the feet of our water-dogs, and of the American dogs which have to travel much over the snow, may have become partially webbed from the stimulus of widely extending their toes; but it is far more probable that the webbing, like the membrane between the toes of certain pigeons, spontaneously appeared and was afterwards increased by the best swimmers and the best snow-travellers being preserved during many generations. A fancier who wished to decrease the size of his bantams or tumbler-pigeons would never think of starving them, but would select the smallest individuals which spontaneously appeared. Quadrupeds are sometimes born destitute of hair, and hairless breeds have been formed, but there is no reason to believe that this is caused by a hot climate. Within the tropics heat often causes sheep to lose their fleeces, and on the other hand wet and cold act as a direct stimulus to the growth of hair; it is, however, possible that these changes may merely be an exaggeration of the regular yearly change of coat; and who will pretend to decide how far this yearly change, or the thick fur of arctic animals, or as I may add their white colour, is due to the direct action of a severe climate, and how far to the preservation of the best protected individuals during a long succession of generations? Of all the laws governing variability, that of correlation is the most important. In many cases of slight deviations of structure as well as of grave monstrosities, we cannot even {420} conjecture what is the nature of the bond of connexion. But between homologous parts--between the fore and hind limbs--between the hair, hoofs, horns, and teeth--we can see that parts which are closely similar during their early development, and which are exposed to similar conditions, would be liable to be modified in the same manner. Homologous parts, from having the same nature, are apt to blend together and, when many exist, to vary in number. Although every variation is either directly or indirectly caused by some change in the surrounding conditions, we must never forget that the nature of the organisation which is acted on essentially governs the result. Distinct organisms, when placed under similar conditions, vary in different manners, whilst closely-allied organisms under dissimilar conditions often vary in nearly the same manner. We see this in the same modification frequently reappearing at long intervals of time in the same variety, and likewise in the several striking cases given of analogous or parallel varieties. Although some of these latter cases are simply due to reversion, others cannot thus be accounted for. From the indirect action of changed conditions on the organisation, through the impaired state of the reproductive organs--from the direct action of such conditions (and this will cause the individuals of the same species either to vary in the same manner, or differently in accordance with slight differences in their constitution)--from the effects of the increased or decreased use of parts,--and from correlation,--the variability of our domesticated productions is complicated in an extreme degree. The whole organisation becomes slightly plastic. Although each modification must have its proper exciting cause, and though each is subjected to law, yet we can so rarely trace the precise relation between cause and effect, that we are tempted to speak of variations as if they spontaneously arose. We may even call them accidental, but this must be only in the sense in which we say that a fragment of rock dropped from a height owes its shape to accident. * * * * * It may be worth while briefly to consider the results of the exposure to unnatural conditions of a large number of animals of the same species, allowed to cross freely, with no selection of any {421} kind; and afterwards to consider the results when selection is brought into play. Let us suppose that 500 wild rock-pigeons were confined in their native land in an aviary, and fed in the same manner as pigeons usually are; and that they were not allowed to increase in number. As pigeons propagate so rapidly, I suppose that a thousand or fifteen hundred birds would have to be annually killed by mere chance. After several generations had been thus reared, we may feel sure that some of the young birds would vary, and the variations would tend to be inherited; for at the present day slight deviations of structure often occur, but, as most breeds are already well established, these modifications are rejected as blemishes. It would be tedious even to enumerate the multitude of points which still go on varying or have recently varied. Many variations would occur in correlation, as the length of the wing and tail feathers--the number of the primary wing-feathers, as well as the number and breadth of the ribs, in correlation with the size and form of the body--the number of the scutellæ, with the size of the feet--the length of the tongue, with the length of the beak--the size of the nostrils and eyelids and the form of lower jaw in correlation with the development of wattle--the nakedness of the young with the future colour of the plumage--the size of the feet and beak, and other such points. Lastly, as our birds are supposed to be confined in an aviary, they would use their wings and legs but little, and certain parts of the skeleton, such as the sternum and scapulæ and the feet, would in consequence become slightly reduced in size. As in our assumed case many birds have to be indiscriminately killed every year, the chances are against any new variety surviving long enough to breed. And as the variations which arise are of an extremely diversified nature, the chances are very great against two birds pairing which have varied in the same manner; nevertheless, a varying bird even when not thus paired would occasionally transmit its character to its young; and these would not only be exposed to the same conditions which first caused the variation in question to appear, but would in addition inherit from their one modified parent a tendency again to vary in the same manner. So that, if the conditions decidedly tended to induce some particular variation, all the birds might {422} in the course of time become similarly modified. But a far commoner result would be, that one bird would vary in one way and another bird in another way; one would be born with a little longer beak, and another with a shorter beak; one would gain some black feathers, another some white or red feathers. And as these birds would be continually intercrossing, the final result would be a body of individuals differing from each other slightly in many ways, yet far more than did the original rock-pigeons. But there would not be the least tendency to the formation of distinct breeds. If two separate lots of pigeons were to be treated in the manner just described, one in England and the other in a tropical country, the two lots being supplied with different food, would they, after many generations had passed, differ? When we reflect on the cases given in the twenty-third chapter, and on such facts as the difference in former times between the breeds of cattle, sheep, &c., in almost every district of Europe, we are strongly inclined to admit that the two lots would be differently modified through the influence of climate and food. But the evidence on the definite action of changed conditions is in most cases insufficient; and, with respect to pigeons, I have had the opportunity of examining a large collection of domesticated birds, sent to me by Sir W. Elliot from India, and they varied in a remarkably similar manner with our European birds. If two distinct breeds were to be confined together in equal numbers, there is reason to suspect that they would to a certain extent prefer pairing with their own kind; but they would likewise intercross. From the greater vigour and fertility of the crossed offspring, the whole body would by this means become interblended sooner than would otherwise have occurred. From certain breeds being prepotent over others, it does not follow that the interblended progeny would be strictly intermediate in character. I have, also, proved that the act of crossing in itself gives a strong tendency to reversion, so that the crossed offspring would tend to revert to the state of the aboriginal rock-pigeon. In the course of time they would probably be not much more heterogeneous in character than in our first case, when birds of the same breed were confined together. {423} I have just said that the crossed offspring would gain in vigour and fertility. From the facts given in the seventeenth chapter there can be no doubt of this; and there can be little doubt, though the evidence on this head is not so easily acquired, that long-continued close interbreeding leads to evil results. With hermaphrodites of all kinds, if the sexual elements of the same individual habitually acted on each other, the closest possible interbreeding would be perpetual. Therefore we should bear in mind that with all hermaphrodite animals, as far as I can learn, their structure permits and frequently necessitates a cross with a distinct individual. With hermaphrodite plants we incessantly meet with elaborate and perfect contrivances for this same end. It is no exaggeration to assert that, if the use of the talons and tusks of a carnivorous animal, or the use of the viscid threads of a spider's web, or of the plumes and hooks on a seed may be safely inferred from their structure, we may with equal safety infer that many flowers are constructed for the express purpose of ensuring a cross with a distinct plant. From these various considerations, the conclusion arrived at in the chapter just referred to--namely, that great good of some kind is derived from the sexual concourse of distinct individuals--must be admitted. To return to our illustration: we have hitherto assumed that the birds were kept down to the same number by indiscriminate slaughter; but if the least choice be permitted in their preservation and slaughter, the whole result will be changed. Should the owner observe any slight variation in one of his birds, and wish to obtain a breed thus characterised, he would succeed in a surprisingly short time by carefully selecting and pairing the young. As any part which has once varied generally goes on varying in the same direction, it is easy, by continually preserving the most strongly marked individuals, to increase the amount of difference up to a high, predetermined standard of excellence. This is methodical selection. If the owner of the aviary, without any thought of making a new breed, simply admired, for instance, short-beaked more than long-beaked birds, he would, when he had to reduce the number, generally kill the latter; and there can be no doubt that he would thus in the course of time sensibly modify his {424} stock. It is improbable, if two men were to keep pigeons and act in this manner, that they would prefer exactly the same characters; they would, as we know, often prefer directly opposite characters, and the two lots would ultimately come to differ. This has actually occurred with strains or families of cattle, sheep, and pigeons, which have been long kept and carefully attended to by different breeders without any wish on their part to form new and distinct sub-breeds. This unconscious kind of selection will more especially come into action with animals which are highly serviceable to man; for every one tries to get the best dog, horse, cow, or sheep, and these animals will transmit more or less surely their good qualities to their offspring. Hardly any one is so careless as to breed from his worst animals. Even savages, when compelled from extreme want to kill some of their animals, would destroy the worst and preserve the best. With animals kept for use and not for mere amusement, different fashions prevail in different districts, leading to the preservation, and consequently to the transmission, of all sorts of trifling peculiarities of character. The same process will have been pursued with our fruit-trees and vegetables, for the best will always have been the most largely cultivated, and will occasionally have yielded seedlings better than their parents. The different strains, just alluded to, which have been raised by different breeders without any wish for such a result, and the unintentional modification of foreign breeds in their new homes, both afford excellent evidence of the power of unconscious selection. This form of selection has probably led to far more important results than methodical selection, and is likewise more important under a theoretical point of view from closely resembling natural selection. For during this process the best or most valued individuals are not separated and prevented crossing with others of the same breed, but are simply preferred and preserved; but this inevitably leads during a long succession of generations to their increase in number and to their gradual improvement; so that finally they prevail to the exclusion of the old parent-form. With our domesticated animals natural selection checks the production of races with any injurious deviation of {425} structure. In the case of animals kept by savages and semi-civilised people, which have to provide largely for their own wants under different circumstances, natural selection will probably play a more important part. Hence such animals often closely resemble natural species. As there is no limit to man's desire to possess animals and plants more and more useful in any respect, and as the fancier always wishes, from fashion running into extremes, to produce each character more and more strongly pronounced, there is a constant tendency in every breed, through the prolonged action of methodical and unconscious selection, to become more and more different from its parent-stock; and when several breeds have been produced and are valued for different qualities, to differ more and more from each other. This leads to Divergence of Character. As improved sub-varieties and races are slowly formed, the older and less improved breeds are neglected and decrease in number. When few individuals of any breed exist within the same locality, close interbreeding, by lessening their vigour and fertility, aids in their final extinction. Thus the intermediate links are lost, and breeds which have already diverged gain Distinctness of Character. In the chapters on the Pigeon, it was proved by historical details and by the existence of connecting sub-varieties in distant lands that several breeds have steadily diverged in character, and that many old and intermediate sub-breeds have become extinct. Other cases could be adduced of the extinction of domestic breeds, as of the Irish wolf-dog, the old English hound, and of two breeds in France, one of which was formerly highly valued.[931] Mr. Pickering remarks[932] that "the sheep figured on the most ancient Egyptian monuments is unknown at the present day; and at least one variety of the bullock, formerly known in Egypt, has in like manner become extinct." So it has been with some animals, and with several plants cultivated by the ancient inhabitants of Europe during the neolithic period. In Peru, Von Tschudi[933] found in certain tombs, apparently prior to the dynasty of the Incas, two kinds of maize not now known in the country. With our flowers and culinary vegetables, {426} the production of new varieties and their extinction has incessantly recurred. At the present time improved breeds sometimes displace at an extraordinarily rapid rate older breeds; as has recently occurred throughout England with pigs. The Long-horn cattle in their native home were "suddenly swept away as if by some murderous pestilence," by the introduction of Short-horns.[934] What grand results have followed from the long-continued action of methodical and unconscious selection, checked and regulated to a certain extent by natural selection, is seen on every side of us. Compare the many animals and plants which are displayed at our exhibitions with their parent-forms when these are known, or consult old historical records with respect to their former state. Almost all our domesticated animals have given rise to numerous and distinct races, excepting those which cannot be easily subjected to selection--such as cats, the cochineal insect, and the hive-bee,--and excepting those animals which are not much valued. In accordance with what we know of the process of selection, the formation of our many races has been slow and gradual. The man who first observed and preserved a pigeon with its oesophagus a little enlarged, its beak a little longer, or its tail a little more expanded than usual, never dreamed that he had made the first step in the creation of the pouter, carrier, and fantail-pigeon. Man can create not only anomalous breeds, but others with their whole structure admirably co-ordinated for certain purposes, such as the race-horse and dray-horse, or the greyhound. It is by no means necessary that each small change of structure throughout the body, leading towards excellence, should simultaneously arise and be selected. Although man seldom attends to differences in organs which are important under a physiological point of view, yet he has so profoundly modified some breeds, that assuredly, if found wild, they would be ranked under distinct genera. The best proof of what selection has effected is perhaps afforded by the fact that whatever part or quality in any animal, and more especially in any plant, is most valued by man, that part or quality differs most in the several races. This result is well seen by comparing the amount of difference {427} between the fruits produced by the varieties of the same fruit-tree, between the flowers of the varieties in our flower-garden, between the seeds, roots, or leaves of our culinary and agricultural plants, in comparison with the other and not valued parts of the same plants. Striking evidence of a different kind is afforded by the fact ascertained by Oswald Heer,[935] namely, that the seeds of a large number of plants,--wheat, barley, oats, peas, beans, lentils, poppies,--cultivated for their seed by the ancient Lake-inhabitants of Switzerland, were all smaller than the seeds of our existing varieties. Rütimeyer has shown that the sheep and cattle which were kept by the earlier Lake-inhabitants were likewise smaller than our present breeds. In the middens of Denmark, the earliest dog of which the remains have been found was the weakest; this was succeeded during the Bronze age by a stronger kind, and this again during the Iron age by one still stronger. The sheep of Denmark during the Bronze period had extraordinarily slender limbs, and the horse was smaller than our present animal.[936] No doubt in these cases the new and larger breeds were generally introduced from foreign lands by the immigration of new hordes of men. But it is not probable that each larger breed, which in the course of time supplanted a previous and smaller breed, was the descendant of a distinct and larger species; it is far more probable that the domestic races of our various animals were gradually improved in different parts of the great Europæo-Asiatic continent, and thence spread to other countries. This fact of the gradual increase in size of our domestic animals is all the more striking as certain wild or half-wild animals, such as red-deer, aurochs, park-cattle, and boars,[937] have within nearly the same period decreased in size. The conditions favourable to selection by man are,--the closest attention being paid to every character,--long-continued perseverance,--facility in matching or separating animals,--and especially a large number being kept, so that the inferior individuals may be freely rejected or destroyed, and the better ones preserved. When many are kept there will also be a {428} greater chance of the occurrence of well-marked deviations of structure. Length of time is all-important; for as each character, in order to become strongly pronounced, has to be augmented by the selection of successive variations of the same nature, this can only be effected during a long series of generations. Length of time will, also, allow any new feature to become fixed by the continued rejection of those individuals which revert or vary, and the preservation of those which inherit the new character. Hence, although some few animals have varied rapidly in certain respects under new conditions of life, as dogs in India and sheep in the West Indies, yet all the animals and plants which have produced strongly marked races were domesticated at an extremely remote epoch, often before the dawn of history. As a consequence of this, no record has been preserved of the origin of our chief domestic breeds. Even at the present day new strains or sub-breeds are formed so slowly that their first appearance passes unnoticed. A man attends to some particular character, or merely matches his animals with unusual care, and after a time a slight difference is perceived by his neighbours;--the difference goes on being augmented by unconscious and methodical selection, until at last a new sub-breed is formed, receives a local name, and spreads; but, by this time, its history is almost forgotten. When the new breed has spread widely, it gives rise to new strains and sub-breeds, and the best of these succeed and spread, supplanting other and older breeds; and so always onwards in the march of improvement. When a well-marked breed has once been established, if not supplanted by still improving sub-breeds, and if not exposed to greatly changed conditions of life, inducing further variability or reversion to long-lost characters, it may apparently last for an enormous period. We may infer that this is the case from the high antiquity of certain races; but some caution is necessary on this head, for the same variation may appear independently after long intervals of time, or in distant places. We may safely assume that this has occurred with the turnspit-dog which is figured on the ancient Egyptian monuments, with the solid-hoofed swine[938] mentioned by Aristotle, with five-toed fowls {429} described by Columella, and certainly with the nectarine. The dogs represented on the Egyptian monuments, about 2000 B.C., show us that some of the chief breeds then existed, but it is extremely doubtful whether any are identically the same with our present breeds. A great mastiff sculptured on an Assyrian tomb, 640 B.C., is said to be the same with the dog still imported into the same region from Thibet. The true greyhound existed during the Roman classical period. Coming down to a later period, we have seen that, though most of the chief breeds of the pigeon existed between two and three centuries ago, they have not all retained to the present day exactly the same character; but this has occurred in certain cases in which improvement was not desired, for instance in the case of the Spot or the Indian ground-tumbler. De Candolle[939] has fully discussed the antiquity of various races of plants; he states that the black-seeded poppy was known in the time of Homer, the white-seeded sesamum by the ancient Egyptians, and almonds with sweet and bitter kernels by the Hebrews; but it does not seem improbable that some of these varieties may have been lost and reappeared. One variety of barley and apparently one of wheat, both of which were cultivated at an immensely remote period by the Lake-inhabitants of Switzerland, still exist. It is said[940] that "specimens of a small variety of gourd which is still common in the market of Lima were exhumed from an ancient cemetery in Peru." De Candolle remarks that, in the books and drawings of the sixteenth century, the principal races of the cabbage, turnip, and gourd can be recognised; this might have been expected at so late a period, but whether any of these plants are absolutely identical with our present sub-varieties is not certain. It is, however, said that the Brussels sprout, a variety which in some places is liable to degeneration, has remained genuine for more than four centuries in the district where it is believed to have originated.[941] * * * * * In accordance with the views maintained by me in this work and elsewhere, not only the various domestic races, but the {430} most distinct genera and orders within the same great class,--for instance, whales, mice, birds, and fishes--are all the descendants of one common progenitor, and we must admit that the whole vast amount of difference between these forms of life has primarily arisen from simple variability. To consider the subject under this point of view is enough to strike one dumb with amazement. But our amazement ought to be lessened when we reflect that beings, almost infinite in number, during an almost infinite lapse of time, have often had their whole organisation rendered in some degree plastic, and that each slight modification of structure which was in any way beneficial under excessively complex conditions of life, will have been preserved, whilst each which was in any way injurious will have been rigorously destroyed. And the long-continued accumulation of beneficial variations will infallibly lead to structures as diversified, as beautifully adapted for various purposes, and as excellently co-ordinated, as we see in the animals and plants all around us. Hence I have spoken of selection as the paramount power, whether applied by man to the formation of domestic breeds, or by nature to the production of species. I may recur to the metaphor given in a former chapter: if an architect were to rear a noble and commodious edifice, without the use of cut stone, by selecting from the fragments at the base of a precipice wedge-formed stones for his arches, elongated stones for his lintels, and flat stones for his roof, we should admire his skill and regard him as the paramount power. Now, the fragments of stone, though indispensable to the architect, bear to the edifice built by him the same relation which the fluctuating variations of each organic being bear to the varied and admirable structures ultimately acquired by its modified descendants. Some authors have declared that natural selection explains nothing, unless the precise cause of each slight individual difference be made clear. Now, if it were explained to a savage utterly ignorant of the art of building, how the edifice had been raised stone upon stone, and why wedge-formed fragments were used for the arches, flat stones for the roof, &c.; and if the use of each part and of the whole building were pointed out, it would be unreasonable if he declared that nothing had been {431} made clear to him, because the precise cause of the shape of each fragment could not be given. But this is a nearly parallel case with the objection that selection explains nothing, because we know not the cause of each individual difference in the structure of each being. The shape of the fragments of stone at the base of our precipice may be called accidental, but this is not strictly correct; for the shape of each depends on a long sequence of events, all obeying natural laws; on the nature of the rock, on the lines of deposition or cleavage, on the form of the mountain which depends on its upheaval and subsequent denudation, and lastly on the storm or earthquake which threw down the fragments. But in regard to the use to which the fragments may be put, their shape may be strictly said to be accidental. And here we are led to face a great difficulty, in alluding to which I am aware that I am travelling beyond my proper province. An omniscient Creator must have foreseen every consequence which results from the laws imposed by Him. But can it be reasonably maintained that the Creator intentionally ordered, if we use the words in any ordinary sense, that certain fragments of rock should assume certain shapes so that the builder might erect his edifice? If the various laws which have determined the shape of each fragment were not predetermined for the builder's sake, can it with any greater probability be maintained that He specially ordained for the sake of the breeder each of the innumerable variations in our domestic animals and plants;--many of these variations being of no service to man, and not beneficial, far more often injurious, to the creatures themselves? Did He ordain that the crop and tail-feathers of the pigeon should vary in order that the fancier might make his grotesque pouter and fantail breeds? Did He cause the frame and mental qualities of the dog to vary in order that a breed might be formed of indomitable ferocity, with jaws fitted to pin down the bull for man's brutal sport? But if we give up the principle in one case,--if we do not admit that the variations of the primeval dog were intentionally guided in order that the greyhound, for instance, that perfect image of symmetry and vigour, might be formed,--no shadow of reason can be assigned for the belief that variations, alike in nature and the result {432} of the same general laws, which have been the groundwork through natural selection of the formation of the most perfectly adapted animals in the world, man included, were intentionally and specially guided. However much we may wish it, we can hardly follow Professor Asa Gray in his belief "that variation has been led along certain beneficial lines," like a stream "along definite and useful lines of irrigation." If we assume that each particular variation was from the beginning of all time preordained, the plasticity of organisation, which leads to many injurious deviations of structure, as well as that redundant power of reproduction which inevitably leads to a struggle for existence, and, as a consequence, to the natural selection or survival of the fittest, must appear to us superfluous laws of nature. On the other hand, an omnipotent and omniscient Creator ordains everything and foresees everything. Thus we are brought face to face with a difficulty as insoluble as is that of free will and predestination. * * * * * {433} INDEX. ABBAS Pacha, a fancier of fantailed pigeons, i. 206. ABBEY, Mr., on grafting, ii. 147; on mignonette, ii. 237. ABBOTT, Mr. Keith, on the Persian tumbler pigeon, i. 150. ABBREVIATION of the facial bones, i. 73. ABORTION of organs, ii. 315-318, 397. ABSORPTION of minority in crossed races, ii. 87-89, 174. ACCLIMATISATION, ii. 305-315; of maize, i. 322. ACERBI, on the fertility of domestic animals in Lapland, ii. 112. _Achatinella_, ii. 53. _Achillea millefolium_, bud variation in, i. 408. _Aconitum napellus_, roots of, innocuous in cold climates, ii. 274. _Acorus calamus_, sterility of, ii. 170. ACOSTA, on fowls in South America at its discovery, i. 237. _Acropera_, number of seeds in, ii. 379. ADAM, Mr., origin of _Cytisus Adami_, i. 390. ADAM, W., on consanguineous marriages, ii. 123. ADAMS, Mr., on hereditary diseases, ii. 7. ADVANCEMENT in scale of organisation, i. 8. _Ægilops triticoides_, observations of Fabre and Godron on, i. 313; increasing fertility of hybrids of, with wheat, ii. 110. _Æsculus flava_ and _rubicunda_, i. 392. _Æsculus pavia_, tendency of, to become double, ii. 168. _Æthusa cynapium_, ii. 337. AFFINITY, sexual elective, ii. 180. AFRICA, white bull from, i. 91; feral cattle in, i. 85; food-plants of savages of, i. 307-309; South, diversity of breeds of cattle in, i. 80; West, change in fleece of sheep in, i. 98. _Agave vivipara_, seeding of, in poor soil, ii. 169. AGE, changes in trees, dependent on, i. 387. AGOUTI, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 152. AGRICULTURE, antiquity of, ii. 243. _Agrostis_, seeds of, used as food, i. 309. AGUARA, i. 26. AINSWORTH, Mr., on the change in the hair of animals at Angora, ii. 278. AKBAR Khan, his fondness for pigeons, i. 205; ii. 204. _Alauda arvensis_, ii. 154. ALBIN, on "Golden Hamburgh" fowls, i. 247; figure of the hook-billed duck, i. 277. ALBINISM, i. 111, ii. 17. ALBINO, negro, attacked by insects, ii. 229. ALBINOES, heredity of, ii. 9. ALBINUS, thickness of the epidermis on the palms of the hands in man, ii. 297. ALCO, i. 31, ii. 102. ALDROVANDI, on rabbits, i. 104; description of the nun pigeon, i. 156; on the fondness of the Dutch for pigeons in the seventeenth century, i. 205; notice of several varieties of pigeons, i. 207-210; on the breeds of fowls, i. 247; on the origin of the domestic duck, i. 278. ALEFIELD, Dr., on the varieties of peas and their specific unity, i. 326; on the varieties of beans, i. 330. ALEXANDER the Great, his selection of Indian cattle, ii. 202. ALGÆ, retrogressive metamorphosis in, ii. 361; division of zoospores of, ii. 378. ALLEN, W., on feral fowls, i. 237; ii. 33. ALLMAN, Professor, on a monstrous _Saxifraga geum_, ii. 166; on the development of the Hydroida, ii. 368. ALMOND, i. 337; antiquity of, ii. 429; bitter, not eaten by mice, ii. 232. _Alnus glutinosa_ and _incana_, hybrids of, ii. 130. ALPACA, selection of, ii. 208. _Althæa rosea_, i. 378, ii. 107. _Amaryllis_, ii. 139. _Amaryllis vittata_, effect of foreign pollen on, i. 400. AMAUROSIS, hereditary, ii. 9. AMERICA, limits within which no useful plants have been furnished by, i. 310; colours of feral horses in, i. 60-61; North, native cultivated plants of, i. 312; skin of feral pig from, i. 77; South, variations in cattle of, i. 88, 92. _Amygdalus persica_, i. 336-344, 374. {434} AMMON, on the persistency of colour in horses, ii. 21. _Anagallis arvensis_, ii. 190. ANALOGOUS variation, i. 409, ii. 348-352; in horses, i. 55; in the horse and ass, i. 64; in fowls, i. 243-246. _Anas boschas_, i. 277, ii. 40; skull of, figured, i. 282. _Anas moschata_, ii. 40. "ANCON" sheep of Massachusetts, i. 100, ii. 103. ANDALUSIAN fowls, i. 227. ANDALUSIAN rabbits, i. 105. ANDERSON, J., on the origin of British sheep, i. 94; on the selection of qualities in cattle, ii. 196; on a one-eared breed of rabbits, i. 108; on the inheritance of characters from a one-eared rabbit and three-legged bitch, ii. 12; on the persistency of varieties of peas, i. 329; on the production of early peas by selection, ii. 201; on the varieties of the potato, i. 330-331; on crossing varieties of the melon, i. 399; on reversion in the barberry, i. 384. ANDERSON, Mr., on the reproduction of the weeping ash by seed, ii. 19; on the cultivation of the tree pæony in China, ii. 205. ANDERSSON, Mr., on the Damara, Bechuana, and Namaqua cattle, i. 88; on the cows of the Damaras, ii. 300; selection practised by the Damaras and Namaquas, ii. 207; on the use of grass-seeds and the roots of reeds as food in South Africa, i. 309. _Anemone coronaria_, doubled by selection, ii. 200. ANGINA pectoris, hereditary, occurring at a certain age, ii. 79. ANGLESEA, cattle of, i. 80. ANGOLA sheep, i. 95. ANGORA, change in hair of animals at, ii. 278; cats of, i. 45, 47; rabbits of, i. 106, 120. ANIMALS, domestication of, facilitated by fearlessness of man, i. 20; refusal of wild, to breed in captivity, ii. 149; compound, individual peculiarities of, reproduced by budding, i. 374; variation by selection in useful qualities of, ii. 220. ANNUAL plants, rarity of bud-variation in, i. 408. ANOMALIES in the osteology of the horse, i. 50. ANOMALOUS breeds of pigs, i. 75; of cattle, i. 89. _Anser albifrons_, characters of, reproduced in domestic geese, i. 288. _Anser ægyptiacus_, i. 282; ii. 68. _Anser canadensis_, ii. 157. _Anser cygnoides_, i. 237. _Anser ferus_, the original of the domestic goose, i. 287; fertility of cross of, with domestic goose, i. 288. ANSON, on feral fowls in the Ladrones, i. 238. ANTAGONISM between growth and reproduction, ii. 384. _Anthemis nobilis_, bud-variation in flowers of, i. 379; becomes single in poor soil, ii. 167. ANTHEROZOIDS, apparent independence of, in algæ, ii. 384. ANTHERS, contabescence of, ii. 165-166. ANTIGUA, cats of, i. 46; changed fleece of sheep in, i. 98. _Antirrhinum majus_, peloric, i. 365; ii. 59, 70, 166; double-flowered, ii. 167; bud-variation in, i. 381. ANTS, individual recognition of, ii. 251. APES, anthropomorphous, ii. 123. APHIDES, attacking pear-trees, ii. 231; development of, ii. 361-362. APOPLEXY, hereditary, occurring at a certain age, ii. 78. APPLE, i. 348-350; fruit of, in Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317; rendered fastigate by heat in India, i. 361; bud-variation in the, i. 376; with dimidiate fruit, i. 392-393; with two kinds of fruit on the same branch, i. 392; artificial fecundation of, i. 401; St. Valéry, i. 401; ii. 166; reversion in seedlings of, ii. 31; crossing of varieties of, ii. 129; growth of the, in Ceylon, ii. 277; Winter Majetin, not attacked by _coccus_, ii. 231; flower-buds of, attacked by bullfinches, ii. 232; American, change of when grown in England, ii. 275. APRICOT, i. 344-345; glands on the leaves of, ii. 231; analogous variation in the, ii. 348. _Aquila fusca_, copulating in captivity, ii. 154. _Aquilegia vulgaris_, i. 365; ii. 330. ARAB boarhound, described by Harcourt, i. 17. _Arabis blepharophylla_ and _A. Soyeri,_ effects of crossing, i. 400. _Aralia trifoliata_, bud-variation in leaves of, i. 382. ARAUCARIAS, young, variable resistance of, to frost, ii. 309. ARCHANGEL pigeon, ii. 240. ARCTIC regions, variability of plants and shells of, ii. 256. _Aria vestita_, grafted on thorns, i. 387. ARISTOPHANES, fowls mentioned by, i. 246. ARISTOTLE, on solid-hoofed pigs, i. 75; domestic duck unknown to, i. 277; on the assumption of male characters by old hens, ii. 51. {435} ARNI, domestication of the, i. 82. ARREST of development, ii. 315-318. ARTERIES, increase of anastomosing branches of, when tied, ii. 230. ARU islands, wild pig of, i. 67. ARUM, Polynesian varieties of, ii. 256. _Ascaris_, number of eggs of, ii. 379. ASH, varieties of the, i. 360; weeping, i. 361; simple-leaved, i. 362; bud-variation in, i. 382; effects of graft upon the stock in the, i. 394; production of the blotched Breadalbane, _ibid._; weeping, capricious reproduction of, by seed, ii. 19. _Asinus Burchellii_, i. 64. _Asinus hemionus_, ii. 43. _Asinus indicus_, ii. 42-43, 48. _Asinus quagga_, i. 64. _Asinus tæniopus_, ii. 41; the original of the domestic ass, i. 62. ASPARAGUS, increased fertility of cultivated, ii. 113. ASS, early domestication of the, i. 62; breeds of, _ibid._; small size of, in India, _ibid._; stripes of, i. 62-63; ii. 351; dislike of to cross water, i. 181; reversion in, ii. 41-43, 47; hybrid of the, with mare and zebra, ii. 42; prepotency of the, over the horse, ii. 67-68; crossed with wild ass, ii. 206; variation and selection of the, ii. 236. ASSYRIAN sculpture of a mastiff, i. 17. ASTERS, ii. 20, 316. ASTHMA, hereditary, ii. 8, 79. ATAVISM. _See_ Reversion. ATHELSTAN, his care of horses, ii. 203. ATKINSON, Mr., on the sterility of the Tarroo silk-moth in confinement, ii. 157. AUBERGINE, ii. 91. AUDUBON, on feral hybrid ducks, i. 190; ii. 46; on the domestication of wild ducks on the Mississippi, i. 278; on the wild cock turkey visiting domestic hens, i. 292; fertility of _Fringilla ciris_ in captivity, ii. 154; fertility of _Columba migratoria_ and _leucocephala_ in captivity, ii. 155; breeding of _Anser canadensis_ in captivity, ii. 157. AUDUBON and Bachman, on the change of coat in _Ovis montana_, i. 99; sterility of _Sciurus cinerea_ in confinement, ii. 152. AURICULA, effect of seasonal conditions on the, ii. 273; blooming of, ii. 346. AUSTRALIA, no generally useful plants derived from, i. 310; useful plants of, enumerated by Hooker, i. 311. AUSTRIA, heredity of character in emperors of, ii. 65. AUTENRIETH, on persistency of colour in horses, ii. 21. AVA, horses of, i. 53. _Avena fatua_, cultivability of, i. 313. AYEEN Akbery, pigeons mentioned in the, i. 150, 155, 185, 205, 207, 208. AYRES, W. P., on bud-variation in pelargoniums, i. 378. _Azalea indica_, bud-variation in, i. 377. AZARA, on the feral dogs of La Plata, i. 27; on the crossing of domestic with wild cats in Paraguay, i. 45; on hornlike processes in horses, i. 50; on curled hair in horses, i. 54; ii. 205, 325; on the colours of feral horses, i. 60, 61; ii. 259; on the cattle of Paraguay and La Plata, i. 82, 86, 89; ii. 250; on a hornless bull, ii. 205; on the increase of cattle in South America, ii. 119; on the growth of horns in the hornless cattle of Corrientes, ii. 39; on the "Niata" cattle, i. 90; on naked quadrupeds, ii. 279; on a race of black-skinned fowls in South America, i. 258; ii. 209; on a variety of maize, i. 321. BABINGTON, C. C., on the origin of the plum, i. 345; British species of the genus _Rosa_, i. 366; distinctness of _Viola lutea_ and _tricolor_, i. 368. BACHMANN, Mr., on the turkey, ii. 262. _See also_ Audubon. BADGER, breeding in confinement, ii. 151. "BAGADOTTEN-TAUBE," i. 141. BAILY, Mr., on the effect of selection on fowls, ii. 198; on Dorking fowls, ii. 238. BAIRD, S., on the origin of the turkey, i. 292. BAKER, Mr., on heredity in the horse, ii. 11; on the degeneration of the horse by neglect, ii. 239; orders of Henrys VII. and VIII. for the destruction of undersized mares, ii. 203. BAKEWELL, change in the sheep effected by, ii. 198. BALANCEMENT, ii. 342-344; of growth, law of, i. 274. BALDHEAD, pigeon, i. 151. BALDNESS, in man, inherited, ii. 73-74; with deficiency in teeth, ii. 326-327. BALLANCE, Mr., on the effects of interbreeding on fowls, ii. 125; on variation in the eggs of fowls, i. 248. _Ballota nigra_, transmission of variegated leaves in, i. 383. BAMBOO, varieties of the, ii. 256. BANANA, variation of the, i. 372; ii. 256, 258; bud-variation in the, i. 377; sterility of the, ii. 268. BANTAM fowls, i. 230; Sebright, origin of, ii. 96; sterility of, ii. 101. BARB (Pigeon), i. 144-146, 210; ii. 227; {436} figure of, i. 145; figure of lower jaw of, i. 164. BARBS, of wheat, i. 314. BARBERRY, dark or red-leaved variety, i. 362; ii. 19; reversion in suckers of seedless variety, i. 384. BARBUT, J., on the dogs of Guinea, i. 25; on the domestic pigeons in Guinea, i. 186; fowls not native in Guinea, i. 237. BARKING, acquisition of the habit of, by various dogs, i. 27. BARLEY, wild, i. 313; of the lake-dwellings, i. 317-318; ancient variety of, ii. 429. BARNES, Mr., production of early peas by selection, ii. 201. BARNET, Mr., on the intercrossing of strawberries, i. 351; dioeciousness of the Hautbois strawberry, i. 353; on the scarlet American strawberry, ii. 200. BARTH, Dr., use of grass-seeds as food in Central Africa, i. 308. BARTLETT, A. D., on the origin of "Himalayan" rabbits by intercrossing, i. 109; on the feral rabbits of Porto Santo, i. 114; on geese with reversed feathers on the head and neck, i. 288; on the young of the black-shouldered peacock, i. 290; on the breeding of the Felidæ in captivity, ii. 150. BARTRAM, on the black wolf-dog of Florida, i. 22. BATES, H. W., refusal of wild animals to breed in captivity, ii. 150, 152; sterility of American monkeys in captivity, ii. 153; sterility of tamed guans, ii. 156. BATRACHIA, regeneration of lost parts in, ii. 15. BEACH, raised, in Peru, containing heads of maize, i. 320. BEAK, variability of, in fowls, i. 258; individual differences of, in pigeons, i. 160; correlation of, with the feet in pigeons, i. 171-174. BEALE, Lionel, on the contents of cells, ii. 370; on the multiplication of infectious atoms, ii. 378; on the origin of fibres, ii. 382. BEANS, i. 330; of Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 319; varieties of, produced by selection, ii. 218; French and scarlet, variable resistance of to frost, ii. 309, 314; superiority of native seed of, ii. 314; a symmetrical variation of scarlet, ii. 322; experiments on kidney, i. 330; with monstrous stipules and abortive leaflets, ii. 343. BEARD, pigeon, i. 151. BEARS, breeding in captivity, ii. 151. BEASLEY, J., reversion in crossed cattle, ii. 41. BEATON, D., effect of soil upon strawberries, i. 353; on varieties of pelargonium, i. 364, ii. 274, 311; bud-variation in _Gladiolus colvillii_, i. 382; cross between Scotch kail and cabbage, ii. 98; hybrid gladiolus, ii. 139; constant occurrence of new forms among seedlings, ii. 235; on the doubling of the compositæ, ii. 316. BECHUANA cattle, i. 88. BECK, Mr., constitutional differences in pelargoniums, i. 364. BECKMANN, on changes in the odours of plants, ii. 274. BECKSTEIN, on the burrowing of wolves, i. 27; "Spitz" dog, i. 31; origin of the Newfoundland dog, i. 42; crossing of domestic and wild swine, i. 66; on the Jacobin pigeon, i. 154, 209; notice of swallow-pigeons, i. 156; on a fork-tailed pigeon, i. 157; variations in the colour of the croup in pigeons, i. 184; on the German dove-cot pigeon, i. 185; fertility of mongrel pigeons, i. 192; on hybrid turtle-doves, i. 193; on crossing the pigeon with _Columba oenas_, _C. palumbus_, _Turtur risoria_, and _T. vulgaris_, i. 193; development of spurs in the silk-hen, i. 256; on Polish fowls, i. 257, 264; on crested birds, i. 257; on the Canary-bird, i. 295, ii. 22, 161; German superstition about the turkey, i. 293; occurrence of horns in hornless breeds of sheep, ii. 30; hybrids of the horse and ass, ii. 68; crosses of tailless fowls, ii. 92; difficulty of pairing dove-cot and fancy pigeons, ii. 103; fertility of tame ferrets and rabbits, ii. 112; fertility of wild sow, _ibid._; difficulty of breeding caged birds, ii. 154; comparative fertility of _Psittacus erithacus_ in captivity, ii. 155; on changes of plumage in captivity, ii. 158; liability of light-coloured cattle to the attacks of flies, ii. 229; want of exercise a cause of variability, ii. 257; effect of privation of light upon the plumage of birds, ii. 280; on a sub-variety of the monk-pigeon, ii. 350. BEDDOE, Dr., correlation of complexion with consumption, ii. 335. BEDEGUAR gall, ii. 284. BEE, persistency of character of, ii. 236, 254; intercrossing, ii. 126; conveyance, of pollen of peas by, i. 329. BEE-OPHRYS, self-fertilisation of, ii. 91. BEECH, dark-leaved, i. 362, ii. 19; fern-leaved, reversion of, i. 382; weeping, non-production of by seed, ii. 19. BEECHEY, horses of Loochoo Islands, i. 53. BEET, i. 326; increase of sugar in, by selection, ii. 201. {437} _Begonia frigida_, singular variety of, i. 365; sterility of, ii. 166. BELGIAN rabbit, i. 106. BELL, T., statement that white cattle have coloured ears, i. 85. BELL, W., bud-variation in _Cistus tricuspis_, i. 377. BELLINGERI, observations on gestation in the dog, i. 30; on the fertility of dogs and cats, ii. 112. BELON, on high-flying pigeons in Paphlagonia, i. 209; varieties of the goose, i. 289. BENGUELA, cattle of, i. 88. BENNETT, Dr. G., pigs of the Pacific islands, i. 70, 87; dogs of the Pacific islands, i. 87; varieties of cultivated plants in Tahiti, ii. 256. BENNETT, Mr., on the fallow deer, ii. 103. BENTHAM, G., number and origin of cultivated plants, i. 306; cereals all cultivated varieties, i. 312; species of the orange group, i. 334-335; distinctions of almond and peach, i. 338; British species of _Rosa_, i. 366; identity of _Viola lutea_ and _tricolor_, i. 368. _Berberis vulgaris_, i. 384, ii. 19. _Berberis Wallichii_, indifference of, to climate, ii. 164. BERJEAN, on the history of the dog, i. 16, 18. BERKELEY, G. F., production of hen-cocks in a strain of game-fowls, i. 253. BERKELEY, M. J., crossing of varieties of the pea, i. 397; effect of foreign pollen on grapes, i. 400; on hybrid plants, ii. 131; analogy between pollen of highly-cultivated plants and hybrids, ii. 268; on Hungarian kidney-beans, ii. 275; failure of Indian wheat in England, ii. 307; bud developed on the petal of a _Clarkia_, ii. 384. BERNARD, inheritance of disease in the horse, ii. 10. BERNARD, C., independence of the organs of the body, ii. 368-369; special affinities of the tissues, ii. 380. BERNHARDI, varieties of plants with laciniated leaves, ii. 348. _Bernicla antarctica_, i. 288. BERTERO, on feral pigeons in Juan Fernandez, i. 190. _Betula alba_, ii. 18. BEWICK, on the British wild cattle, i. 84. BIBLE, reference to breeding studs of horses in, i. 54; references to domestic pigeons in the, i. 205; indications of selection of sheep in the, ii. 201; notice of mules in the, ii. 202. BIDWELL, Mr., on self-impotence in _Amaryllis_, ii. 139. BIRCH, weeping, i. 387, ii. 18. BIRCH, Dr. S., on the ancient domestication of the pigeon in Egypt, i. 205; notice of bantam fowls in a Japanese encyclopædia, i. 230, 247. BIRCH, Wyrley, on silver-grey rabbits, i. 109-110. BIRDS, sterility caused in, by change of conditions, ii. 153-157. BLADDER-NUT, tendency of the, to become double, ii. 168. BLAINE, Mr., on wry-legged terriers, ii. 245. BLAINVILLE, origin and history of the dog, i. 15-16; variations in the number of teeth in dogs, i. 34; variations in the number of toes in dogs, i. 35; on mummies of cats, i. 43; on the osteology of solid-hoofed pigs, i. 75; on feral Patagonian and N. American pigs, i. 77. "BLASS-TAUBE," i. 156. BLEEDING, hereditary, ii. 7, 8; sexual limitation of excessive, ii. 73. BLENDING of crossed races, time occupied by the, ii. 87. BLINDNESS, hereditary, ii. 9; at a certain age, ii. 78; associated with colour of hair, ii. 328. BLOODHOUNDS, degeneration of, caused by interbreeding, ii. 121. BLUMENBACH, on the protuberance of the skull in Polish fowls, i. 257; on the effect of circumcision, ii. 23; inheritance of a crooked finger, ii. 23; on badger-dogs and other varieties of the dog, ii. 220; on _Hydra_, ii. 293; on the "nisus formativus," ii. 294. BLYTH, E., on the Pariah dog, i. 24; hybrids of dog and jackal, i. 32; early domestication of cats in India, i. 43; origin of domestic cat, _ib._; crossing of domestic and wild cats, i. 44; on Indian cats resembling _Felis chaus_, i. 45; on striped Burmese ponies, i. 58; on the stripes of the ass, i. 63; on Indian wild pigs, i. 66; on humped cattle, i. 79, 80; occurrence of _Bos frontosus_ in Irish crannoges, i. 81; fertile crossing of zebus and common cattle, i. 83; on the species of sheep, i. 94; on the fat-tailed Indian sheep, i. 96; origin of the goat, i. 101; on rabbits breeding in India, i. 112; number of tail-feathers in fantails, i. 146; Lotan tumbler pigeons, i. 150; number of tail-feathers in _Ectopistes_, i. 159; on _Columba affinis_, i. 183; pigeons roosting in trees, i. 181; on _Columba leuconota_, i. 182; on _Columba intermedia_ of Strickland, i. 184; variation in colour of croup in pigeons, i. 184-185, 197; voluntary domestication of rock-pigeons in India, i. 185; feral pigeons on the Hudson, i. 190; {438} occurrence of sub-species of pigeons, i. 204; notice of pigeon-fanciers in Delhi, &c., i. 206; hybrids of _Gallus Sonneratii_ and the domestic hen, i. 234; supposed hybridity of _Gallus Temminckii_, i. 235; variations and domestication of _Gallus bankiva_, i. 235-236, 237; crossing of wild and tame fowls in Burmah, i. 236; restricted range of the larger gallinaceous birds, i. 237; feral fowls in the Nicobar islands, i. 238; black-skinned fowls occurring near Calcutta, i. 256; weight of _Gallus bankiva_, i. 272; degeneration of the turkey in India, i. 294, ii. 278; on the colour of gold-fish, i. 296; on the Ghor-Khur (_Asinus indicus_), ii. 42; on _Asinus hemionus_, ii. 43; number of eggs of _Gallus bankiva_, ii. 112; on the breeding of birds in captivity, ii. 157; co-existence of large and small breeds in the same country, ii. 279; on the drooping ears of the elephant, ii. 301; homology of leg and wing feathers, ii. 323. BOETHIUS on Scotch wild cattle, i. 85. BOITARD and Corbié, on the breeds of pigeons, i. 132; Lille pouter pigeon, i. 138; notice of a gliding pigeon, i. 156; variety of the pouter pigeon, i. 162; dove-cot pigeon, i. 185; crossing pigeons, i. 192-193, ii. 97, 126; sterility of hybrids of turtle-doves, i. 193; reversion of crossed pigeons, i. 197, ii. 40; on the fantail, i. 208, ii. 66; on the trumpeter, ii. 66; prepotency of transmission in silky fantail, ii. 67, 69; secondary sexual characters in pigeons, ii. 74; crossing of white and coloured turtle-doves, ii. 92; fertility of pigeons, ii. 112. BOMBYCIDÆ, wingless females of, ii. 299. _Bombyx hesperus_, ii. 304. _Bombyx Huttoni_, i. 302. _Bombyx mori_, i. 300-304. BONAFOUS, on maize, i. 320, 321. BONAPARTE, number of species of Columbidæ, i. 133; number of tail-feathers in pigeons, i. 158; size of the feet in Columbidæ, i. 174; on _Columba guinea_, i. 182; _Columba turricola_, _rupestris_, and _Schimperi_, i. 184. _Bonatea speciosa_, development of ovary of, i. 403. BONAVIA, Dr., growth of cauliflowers in India, ii. 310. BONES, removal of portions of, ii. 296; regeneration of, ii. 294; growth and repair of, ii. 381-382. BONNET, on the salamander, ii. 15, 341, 358, 385; theory of reproduction, ii. 385. BORCHMEYER, experiments with the seeds of the weeping ash, ii. 19. BORECOLE, i. 323. BORELLI, on Polish fowls, i. 247. BORNEO, fowls of, with tail-bands, i. 235. BORNET, E., condition of the ovary in hybrid _Cisti_, i. 389; self-impotence of hybrid _Cisti_, ii. 140. BORROW, G., on pointers, i. 42. BORY de Saint-Vincent, on gold-fish, i. 297. _Bos_, probable origin of European domestic cattle from three species of, i. 83. _Bos frontosus_, i. 79, 81-82. _Bos indicus_, i. 79. _Bos longifrons_, i. 79, 81. _Bos primigenius_, i. 79-81, 119. _Bos sondaicus_, ii. 206. _Bos taurus_, i. 79. _Bos trochoceros_, i. 81. BOSC, heredity in foliage-varieties of the elm, i. 362. BOSSE, production of double flowers from old seed, ii. 167. BOSSI, on breeding dark-coloured silkworms, i. 302. BOUCHARDAT, on the vine disease, i. 334. BOUDIN, on local diseases, ii. 276; resistance to cold of dark-complexioned men, ii. 335. "BOULANS," i. 137. "BOUTON d'Alep," ii. 276. BOWEN, Prof., doubts as to the importance of inheritance, ii. 3. BOWMAN, Mr., hereditary peculiarities in the human eye, ii. 8-10; hereditary cataract, ii. 79. BRACE, Mr., on Hungarian cattle, i. 80. _Brachycome iberidifolia_, ii. 261. BRACTS, unusual development of, in gooseberries, i. 355. BRADLEY, Mr., effect of grafts upon the stock in the ash, i. 394; effect of foreign pollen upon apples, i. 401; on change of soil, ii. 146. "BRAHMA Pootras," a new breed of fowls, i. 245. BRAIN, proportion of, in hares and rabbits, i. 126-129. BRANDT, origin of the goat, i. 101. _Brassica_, varieties of, with enlarged stems, ii. 348. _Brassica asperifolia_, ii. 343. _Brassica napus_, i. 325. _Brassica oleracea_, i. 323. _Brassica rapa_, i. 325, ii. 165. BRAUN, A., bud-variation in the vine, i. 375; in the currant, i. 376; in _Mirabilis jalapa_, i. 382; in _Cytisus adami_, i. 388; on reversion in the foliage of trees, i. 382; spontaneous production of _Cytisus purpureo-elongatus_, i. 390; reversion of flowers by stripes and blotches, ii. 37; excess of nourishment a source of variability, ii. 257. {439} BRAZIL, cattle of, i. 88. BREAD-FRUIT, varieties of, ii. 256; sterility and variability of, ii. 262. BREE, W. T., bud-variation in _Geranium pratense_ and _Centaurea cyanus_, i. 379; by tubers in the dahlia, i. 385; on the deafness of white cats with blue eyes, ii. 329. BREEDING, high, dependent on inheritance, ii. 3-4. BREEDS, domestic, persistency of, ii. 246, 428-429; artificial and natural, ii. 413-414; extinction of, ii. 425; of domestic cats, i. 45-47; of pigs produced by crossing, i. 78; of cattle, i. 86-87, 91-93; of goats, i. 101. BREHM, on _Columba amaliæ_, i. 183. BRENT, B. P., number of mammæ in rabbits, i. 106; habits of the tumbler pigeon, i. 151; Laugher pigeon, i. 155; colouring of the kite tumbler, i. 160; crossing of the pigeon with _Columba oenas_, i. 193; mongrels of the trumpeter pigeon, ii. 66; close interbreeding of pigeons, ii. 126; opinion on Aldrovandi's fowls, i. 247; on stripes in chickens, i. 249-250; on the combs of fowls, i. 253; double-spurred Dorking fowls, i. 255; effect of crossing on colour of plumage in fowls, i. 258; incubatory instinct of mongrels between non-sitting varieties of fowls, ii. 44; origin of the domestic duck, i. 277; fertility of the hook-billed duck, _ibid._; occurrence of the plumage of the wild duck in domestic breeds, i. 280; voice of ducks, i. 281; occurrence of a short upper mandible in crosses of hook-billed and common ducks, i. 281; reversion in ducks produced by crossing, ii. 40; variation of the canary-bird, i. 295; fashion in the canary, ii. 240; hybrids of canary and finches, ii. 45. BRICKELL, on raising nectarines from seed, i. 340; on the horses of North Carolina, ii. 300. BRIDGES, Mr., on the dogs of Tierra del Fuego, i. 39; on the selection of dogs by the Fuegians, ii. 207. BRIDGMAN, W. K., reproduction of abnormal ferns, i. 383, ii. 379. BRIGGS, J. J., regeneration of portions of the fins of fishes, ii. 15. BROCA, P., on the intercrossing of dogs, i. 31-32; on hybrids of hare and rabbit, i. 105; on the rumpless fowl, i. 259; on the character of half-castes, ii. 47; degree of fertility of mongrels, ii. 100; sterility of descendants of wild animals bred in captivity, ii. 160. BROCCOLI, i. 323; rudimentary flowers in, ii. 316; tenderness of, ii. 310. BROMEHEAD, W., doubling of the Canterbury bell by selection, ii. 200. BROMFIELD, Dr., sterility of the ivy and _Acorus calamus_, ii. 170. _Bromus secalinus_, i. 314. BRONN, H. G., bud-variation in _Anthemis_, i. 379; effects of cross-breeding on the female, i. 404; on heredity in a one-horned cow, ii. 12, 13; propagation of a pendulous peach by seed, ii. 18; absorption of the minority in crossed races, ii. 88; on the crossing of horses, ii. 92; fertility of tame rabbits and sheep, ii. 112; changes of plumage in captivity, ii. 158; on the dahlia, ii. 261. BRONZE period, dog of, i. 18. BROWN, G., variations in the dentition of the horse, i. 50. BROWN-SÉQUARD, Dr., inheritance of artificially-produced epilepsy in the guinea-pig, ii. 24. _Brunswigia_, ii. 139. BRUSSELS Sprouts, i. 323, ii. 429. _Bubo maximus_, ii. 154. BUCKLAND, F., on oysters, ii. 280; number of eggs in a codfish, ii. 379. BUCKLE, Mr., doubts as to the importance of inheritance, ii. 3. BUCKLEY, Miss, carrier-pigeons roosting in trees, i. 181. BUCKMAN, Prof., cultivation of _Avena fatua_, i. 313; cultivation of the wild parsnip, i. 326, ii. 201, 277; reversion in the parsnip, ii. 31. BUCKWHEAT, injurious to white pigs, when in flower, ii. 337. BUD and seed, close analogy of, i. 411. BUD-REVERSION, ii. 37. BUDS, adventitious, ii. 384. BUD-VARIATION, i. 373-411, ii. 254, 287-288, 291; contrasted with seminal reproduction, i. 373; peculiar to plants, i. 374; in the peach, i. 340, 374; in plums, i. 375; in the cherry, _ibid._; in grapes, _ibid._; in the gooseberry, currant, pear, and apple, i. 376; in the banana, camellia, hawthorn, _Azalea indica_, and _Cistus tricuspis_, i. 377; in the hollyhock and pelargonium, i. 378; in _Geranium pratense_ and the chrysanthemum, i. 379; in roses, i. 367, 379-381; in sweet williams, carnations, pinks, stocks, and snapdragons, i. 381; in wall-flowers, cyclamen, _Oenothera biennis_, _Gladiolus colvillii_, fuchsias, and _Mirabilis jalapa_, i. 382; in foliage of various trees, i. 382-384; in cryptogamic plants, i. 383; by suckers in _Phlox_ and barberry, i. 384; by tubers in the potato, _ibid._; in the dahlia, i. 385; by bulbs in hyacinths, _Imatophyllum miniatum_, and tulips, i. 385; in _Tigridia conchiflora_, i. 386; {440} in _Hemerocallis_, _ibid._; doubtful cases, i. 386-387; in _Cytisus Adami_, i. 387-394; probable in _Æsculus rubicunda_, i. 392; summary of observations on, 406. BUFFON, on crossing the wolf and dog, i. 32; increase of fertility by domestication, ii. 111; improvement of plants by unconscious selection, ii. 216; theory of reproduction, ii. 375. _Bulimus_, ii. 53. BULL, apparent influence of, on offspring, ii. 68. BULLACE, i. 345. BULLDOG, recent modifications of, i. 42. BULLFINCH, breeding in captivity, ii. 154; attacking flower-buds, ii. 232. BULT, Mr., selection of pouter pigeons, ii. 197. "BÜNDTNERSCHWEIN," i. 67. BUNTING, reed, in captivity, ii. 158. BURDACH, crossing of domestic and wild animals, i. 66; aversion of the wild boar to barley, ii. 303. BURKE, Mr., inheritance in the horse, ii. 10. _Burlingtonia_, ii. 135. BURMAH, cats of, i. 47. BURMESE ponies, striped, i. 58, 59. BURNES, Sir A., on the Karakool sheep, i. 98, ii. 278; varieties of the vine in Cabool, i. 333; hawks, trained in Scinde, ii. 153; pomegranates producing seed, ii. 168. BURTON Constable, wild cattle at, i. 84. "BURZEL-TAUBEN," i. 150. BUSSORAH carrier, i. 141. _Buteo vulgaris_, copulation of, in captivity, ii. 154. BUTTERFLIES, polymorphic, ii. 399-400. BUZAREINGUES, Girou de, inheritance of tricks, ii. 6. CABANIS, pears grafted on the quince, ii. 239. CABBAGE, i. 323-326; varieties of, i. 323; unity of character in flowers and seeds of, i. 323-324; cultivated by ancient Celts, i. 324; classification of varieties of, _ibid._; ready crossing of, _ibid._, ii. 90, 91, 98, 130; origin of, i. 325; increased fertility of, when cultivated, ii. 113; growth of, in tropical countries, ii. 277. CABOOL, vines of, i. 333. CABRAL, on early cultivation in Brazil, i. 311. CACTUS, growth of cochineal on, in India, ii. 275. CÆSAR, _Bos primigenius_ wild in Europe in the time of, i. 81; notice of fowls in Britain, i. 246; notice of the importation of horses by the Celts, ii. 203. CAFFRE fowls, i. 230. CAFFRES, different kinds of cattle possessed by the, i. 88. "CÁGIAS," a breed of sheep, i. 95. CALCEOLARIAS, i. 364; ii. 147; effects of seasonal conditions on, ii. 274; peloric flowers in, ii. 346. "CALONGOS," a Columbian breed of cattle, i. 88. CALVER, Mr., on a seedling peach producing both peaches and nectarines, i. 341. CALYX, segments of the, converted into carpels, ii. 392. CAMEL, its dislike to crossing water, i. 181. _Camellia_, bud-variations in, i. 377; recognition of varieties of, ii. 251; variety in, hardiness of, ii. 308. CAMERON, D., on the cultivation of Alpine plants, ii. 163. CAMERONN, Baron, value of English blood in race-horses, ii. 11. _Campanula medium_, ii. 200. CANARY-BIRD, i. 295; conditions of inheritance in, ii. 22; hybrids of, ii. 45; period of perfect plumage in, ii. 77; diminished fertility of, ii. 161; standard of perfection in, ii. 195; analogous variation in, ii. 349. CANCER, heredity of, ii. 7, 8, 79. CANINE teeth, development of the, in mares, ii. 318. _Canis alopex_, i. 29. _Canis antarcticus_, i. 20. _Canis argentatus_, ii. 151. _Canis aureus_, i. 29. _Canis cancrivorus_, domesticated and crossed in Guiana, i. 23. _Canis cinereo-variegatus_, i. 29. _Canis fulvus_, i. 29. _Canis Ingæ_, the naked Peruvian dog, i. 23. _Canis latrans_, resemblance of, to the Hare Indian dog, i. 22; one of the original stocks, i. 26. _Canis lupaster_, i. 25. _Canis lupus_, var. _occidentalis_, resemblance of, to North American dogs, i. 21; crossed with dogs, i. 22; one of the original stocks, i. 26. _Canis mesomelas_, i. 25, 29. _Canis primævus_, tamed by Mr. Hodgson, i. 26. _Canis sabbar_, i. 25. _Canis simensis_, possible original of greyhounds, i. 33. _Canis thaleb_, i. 29. _Canis variegatus_, i. 29. CANTERBURY Bell, doubled by selection, ii. 200. CAPE of Good Hope, different kinds of cattle at the, i. 88; {441} no useful plants derived from the, i. 310. CAPERCAILZIE, breeding in captivity, ii. 156. _Capra ægagrus_ and _C. Falconeri_, probable parents of domestic goat, i. 101. CAPSICUM, i. 371. CARDAN, on a variety of the walnut, i. 356; on grafted walnuts, ii. 259-260. CARDOON, ii. 34. _Carex rigida_, local sterility of the, ii. 170. CARLIER, early selection of sheep, ii. 204. CARLISLE, Sir A., inheritance of peculiarities, ii. 6, 8; of polydactylism, ii. 13. "CARME" pigeon, i. 156. CARNATION, bud-variation in, i. 381; variability of, i. 370; striped, produced by crossing red and white, i. 393; effect of conditions of life on the, ii. 273. CARNIVORA, general fertility of, in captivity, ii. 150. CAROLINE Archipelago, cats of, i. 47. CARP, ii. 236. CARPELS, variation of, in cultivated cucurbitaceæ, i. 359. CARPENTER, W. B., regeneration of bone, ii. 294; production of double monsters, ii. 340; number of eggs in an _Ascaris_, ii. 379. _Carpinus betulus_, i. 362. _Carpophaga littoralis_ and _luctuosa_, i. 182. CARRIER pigeon, i. 139-142; English, i. 139-141; figured, i. 140; skull figured, i. 163; history of the, i. 211; Persian, i. 141; Bussorah, _ibid._; Bagadotten, skull figured, i. 163; lower jaw figured, i. 165. CARRIÈRE, cultivation of the wild carrot, i. 326; intermediate form between the almond and the peach, i. 338; glands of peach-leaves, i. 343; bud-variation in the vine, i. 375; grafts of _Aria vestita_ upon thorns, i. 387; variability of hybrids of _Erythrina_, ii. 265. CARROT, wild, effects of cultivation on the, i. 326; reversion in the, ii. 31; run wild, ii. 33; increased fertility of cultivated, ii. 113; experiments on the, ii. 277; acclimatisation of the, in India, ii. 311. _Carthamus_, abortion of the pappus in, ii. 316. CARTIER, cultivation of native plants in Canada, i. 312. CARYOPHYLLACEÆ, frequency of contabescence in the, ii. 165. CASPARY, bud-variation in the moss-rose, i. 380; on the ovules and pollen of _Cytisus_, i. 388-389; crossing of _Cytisus purpureus_ and _C. laburnum_, i. 389; trifacial orange, i. 391; differently-coloured flowers in the wild _Viola lutea,_ i. 408; sterility of the horse-radish, ii. 170. CASTELNAU, on Brazilian cattle, i. 88. CASTRATION, assumption of female characters caused by, ii. 51-52. _Casuarius bennettii_, ii. 156. CAT, domestic, i. 43-48; early domestication and probable origin of the, i. 43-44; intercrossing of with wild species, i. 44-45; variations of, i. 45-48; feral, i. 47, ii. 33; anomalous, i. 48; polydactylism in, ii. 14; black, indications of stripes in young, ii. 55; tortoiseshell, ii. 73; effects of crossing in, ii. 86; fertility of, ii. 111; difficulty of selection in, ii. 234, 236; length of intestines in, ii. 302; white with blue eyes, deafness of, ii. 329; with tufted ears, ii. 350. CATARACT, hereditary, ii. 9, 79. CATERPILLARS, effect of changed food on, ii. 280. CATLIN, G., colour of feral horses in North America, i. 61. CATTLE, European, their probable origin from three original species, i. 79-82; humped, or Zebus, i. 79-80; intercrossing of, i. 83, 91-93; wild, of Chillingham, Hamilton, Chartley, Burton Constable, and Gisburne, i. 84, ii. 119; colour of feral, i. 84-85, ii. 102; British breeds of, i. 86-87; South African breeds of, i. 88; South American breeds of, i. 89, ii. 205; Niata, i. 89-91, ii. 205, 208, 332; effects of food and climate on, i. 91-92; effects of selection on, i. 92-93; Dutch-buttocked, ii. 8; hornless, production of horns in, ii. 29-30, 39; reversion in, when crossed, ii. 41; wildness of hybrid, ii. 45; short-horned, prepotency of, ii. 65; wild, influence of crossing and segregation on, ii. 86; crosses of, ii. 96, 104, 118; of Falkland islands, ii. 102; mutual fertility of all varieties of, ii. 110; effects of interbreeding on, ii. 117-119; effects of careful selection on, ii. 194, 199; naked, of Columbia, ii. 205; crossed with wild banteng in Java, ii. 206; with reversed hair in Banda Oriental, ii. 205; selection of trifling characters in, ii. 209; fashion in, ii. 210; similarity of best races of, ii. 241; unconscious selection in, ii. 214; effects of natural selection on anomalous breeds of, ii. 226-227; light-coloured, attacked by flies, ii. 229, 336; Jersey, rapid improvement of, ii. 234; effects of disuse of parts in, ii. 299; rudimentary horns in, ii. 315; supposed influence of humidity on the hair of, ii. 326; {442} white spots of, liable to disease, ii. 337; supposed analogous variation in, ii. 349; displacement of long-horned by short-horned, ii. 426. CAULIFLOWER, i. 323; free-seeding of, in India, ii. 310; rudimentary flowers in, ii. 316. CAVALIER pigeon, ii. 97. _Cavia aperea_, ii. 152. CAY (_Cebus azaræ_), sterility of, in confinement, ii. 153. _Cebus azaræ_, ii. 153. _Cecidomyia_, larval development of, ii. 283, 360, 367; and _Misocampus_, i. 5. CEDARS of Lebanon and Atlas, i. 364. CELERY, turnip-rooted, i. 336; run wild, ii. 33. CELL-THEORY, ii. 370. _Celosia cristata_, i. 365. CELSUS, on the selection of seed-corn, i. 318, ii. 203. CELTS, early cultivation of the cabbage by the, i. 324; selection of cattle and horses by the, ii. 202-203. _Cenchrus_, seeds of a, used as food, i. 309. _Centaurea cyanus_, bud-variation in, i. 379. CEPHALOPODA, spermatophores of, ii. 383. _Cerasus padus_, yellow-fruited, ii. 19. _Cercoleptes_, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 152. _Cercopithecus_, breeding of a species of, in captivity, ii. 153. CEREALS, i. 312-313; of the Neolithic period in Switzerland, i. 317; adaptation of, to soils, ii. 305. _Cereus_, ii. 38. _Cereus speciosissimus_ and _phyllanthus_, reversion in hybrids of, i. 392. _Cervus canadensis_, ii. 158. _Cervus dama_, ii. 120. CETACEA, correlation of dermal system and teeth in the, ii. 328. CEYLON, cats of, i. 46; pigeon-fancying in, i. 206. _Chamærops humilis_, crossed with date palm, i. 399. CHAMISSO, on seeding bread-fruit, ii. 168. CHANNEL islands, breeds of cattle in, i. 80. CHAPMAN, Professor, peach-trees producing nectarines, i. 341. CHAPUIS, F., sexual peculiarities in pigeons, i. 162, ii. 74; effect produced by first male upon the subsequent progeny of the female, i. 405; sterility of the union of some pigeons, ii. 162. CHARACTERS, fixity of, ii. 239; latent, ii. 51-56, 399-400; continued divergence of, ii. 241; antagonistic, ii. 401. CHARDIN, abundance of pigeons in Persia, i. 205. CHARLEMAGNE, orders as to the selection of stallions, ii. 203. CHARTLEY, wild cattle of, i. 84. CHATÉ, reversion of the upper seeds in the pods of stocks, ii. 347-348. CHATIN, on _Ranunculus ficaria_, ii. 170. CHAUNDY, Mr., crossed varieties of cabbage, ii. 130. CHEETAH, general sterility of, in captivity, ii. 151. _Cheiranthus cheiri_, i. 382. CHERRIES, i. 347-348; bud-variation in, i. 375; white Tartarian, ii. 230; variety of, with curled petals, ii. 232; period of vegetation of, changed by forcing, ii. 311. CHEVREUL, on crossing fruit-trees, ii. 129. CHICKENS, differences in characters of, i. 249-250; white, liable to gapes, ii. 228, 336. CHIGOE, ii. 275. CHILE, sheep of, i. 95. CHILLINGHAM cattle, identical with _Bos primigenius_, i. 81; characters of, i. 83-84. CHILOE, half-castes of, ii. 46. CHINA, cats of, with drooping ears, i. 47; horses of, i. 53; striped ponies of, i. 59; asses of, i. 62; notice of rabbits in, by Confucius, i. 103; breeds of pigeons reared in, i. 206; breeds of fowls of, in fifteenth century, i. 232, 247; goose of, i. 237. CHINCHILLA, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 152. CHINESE, selection practised by the, ii. 204-205; preference of the, for hornless rams, ii. 209; recognition of the value of native breeds by the, ii. 313. CHINESE, or Himalayan rabbit, i. 108. "CHIVOS," a breed of cattle in Paraguay, i. 89. CHOUX-RAVES, i. 323. CHRIST, H., on the plants of the Swiss Lake-dwellings, i. 309, 318; intermediate forms between _Pinus sylvestris_ and _montana_, i. 363. CHRYSANTHEMUM, i. 379. _Chrysotis festiva_, ii. 280. CINERARIA, effects of selection on the, ii. 200. CIRCASSIA, horses of, ii. 102. CIRCUMCISION, ii. 23. CIRRIPEDES, metagenesis in, ii. 366. _Cistus_, intercrossing and hybrids of, i. 336, 389, ii. 140. _Cistus tricuspis_, bud-variation in, i. 377. CITRONS, i. 334-335. "_Citrus aurantium fructu variabili_," i. 336. _Citrus decumana_, i. 335. _Citrus lemonum_, i. 336. {443} _Citrus medica_, i. 335-336. CLEFT palate, inheritance of, ii. 24. CLEMENTE, on wild vines in Spain, i. 332. CLERMONT-TONNERRE, on the St. Valery apple, i. 401. CLAPHAM, A., bud-variation in the hawthorn, i. 377. "CLAQUANT," i. 138. "CLAQUERS" (pigeons), i. 156. CLARK, G., on the wild dogs of Juan de Nova, i. 27; on striped Burmese and Javanese ponies, i. 59; breeds of goats imported into the Mauritius, i. 101; variations in the mammæ of goats, i. 102; bilobed scrotum of Muscat goat, _ibid._ CLARK, H. J., on fission and gemmation, ii. 359. CLARKE, R. T., intercrossing of strawberries, i. 352. CLARKE, T., hybridisation of stocks, i. 399, ii. 93. CLARKSON, Mr., prize-cultivation of the gooseberry, i. 355. CLASSIFICATION, explained by the theory of natural selection, i. 11. CLIMATE, effect of, upon breeds of dogs, i. 37; on horses, i. 52, 53; on cattle, i. 91, 92; on the fleece of sheep, i. 98, 99; on seeds of wheat, i. 316; on cultivated cabbages, i. 325; adaptation of maize to, i. 322. CLIMATE and pasture, adaptation of breeds of sheep to, i. 96-97. CLIMATE and soil, effects of, upon strawberries, i. 353. CLINE, Mr., on the skull in horned and hornless rams, ii. 333. CLOS, on sterility in _Ranunculus ficaria_, ii. 170. CLOTZSCH, hybrids of various trees, ii. 130. CLOVER, pelorism in, ii. 340. COATE, Mr., on interbreeding pigs, ii. 122. COCCUS of apple trees, ii. 231. COCHIN fowls, i. 227, 250, 252, 260-261; occipital foramen of, figured, i. 261; section of skull of, figured, i. 263; cervical vertebra of, figured, i. 267. COCHINEAL, persistence of, ii. 236; preference of, for a particular cactus, ii. 275. _Cochlearia armoracia_, ii. 170. COCK, game, natural selection in, ii. 225; spur of, grafted on the comb, ii. 296; spur of, inserted into the eye of an ox, ii. 369; effect of castration upon the, ii. 51-52. COCK'S-COMB, varieties of the, i. 365. COCOONS, of silkworms, variations in, i. 302-303. CODFISH, bulldog, i. 89; number of eggs in the, ii. 379. _Coelogenys paca_, ii. 152. COLIN, prepotency of the ass over the horse, ii. 67-68; on cross-breeding, ii. 97; on change of diet, ii. 304. COLLINSON, Peter, peach-tree producing a nectarine, i. 340. COLORATION, in pigeons, an evidence of unity of descent, i. 195-197. COLOUR, correlation of, in dogs, i. 28-29; persistence of, in horses, i. 50; inheritance and diversity of, in horses, i. 55; variations of, in the ass, i. 62-63; of wild or feral cattle, i. 85; transmission of, in rabbits, i. 107; peculiarities of, in Himalayan rabbits, i. 111; influence of, ii. 227-230; correlation of, in head and limbs, ii. 324; correlated with constitutional peculiarities, ii. 335-338. COLOUR and odour, correlation of, ii. 325. COLOUR-BLINDNESS, hereditary, ii. 9; more common in men than in women, ii. 72-73; associated with inability to distinguish musical sounds, ii. 328. COLOURS, sometimes not blended by crossing, ii. 92. _Columba affinis_, Blyth, a variety of _C. livia_, i. 183. _Columba amaliæ_, Brehm, a variety of _C. livia_, i. 183. _Columba guinea_, i. 182. _Columba gymnocyclus_, Gray, a form of _C. livia_, i. 184. _Columba gymnophthalmos_, hybrids of, with _C. oenas_, i. 193; with _C. maculosa_, i. 194. _Columba intermedia_, Strickland, a variety of _C. livia_, i. 184. _Columba leucocephala_, ii. 155. _Columba leuconota_, i. 182, 195. _Columba littoralis_, i. 182. _Columba livia_, ii. 29, 40; the parent of domestic breeds of pigeons, i. 183; measurements of, i. 134; figured, i. 135; skull figured, i. 163; lower jaw figured, i. 164, 168; scapula figured, i. 167. _Columba luctuosa_, i. 182. _Columba migratoria_ and _leucocephala_, diminished fertility of, in captivity, ii. 155. _Columba oenas_, i. 183; crossed with common pigeon and _C. gymnophthalmos_, i. 193. _Columba palumbus_, i. 193, ii. 350. _Columba rupestris_, i. 182, 184, 195. _Columba Schimperi_, i. 184. _Columba torquatrix_, ii. 350. _Columba turricola_, i. 184. COLUMBIA, cattle of, i. 88. COLUMBINE, double, i. 365, ii. 330. {444} COLUMBUS, on West Indian dogs, i. 23. COLUMELLA, on Italian shepherd's dogs, i. 23; on domestic fowls, i. 231, 247, ii. 202, 429; on the keeping of ducks, i. 277; on the selection of seed-corn, i. 318; on the benefits of change of soil to plants, ii. 146; on the value of native breeds, ii. 313. COLZA, i. 325. COMB, in fowls, variations of, i. 253-254; sometimes rudimentary, ii. 315. COMPENSATION, law of, i. 274. COMPENSATION of growth, ii. 342-344. COMPLEXION, connexion of, with constitution, ii. 335. COMPOSITÆ, double flowers of, i. 365, ii. 167, 316. CONCEPTION, earlier in Alderney and Zetland cows than in other breeds, i. 87. CONDITIONS of life, changed, effect of, ii. 418-419; on horses, i. 52; upon variation in pigeons, i. 212-213; upon wheat, i. 315-316; upon trees, i. 361; in producing bud-variation, i. 408; advantages of, ii. 145-148, 176-177; sterility caused by, ii. 148-165; conducive to variability, ii. 255-261, 394; accumulative action of, ii. 261-263; direct action of, ii. 271-292. CONDOR, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. CONFINEMENT, effect of, upon the cock, ii. 52. CONFUCIUS, on the breeding of rabbits in China, i. 103. CONOLLY, Mr., on Angora goats, ii. 326. CONSTITUTIONAL differences in sheep, i. 96-97; in varieties of apples, i. 349-350; in pelargoniums, i. 364; in dahlias, i. 370. CONSTITUTIONAL peculiarities in strawberries, i. 353; in roses, i. 367. CONSUMPTION, hereditary, ii. 8; period of appearance of, ii. 77; correlated with complexion, ii. 335. CONTABESCENCE, ii. 165-166. _Convolvulus batatas_, ii. 169, 309. _Convolvulus tricolor_, bud-variation in, i. 408. COOPER, Mr., improvement of vegetables by selection, ii. 204. COOPER, White, hereditary peculiarities of vision, ii. 9; association of affections of the eyes with those of other systems, ii. 328. CORALS, bud-variation in, i. 374; non-diffusion of cell-gemmules in, ii. 379. CORBIÉ. _See_ Boitard. CORNEA, opacity of, inherited, ii. 9. _Cornus mascula_, yellow-fruited, ii. 19. CORRELATION, ii. 319; of neighbouring parts, ii. 320; of change in the whole body and in some of its parts, ii. 321; of homologous parts, ii. 322-331; inexplicable, ii. 331-333; commingling of, with the effects of other agencies, ii. 333-335. CORRELATION of skull and limbs in swine, i. 73; of tusks and bristles in swine, i. 76; of multiplicity of horns and coarseness of wool in sheep, i. 95; of beak and feet in pigeons, i. 172-173; between nestling down and colour of plumage in pigeons, i. 194; of changes in silkworms, i. 304; in plants, ii. 219; in maize, i. 323; in pigeons, i. 167-171, 218; in fowls, i. 274-275. CORRESPONDING periods, inheritance at, ii. 75-80. CORRIENTES, dwarf cattle of, i. 89. CORRINGHAM, Mr., influence of selection on pigs, ii. 198. CORSICA, ponies of, i. 52. "CORTBECK" (pigeon) of Aldrovandi, i. 209. _Corvus corone_ and _C. cornix_, hybrids of, ii. 94. _Corydalis_, flower of, ii. 304. _Corydalis cava_, ii. 132-133. _Corydalis solida_, sterile when peloric, ii. 167. _Corydalis tuberosa_, peloric by reversion, ii. 58-59. _Corylus avellana_, i. 357. COSTA, A., on shells transferred from England to the Mediterranean, ii. 280. "COUVE TRONCHUDA," i. 323. COW, inheritance of loss of one horn in the, ii. 12, 23; amount of milk furnished by the, ii. 300; development of six mammæ in, ii. 317. COWSLIP, ii. 21, 182. CRACIDÆ, sterility of the, in captivity, ii. 156. CRANES, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 156. _Cratægus oxyacantha_, i. 363, ii. 18, 232, 258, 377. _Cratægus monogyna_, i. 364. _Cratægus sibirica_, i. 364. CRAWFURD, J., Malasian cats, i. 47; horses of the Malay Archipelago, i. 49; horses of Japan, i. 53; occurrence of stripes in young wild pigs of Malacca, i. 76; on a Burmese hairy family with deficient teeth, ii. 77, 327; Japanese origin of the bantam, i. 230; game fowls of the Philippine islands, i. 232; hybrids of _Gallus varius_ and domestic fowl, i. 234; domestication of _Gallus bankiva_, i. 236; feral fowls in the Pellew islands, i. 238; history of the fowl, i. 246; history of the domestic duck, i. 277; domestication of the goose, i. 287; cultivated plants of New Zealand, i. 312; {445} breeding of tame elephants in Ava, ii. 150; sterility of _Goura coronata_ in confinement, ii. 155; geese of the Philippine islands, ii. 162. CREEPERS, a breed of fowls, i. 230. CRESTED fowl, i. 227; figured, i. 229. "CRÈVE-COEUR," a French sub-breed of fowls, i. 229. CRISP, Dr., on the brains of the hare and rabbit, i. 126. CROCKER, C. W., singular form of _Begonia frigida_, i. 365-366, ii. 166; sterility in _Ranunculus ficaria_, ii. 170. CROCUS, ii. 165. CROSS-BREEDING, permanent effect of, on the female, i. 404. CROSSING, ii. 85-144, 173-192; a cause of uniformity, ii. 85-90, 173; occurs in all organised beings, ii. 90-92; some characters not blended by, ii. 92-95, 173; modifications and new races produced by, ii. 95-99; causes which check, ii. 100-109; domestication and cultivation favourable to, ii. 109-113, 189; beneficial effects of, ii. 114-131, 174-176; necessary in some plants, ii. 131-140, 175-176, 423; summary of subject of, ii. 140-144; of dogs with wolves in North America, i. 21-22; with _Canis cancrivorus_ in Guiana, i. 23; of dog with wolf, described by Pliny and others, i. 24; characters furnished by, brought out by reversion in the progeny, ii. 34-36; a direct cause of reversion, ii. 39-47, 48; a cause of variability, ii. 264-267. CRUSTACEA, macrourous, differences in the development of the, ii. 368. CRUSTACEAN with an antenna-like development of the eye-peduncle, ii. 391. CRYPTOGAMIC plants, bud-variation in, i. 383. CUBA, wild dogs of, i. 27. "CUCKOO," sub-breeds of fowls, i. 244. CUCUMBER, variation in number of carpels of, i. 359; supposed crossing of varieties of the, i. 400. _Cucumis momordica_, i. 360. _Cucumis sativa_, i. 359. _Cucurbita_, dwarf, correlation of leaves in, ii. 330. _Cucurbita maxima_, i. 357, 359. _Cucurbita moschata_, i. 357, 359. _Cucurbita pepo_, i. 357, ii. 108; varieties of, i. 358; relation in size and number of fruit of, ii. 343. CUCURBITACEÆ, i. 357-360; supposed crossing of, i. 399; Naudin's observations on hybrids of, ii. 172; acclimatisation of, ii. 313. "CULBUTANTS" (pigeons), i. 150. CULTIVATION of plants, origin of, among savages, i. 309-310; fertility increased by, ii. 111-113. CUNIER, on hereditary night-blindness, ii. 9. CURRANTS, of Tierra del Fuego, i. 309; bud-variation in, i. 376. CURTIS, Mr., bud-variation in the rose, i. 381. CUVIER, on the gestation of the wolf, i. 29; the odour of the jackal, an obstacle to domestication, i. 30; differences of the skull in dogs, i. 34; external characters of dogs, i. 35; elongation of the intestines in domestic pigs, i. 73, ii. 303; fertility of the hook-billed duck, i. 277; number of digits, ii. 13; hybrid of ass and zebra, ii. 42; breeding of animals in the Jardin des Plantes, ii. 149; sterility of predaceous birds in captivity, ii. 154; facility of hybridisation in confinement, ii. 160. CYANOSIS, affection of fingers in, ii. 332. CYCLAMEN, bud-variation in, i. 382. _Cynara cardunculus_, ii. 34. _Cynips fecundatrix_, ii. 283. _Cynocephalus hamadryas_, ii. 153. _Cyprinus auratus_, i. 296-297. _Cyrtanthus_, ii. 139. _Cyrtopodium_, ii. 134. _Cytisus Adami_, ii. 364; its bud-variation, i. 387-389, 406, ii. 37; seedlings from, i. 388; different views of its origin, i. 389-390; experiments in crossing _C. purpureus_ and _laburnum_ to produce, i. 389; its production by M. Adam, i. 390; discussion of origin of, i. 396. _Cytisus alpino-laburnum_, ovules and pollen of, i. 389; origin of, i. 390. _Cytisus alpinus_, i. 388. _Cytisus laburnum_, i. 387, 389, 390, 396. _Cytisus purpureo-elongatus_, ovules and pollen of, i. 389; production of, i. 390. _Cytisus purpureus_, i. 387, 388, 389, 390, 396. DAHLBOM, effects of food on hymenoptera, ii. 281. DAHLIA, i. 369-370, ii. 147; bud-variation by tubers in the, i. 385; improvement of, by selection, ii. 216; steps in cultivation of, ii. 261; effect of conditions of life on, ii. 273; correlation of form and colour in, ii. 331. DAISY, hen and chicken, i. 365; Swan River, ii. 261. DALBRET, varieties of wheat, i. 314. DALIBERT, changes in the odours of plants, ii. 274. DALLY, Dr., on consanguineous marriages, ii. 122. DALTONISM, hereditary, ii. 9. DAMARAS, cattle of, i. 88, ii. 207-208. {446} DAMSON, i. 347. DANDOLO, Count, on silkworms, i. 301. DANIELL, fertility of English dogs in Sierra Leone, ii. 161. DANISH Middens, remains of dogs in, i. 18. DAPPLING in horses, asses, and hybrids, i. 55. DARESTE. C., on the skull of the Polish fowl, i. 262; on the production of monstrous chickens, ii. 289; co-existence of anomalies, ii. 331; production of double monsters, ii. 340. DARVILL, Mr., heredity of good qualities in horses, ii. 11. DARWIN, C., on _Lepus magellanicus_, i. 112; on the wild potato, i. 330; dimorphism in the polyanthus and primrose, ii. 21. DARWIN, Dr., improvement of vegetables by selection, ii. 204. DARWIN, Sir F., wildness of crossed pigs, ii. 45. D'ASSO, monogynous condition of the hawthorn in Spain, i. 364. _Dasyprocta aguti_, ii. 152. Date-palm, varieties of the, ii. 256; effect of pollen of, upon the fruit of _Chamærops_, i. 299. _Datura_, ii. 38; variability in, ii. 266. _Datura lævis_ and _stramonium_, reversion in hybrids of, i. 392. _Datura stramonium_, ii. 67. DAUBENTON, variations in the number of mammæ in dogs, i. 35; proportions of intestines in wild and domestic cats, i. 48, ii. 302. DAUDIN, on white rabbits, ii. 230. DAVY, Dr., on sheep in the West Indies, i. 98. DAWKINS and Sandford, early domestication of _Bos longifrons_ in Britain, i. 81. DEAF-MUTES, non-heredity of, ii. 22. DEAFNESS, inheritance of, ii. 78. DEBY, wild hybrids of common and musk ducks, ii. 46. DE CANDOLLE, Alph., number and origin of cultivated plants, i. 306-307, 371; regions which have furnished no useful plants, i. 310; wild wheat, i. 312-313; wild rye and oats, i. 313; antiquity of varieties of wheat, i. 316; apparent inefficacy of selection in wheat, i. 318; origin and cultivation of maize, i. 320, ii. 307; colours of seeds of maize, i. 321; varieties and origin of the cabbage, i. 324-325; origin of the garden-pea, i. 326; on the vine, i. 332, ii. 308; cultivated species of the orange group, i. 335; probable Chinese origin of the peach, i. 337; on the peach and nectarine, i. 340, 342; varieties of the peach, i. 342; origin of the apricot, i. 344; origin and varieties of the plum, i. 345; origin of the cherry, i. 347; varieties of the gooseberry, i. 354; selection practised with forest-trees, i. 361; wild fastigate oak, i. 361; dark-leaved varieties of trees, i. 362; conversion of stamens into pistils in the poppy, i. 365; variegated foliage, i. 366; heredity of white hyacinths, i. 371, ii. 20; changes in oaks dependent on age, i. 387; inheritance of anomalous characters, ii. 19; variation of plants in their native countries, ii. 256; deciduous bushes becoming evergreen in hot climates, ii. 305; antiquity of races of plants, ii. 429. DE CANDOLLE, P., non-variability of monotypic genera, ii. 266; relative development of root and seed in _Raphanus sativus_, ii. 343. DECAISNE, on the cultivation of the wild carrot, i. 326; varieties of the pear, i. 350; inter-crossing of strawberries, i. 351; fruit of the apple, i. 401; sterility of _Lysimachia nummularia_, ii. 170; tender variety of the peach, ii. 308. DEER, assumption of horns by female, ii. 51; imperfect development of horns in a, on a voyage, ii. 158. DEER, fallow, ii. 103. DEERHOUND. Scotch, difference in size of the sexes of, ii. 73; deterioration of, ii. 121. DEGENERATION of high-bred races, under neglect, ii. 239. DE JONGHE, J., on strawberries, i. 352, ii. 243; soft-barked pears, ii. 231; on accumulative variation, ii. 262; resistance of blossoms to frost, ii. 306. DELAMER, E. S., on rabbits, i. 107, 112. _Delphinium ajacis_, ii. 21. _Delphinium consolida_, ii. 20-21. _Dendrocygna viduata_, i. 182, ii. 157. DENTITION, variations of, in the horse, i. 50. DEODAR, i. 364. DESMAREST, distribution of white on dogs, i. 29; cat from the Cape of Good Hope, i. 47; cats of Madagascar, i. 47; occurrence of striped young in Turkish pigs, i. 76; French breeds of cattle, i. 80; horns of goats, i. 102; on hornless goats, ii. 315. DESOR, E., on the Anglo-Saxon race in America, ii. 276. DESPORTES, number of varieties of roses, i. 367. DEVAY, Dr., singular case of albinism, ii. 17; on the marriage of cousins, ii. 122; on the effects of close interbreeding, ii. 143, 263. DEVELOPMENT and metamorphosis, ii. 388-389. DEVELOPMENT, arrests of, ii. 315-318. DEVELOPMENT, embryonic, ii. 366-368. {447} D'HERVEY-Saint-Denys, L., on the ya-mi, or imperial rice of the Chinese, ii. 205. DHOLE, fertility of the, in captivity, ii. 151. DIABETES, occurrence of, in three brothers, ii. 17. _Dianthus_, contabescent plants of, ii. 165-166; hybrid varieties of, ii. 267. _Dianthus armeria_ and _deltoides_, hybrids of, ii. 98. _Dianthus barbatus_, i. 381. _Dianthus caryophyllus_, i. 381. _Dianthus japonicus_, contabescence of female organs in, ii. 166. DICHOGAMOUS plants, ii. 90. DICKSON, Mr., on "running" in carnations, i. 381; on the colours of tulips, i. 386. _Dicotyles torquatus_ and _labiatus_, ii. 150. DIEFFENBACH, dog of New Zealand, i. 26; feral cats in New Zealand, i. 47; polydactylism in Polynesia, ii. 14. _Dielytra_, ii. 59. DIET, change of, ii. 303-304. _Digitalis_, properties of, affected by culture, ii. 274; poison of, ii. 380. DIGITS, supernumerary, ii. 57; analogy of, with embryonic conditions, ii. 16; fusion of, ii. 341. DIMORPHIC plants, ii. 166; conditions of reproduction in, ii. 181-184. DIMORPHISM, reciprocal, ii. 90. DINGO, i. 25; variation of, in colour, i. 28; half-bred, attempting to burrow, i. 28; attraction of foxes by a female, i. 31; variations of, in confinement, ii. 263. DIOECIOUSNESS of strawberries, i. 353. DISEASES, inheritance of, ii. 7-8; family uniformity of, ii. 57; inherited at corresponding periods of life, ii. 77-80; peculiar to localities and climates, ii. 276; obscure correlations in, ii. 331-332; affecting certain parts of the body, ii. 380; occurring in alternate generations, ii. 401. DISTEMPER, fatal to white terriers, ii. 227. DISUSE and use of parts, effects of, ii. 295-303, 352-353, 418-419; in the skeleton of rabbits, i. 124-128; in pigeons, i. 171-177; in fowls, i. 270-274; in ducks, i. 284-286; in the silk-moth, i. 300-304. DIVERGENCE, influence of, in producing breeds of pigeons, i. 220. DIXON, E. S., on the musk duck, i. 182; on feral ducks, i. 190; on feral pigeons in Norfolk Island, i. 190; crossing of pigeons, i. 192; origin of domestic fowls, i. 230; crossing of _Gallus Sonneratii_ and common fowl, i. 234; occurrence of white in the young chicks of black fowls, i. 244; Paduan fowl of Aldrovandi, i. 247; peculiarities of the eggs of fowls, i. 248; chickens, i. 249-250; late development of the tail in Cochin cocks, i. 250; comb of lark-crested fowls, i. 256; development of webs in Polish fowls, i. 259; on the voice of fowls, i. 259; origin of the duck, i. 277; ducks kept by the Romans, i. 278; domestication of the goose, i. 287; gander frequently white, i. 288; breeds of turkeys, i. 293; incubatory instinct of mongrels of non-sitting races of fowls, ii. 44; aversion of the dove-cot pigeon to pair with fancy birds, ii. 103; fertility of the goose, ii. 112; general sterility of the guans in captivity, ii. 156; fertility of geese in captivity, ii. 157; white peafowl, ii. 332. DOBELL, H., inheritance of anomalies of the extremities, ii. 14; non-reversion to a malformation, ii. 36. DOBRIZHOFFER, abhorrence of incest by the Abipones, ii. 123. DOGS, origin of, i. 15; ancient breeds of, i. 17, ii. 429; of neolithic, bronze and iron periods in Europe, i. 18-19, ii. 427; resemblance of to various species of canidæ, i. 21; of North America compared with wolves, i. 21-22; of the West Indies, South America, and Mexico, i. 23, 31; of Guiana, i. 23; naked dogs of Paraguay and Peru, _ibid._ and 31; dumb, on Juan Fernandez, i. 27; of Juan de Nova, i. 27; of La Plata, i. 27; of Cuba, i. 27; of St. Domingo, i. 28; correlation of colour in, i. 28-29; gestation of, i. 29-30; hairless Turkish, i. 30, ii. 227; inter-crossing of different breeds of, i. 31; characters of different breeds of, discussed, i. 34-37; degeneration of European, in warm climates, i. 36, 38; ii. 278, 305; liability to certain diseases in different breeds of, i. 36 and _note_; causes of differences of breeds discussed, i. 37-43; catching fish and crabs in New Guinea and Tierra del Fuego, i. 39; webbing of the feet in, i. 39; influence of selection in producing different breeds of, i. 39, 43; retention of original habits by, i. 182; inheritance of polydactylism in, ii. 14; feral, ii. 33; reversion in fourth generation of, ii. 34; of the Pacific Islands, ii. 87, 220, 303; mongrel, ii. 92-93; comparative facility of crossing different breeds of, ii. 102; fertility of, ii. 111, 151; inter-breeding of, ii. 120-121; selection of, among the Greeks, ii. 202, 209; among savages, ii. 206-207; unconscious selection of, ii. 211-212; valued by the Fuegians, ii. 215; climatal changes in hair of, ii. 278; production of drooping ears in, ii. 301; {448} rejection of bones of game by, ii. 303; inheritance of rudiments of limbs in, ii. 315; development of fifth toe in, ii. 317; hairless, deficiency of teeth in, ii. 326; short-faced, teeth of, ii. 345; probable analogous variation in, ii. 349; extinction of breeds of, ii. 425. DOMBRAIN, H. H., on the auricula, ii. 346-347. DOMESTICATION, essential points in, ii. 405-406; favourable to crossing, ii. 109-110; fertility increased by, ii. 111-113, 174. DOMESTICATED animals, origin of, ii. 160-161; occasional sterility of, under changed conditions, ii. 161-162. DONDERS, Dr., hereditary hypermetropia, ii. 8. DORKING fowl, i. 227, 261; furcula of, figured, i. 268. DORMOUSE, ii. 152. DOUBLE FLOWERS, ii. 167-168, 171-172; produced by selection, ii. 200. DOUBLEDAY, H., cultivation of the filbert pine strawberry, i. 354. DOUGLAS, J., crossing of white and black game-fowls, ii. 92. DOWNING, Mr., wild varieties of the hickory, i. 310; peaches and nectarines from seed, i. 339-340; origin of the Boston nectarine, i. 340; American varieties of the peach, i. 343; North American apricot, i. 344; varieties of the plum, i. 346; origin and varieties of the cherry, i. 347-348; "twin cluster pippins," i. 349; varieties of the apple, i. 350; on strawberries, i. 351, 353; fruit of the wild gooseberry, i. 355; effects of grafting upon the seed, ii. 26; diseases of plum and peach trees, ii. 227-228; injury done to stone fruit in America by the "weevil," ii. 231; grafts of the plum and peach, ii. 259; wild varieties of pears, ii. 260; varieties of fruit-trees suitable to different climates, ii. 306. _Draba sylvestris_, ii. 163. DRAGON, pigeon, i. 139, 141. "DRAIJER" (pigeon), i. 156. DRINKING, effects of, in different climates, ii. 289. DROMEDARY, selection of, ii. 205-206. DRUCE, Mr., inter-breeding of pigs, ii. 121. DU CHAILLU, fruit-trees in West Africa, i. 309. DUCHESNE on _Fragaria vesca_, i. 351, 352, 353. DUFOUR, Léon, on _Cecidomyia_ and _Misocampus_, i. 5. DUCK, musk, retention of perching habit by the, i. 182; feral hybrid of, i. 190. DUCK, penguin, hybrid of, with Egyptian goose, ii. 68. DUCK, wild, difficulty of rearing, ii. 233; effects of domestication on, ii. 278. DUCKS, breeds of, i. 276-277; origin of, i. 277; history of, _ibid._; wild, easily tamed, i. 278-279; fertility of breeds of, when crossed, i. 279; with the plumage of _Anas boschas_, i. 280; Malayan penguin, identical in plumage with English, i. 280; characters of the breeds of, i. 281-284; eggs of, i. 281; effects of use and disuse in, i. 284-286, ii. 298; feral, in Norfolk, i. 190; Aylesbury, inheritance of early hatching by, ii. 25; reversion in, produced by crossing, ii. 40; wildness of half-bred wild, ii. 45; hybrids of, with the musk duck, ii. 45-46; assumption of male plumage by, ii. 51; crossing of Labrador and penguin, ii. 97; increased fertility of, by domestication, ii. 112; general fertility of, in confinement, ii. 157; increase of size of, by care in breeding, ii. 199; change produced by domestication in, ii. 262. DUMÉRIL, Aug., breeding of _Siredon_ in the branchiferous stage, ii. 384. DUN-coloured horses, origin of, i. 59. DUREAU de la Malle, feral pigs in Louisiana, ii. 33; feral fowls in Africa, _ibid._; bud-variation in the pear, i. 376; production of mules among the Romans, ii. 110. _Dusicyon sylvestris_, i. 23. DUTCH rabbit, i. 107. DUTCH roller pigeon, i. 151. DUTROCHET, pelorism in the laburnum, ii. 346. DUVAL, growth of pears in woods in France, ii. 260. DUVAL-Jouve, on _Leersia oryzoides_, ii. 91. DUVERNOY, self-impotence in _Lilium candidum_, ii. 137. DZIERZON, variability in the characters and habits of bees, i. 298. EARLE, Dr., on colour-blindness, ii. 72, 328. EARS, of fancy rabbits, i. 106; deficiency of, in breeds of rabbits, i. 108; rudimentary, in Chinese sheep, ii. 315; drooping, ii. 301; fusion of, ii. 341. EATON, J. M., on fancy pigeons, i. 148, 153; variability of characters in breeds of pigeons, i. 161; reversion of crossed pigeons to coloration of _Columba livia_, i. 198; on pigeon-fancying, i. 206, 215-216; on tumbler-pigeons, i. 209, ii. 242; carrier-pigeon, i. 211; effects of interbreeding on pigeons, ii. 126; properties of pigeons, ii. 197-198; death of short-faced tumblers in the egg, ii. 226; {449} Archangel pigeon, ii. 240. ECHINODERMATA, metagenesis in, ii. 367. _Ectopistes_, specific difference in number of tail-feathers in, i. 159. _Ectopistes migratorius_, sterile hybrids of, with _Turtur vulgaris_, i. 193. EDENTATA, correlation of dermal system and teeth in the, ii. 328. EDGEWORTH, Mr., use of grass-seeds as food in the Punjab, i. 309. EDMONSTON, Dr., on the stomach in _Larus argentatus_ and the raven, ii. 302. EDWARDS and COLIN, on English wheat in France, ii. 307. EDWARDS, W. F., absorption of the minority in crossed races, ii. 87. EDWARDS, W. W., occurrence of stripes in a nearly thoroughbred horse, i. 57; in foals of racehorses, i. 59. EGGS, of fowls, characters of, i. 248; variations of, in ducks, i. 281; of the silkmoth, i. 301. EGYPT, ancient dogs of, i. 17-18; ancient domestication of the pigeon in, i. 204; absence of the fowl in ancient, i. 246. EGYPTIAN goose, hybrids of, with penguin duck, i. 282. EHRENBERG, Prof., multiple origin of the dog, i. 16; dogs of Lower Egypt, i. 25; mummies of _Felis maniculata_, i. 43. ELEMENT, male, compared to a premature larva, ii. 384. ELEMENTS of the body, functional independence of the, ii. 368-371. ELEPHANT, its sterility in captivity, ii. 150. ELK, Irish, correlations in the, ii. 333-334. ELLIOT, Sir Walter, on striped horses, i. 58; Indian domestic and wild swine, i. 66; pigeons from Cairo and Constantinople, i. 132; fantail pigeons, i. 146; Lotan tumbler pigeons, i. 150; a pigeon uttering the sound _Yahu_, i. 155; _Gallus bankiva_ in Pegu, i. 236. ELLIS, Mr., varieties of cultivated plants in Tahiti, ii. 256. ELM, nearly evergreen Cornish variety of the, i. 363, ii. 310; foliage-varieties of the, i. 362. ELM, weeping, i. 361; not reproduced by seed, ii. 19. _Emberiza passerina_, ii. 158. EMBRYOS, similarity of, i. 12; fusion of, ii. 339. ENGEL, on _Laurus sassafras_, ii. 274. ENGLAND, domestication of _Bos longifrons_ in, i. 81; selection of horses in, in mediæval times, ii. 203; laws against the early slaughter of rams in, ii. 203. EPHEMERIDÆ, development of the, ii. 366. _Epidendrum cinnabarinum_ and _E. zebra_, ii. 134. EPILEPSY, hereditary, ii. 8, 78. ERDT, disease of the white parts of cattle, ii. 337. ERICACEÆ, frequency of contabescence in the, ii. 165. ERICHTHONIUS, an improver of horses by selection, ii. 202. ERMAN, on the fat-tailed Kirghisian sheep, i. 98, ii. 280; on the dogs of the Ostyaks, ii. 206. _Erodium_, ii. 59. _Erythrina Crista-galli_ and _E. herbacea_, hybrids of, ii. 265. ESQUILANT, Mr., on the naked young of dun-coloured pigeons, i. 170. ESQUIMAUX dogs, their resemblance to wolves, i. 21; selection of, ii. 206. EUDES-DESLONGCHAMPS, on appendages under the jaw of pigs, i. 75-76. _Euonymus Japonicus_, i. 383. EUROPEAN cultivated plants, still wild in Europe, i. 307. EVANS, Mr., on the Lotan tumbler pigeon, i. 150. EVELYN, pansies grown in his garden, i. 368. EVEREST, R., on the Newfoundland dog in India, i. 36, ii. 305; degeneration of setters in India, i. 38; Indian wild boars, i. 66. EWES, hornless, ii. 350. EXTINCTION of domestic races, i. 221. EYES, hereditary peculiarities of the, ii. 8-10; loss of, causing microphthalmia in children, ii. 24; modification of the structure of, by natural selection, ii. 222-223; fusion of, ii. 341. EYEBROWS, hereditary elongation of hairs in, ii. 8. EYELIDS, inherited peculiarities of the, ii. 8. EYTON, Mr., on gestation in the dog, i. 30; variability in number of vertebræ in the pig, i. 74; individual sterility, ii. 162. _Faba vulgaris_, i. 330. FABRE, observations on _Ægilops triticoides,_ i. 313. _Fagus sylvatica_, ii. 19. FAIRWEATHER, Mr., production of double flowers from old seed, ii. 167. _Falco albidus_, resumption of young plumage by, in captivity, ii. 158. _Falco ossifragus_, ii. 230. _Falco subbuteo_, copulating in captivity, ii. 154. _Falco tinnunculus_, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. {450} FALCONER, Dr., sterility of English bulldogs in India, i, 38; resemblance between _Sivatherium_ and Niata cattle, i. 89; selection of the silkworm in India, i. 301; fastigate apple-trees in Calcutta, i. 361; reproduction of a supernumerary thumb after amputation, ii. 14; fertility of the dhole in captivity, ii. 151; fertility of English dogs in India, ii. 161; sterility of the tiger in captivity, ii. 151; turkeys at Delhi, ii. 161; on Indian cultivated plants, ii. 165; Thibet mastiff and goat, ii. 278. FALCONS, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 153. FALKLAND Islands, horses of the, i. 52-53, 61; feral pigs of the, i. 77; feral cattle of the, i. 82, 86; feral rabbits of the, i. 112. FALLOW deer, ii. 103, 120. FANTAIL pigeons, i. 146-148, ii. 227; figured, i. 147; furcula of, figured, i. 167; history of, i. 208; absence of oil-gland in, ii. 344. FAROE Islands, pigeons of the, i. 183. FASHION, influence of, in breeding, ii. 240. FASTIGATE trees, ii. 277, 348. FAUNAS, geographical differences, of, i. 10. "FAVOURITE" bull, ii. 65, 118. FEATHERS, homologous variation in, ii. 325. FEET, of pigeons, individual differences of, i. 160; correlations of external characters in, i. 170-171. FEET and beak, correlation of, in pigeons, i. 171-174. FELIDÆ, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 150. _Felis bubastes_, i. 43. _Felis caffra_, i. 44. _Felis caligulata_, i. 43. _Felis chaus_, i. 43-44. _Felis jubata_, ii. 151. _Felis lybica_, i. 44. _Felis maniculata_, i. 43. _Felis manul_, i. 45. _Felis ornata_, i. 45. _Felis sylvestris_, i. 44. _Felis torquata_, i. 45. FEMALE, affected by male element, ii. 365, 387-388. FEMALE flowers, in male panicle of maize, i. 321. FENNEL, Italian variety of, i. 326. FERAL cats, i. 47; cattle, i. 86; rabbits, i. 111-115; Guinea fowl, i. 294; animals and plants, reversion in, ii. 32-34, 47. FERGUSON, Mr., supposed plurality of origin of domestic fowls, i. 231; chickens of black game-fowls, i. 244; relative size of eggs of fowls, i. 248; yolk of eggs of game-fowls, i. 249; early pugnacity of game-cocks, i. 250; voice of the Malay fowl, i. 259; effects of interbreeding on fowls, ii. 124; selection in Cochin China fowls, ii. 196; on fashion in poultry, ii. 240. FERNANDEZ, on Mexican dogs, i. 23. FERNS, reproduction of abnormal forms of, by spores, i. 383; non-diffusion of cell-gemmules in, ii. 379. FERRETS, ii. 111, 151, 206. FERTILISATION, artificial, of the St. Valery apple, i. 350. FERTILITY, various degrees of, in sheep, i. 97; unlimited mutual, of breeds of pigeons, i. 192-194; comparative of mongrels and hybrids, ii. 100-101, 178-180; influence of nourishment on, ii. 111; diminished by close interbreeding, ii. 118, 175; reduced, of Chillingham wild cattle, ii. 119; of domesticated varieties when crossed, ii. 189. _Festuca_, species of, propagated by bulblets, ii. 170. FILBERTS, spared by tomtits, ii. 231. FILIPPI, on the breeding of branchiferous tritons, ii. 384. FINCHES, general sterility of, in captivity, ii. 154. FINNIKIN (pigeon), i. 156. FINNOCHIO, i. 326. FIR, Scotch, acclimatisation of, ii. 310. FISH, Mr., advantage of change of soil to plants, ii. 147. FISHES, regeneration of portions of fins of, ii. 15; variability of, when kept in tanks, ii. 259; marine, living in fresh water, ii. 304; double monsters of, ii. 340. FISSION and gemmation, ii. 358. FITCH, Mr., persistency of a variety of the pea, i. 329. FITTEST, survival of the, i. 6. FITZINGER, origin of sheep, i. 94; African maned sheep, i. 96. FIXEDNESS of character, conditions of, discussed, ii. 62-64. FLAX, found in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317; climatal difference in products of, ii. 274. FLEECE, fineness of, in Austrian merinos, ii. 197. FLEISCHMANN, on German sheep crossed with merinos, ii. 88-89. "FLORENTINER-TAUBE," i. 142-143. FLOUNDER, ii. 53. FLOURENS, crossing of wolf and dog, i. 32; prepotency of the jackal over the dog, ii. 67; hybrids of the horse and ass, ii. 68; breeding of monkeys in Europe, ii. 153. {451} FLOWER-GARDEN, earliest known, in Europe, ii. 217. FLOWERS, capricious transmission of colour-varieties in, ii. 20-21; tendency to uniformity in striped, ii. 70; scorching of, dependent on colour, ii. 229; change in, caused by conditions of life, ii. 273; rudimentary, ii. 316; relative position of, to the axis, ii. 345. FOETATION, abdominal, ii. 294. FOLEY, Mr., wild varieties of pears, ii. 260. FOLIAGE, inherited peculiarities of, i. 362; variegation, of, i. 366; bud-variation in, i. 382-384. FOOD, influence of, on the pig, i. 72; on cattle, i. 91; excess of, a cause of variability, ii. 257. FORBES, D., on Chilian sheep, i. 95; on the horses of Spain, Chili, and the Pampas, i. 52. _Formica rufa_, ii. 251. FORTUNE, R., sterility of the sweet potato in China, ii. 169; development of axillary bulbs in the yam, _ibid._ FOWL, common, breeds of, i. 225-230; supposed plurality of origin, i. 230; early history of, i. 231-233; causes of production of breeds of, i. 233; origin of from _Gallus bankiva_, i. 236-239, 245; feral, notices of, i. 237-238; reversion and analogous variation in, i. 239-246, ii. 35, 38, 39, 40, 349, 350; "cuckoo" sub-breeds of, i. 244; history of, i. 246-247; structural characters of, i. 247-250; sexual peculiarities of, i. 251-257, ii. 74; external differences of, i. 257-260; differences of breeds of, from _G. bankiva_, i. 260; osteological characters of, i. 260-270; effects of disuse of parts in, i. 270-274, ii. 298; feral, i. 190, ii. 33; polydactylism in, ii. 14; fertility of, increased by domestication, ii. 112, 167; sterility of, under certain conditions, ii. 162; influence of selection on, ii. 196, 198, 209, 210; evils of close interbreeding of, ii. 124-125; crossing of, ii. 95, 96, 97; prepotency of transmission in, ii. 67; rudimentary organs in, ii. 315; crossing of non-sitting varieties of, ii. 43-44; homology of wing and leg feathers in, ii. 323; hybrids of, with pheasants and _Gallus Sonneratii_, ii. 45; black-skinned, ii. 209-210; black, preyed upon by the osprey in Iceland, ii. 230; five-toed, mentioned by Columella, ii. 429; rumpless, tailed chickens produced by, ii. 31; Dorking, crosses of, ii. 93; form of comb and colour of plumage in, ii. 238; game, crossing of white and black, ii. 92; five-spurred, ii. 391; Spanish, liable to suffer from frost, ii. 306; Polish, peculiarities of skull of, ii. 332-333. FOX, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 151. FOX, S. Bevan, races of bees, i. 298. FOX, W. Darwin, gestation of the dog, i. 30; "Negro" cat, i. 46; reversion of sheep in colour, ii. 30; period of gestation in the pig, i. 74; young of the Himalayan rabbit, i. 109; crossing of wild and domestic turkeys, i. 292; reversion in crossed musk ducks, ii. 40; spontaneous segregation of varieties of geese, ii. 104; effects of close interbreeding upon bloodhounds, ii. 121; deafness of white cats with blue eyes, ii. 329. FOXHOUNDS, i. 40, ii. 120. _Fragaria chiloensis_, i. 351. _Fragaria collina_, i. 351. _Fragaria dioica_ of Duchesne, i. 353. _Fragaria elatior_, i. 351. _Fragaria grandiflora_, i. 351. _Fragaria vesca_, i. 351. _Fragaria virginiana_, i. 351. _Fraxinus excelsior_, i. 360, 362, ii. 19. _Fraxinus lentiscifolia_, ii. 19. FRIESLAND cattle, probably descended from _Bos primigenius_, i. 81. FRILLBACK (pigeon), i. 155; Indian, i. 153. _Fringilla ciris_, ii. 154. _Fringilla spinus_, ii. 154. FRIZZLED fowls, i. 230; horses, i. 54. FROG, polydactylism in the, ii. 14. FRUIT, seedless, ii. 168. FRUIT-TREES, varieties of, occurring wild, i. 310. FRY, Mr., on fertile hybrid cats, i. 44; on feral fowls in Ascension, i. 238. FUCHSIAS, origin of, i. 364; bud-variation in, i. 382. _Fuchsia coccinea_ and _fulgens_, twin seed produced by crossing, i. 391. FUEGIANS, their superstition about killing young water-fowl, i. 310; selection of dogs by the, ii. 207; their comparative estimation of dogs and old women, ii. 215; their power of distant vision, ii. 223. FUNGI, parasitic, ii. 284-285. FURCULA, characters and variations of the, in pigeons, i. 167; alteration of, by disuse, in pigeons, i. 175; characters of, in fowls, i. 268. FUSION of homologous parts, ii. 393. GAIT, inheritance of peculiarities of, ii. 6. GALAPAGOS Archipelago, its peculiar fauna and flora, i. 9. _Galeobdolon luteum_, pelorism in, ii. 59, 345. {452} GALLS, ii. 282-284. GALL-GNATS, ii. 283. GALL-LIKE excrescences not inherited, ii. 23. GALLINACEOUS birds, restricted range of large, i. 237; general fertility of in captivity, ii. 155. _Gallinula chloropus_, ii. 156. _Gallinula nesiotis_, i. 287. GALTON, Mr., fondness of savages for taming animals, i. 20, ii. 160; cattle of Benguela, i. 88; on hereditary talent, ii. 7. GALLESIO, species of oranges, i. 334, 335, 336; hybridisation of oranges, i. 336; persistency of races in the peach, i. 339; supposed specific distinctions of peach and nectarine, i. 340; Bizzaria orange, i. 391; crossing of red and white carnations, i. 393; crossing of the orange and lemon, i. 399, ii. 365; effect of foreign pollen on maize, i. 400; spontaneous crossing of oranges, ii. 91; monstrosities a cause of sterility in plants, ii. 166; seeding of ordinarily seedless fruits, ii. 168; sterility of the sugar cane, ii. 169; tendency of male flowers to become double, ii. 171; effects of selection in enlarging fruit, &c., ii. 217; variation of the orange tree in North Italy, ii. 256; naturalisation of the orange in Italy, ii. 309. _Gallus æneus_, a hybrid of _G. varius_ and the domestic fowl, i. 235. _Gallus bankiva_, probable original of domestic fowls, i. 233, 236-239, 245; game-fowl, nearest to, i. 226; crossed with _G. Sonneratii_, i. 234; its character and habits, i. 235-236, ii. 109; differences of various breeds of fowls from, i. 260; occipital foramen of, figured, i. 261; skull of, figured, i. 262; cervical vertebra of, figured, i. 267; furcula of, figured, i. 268; reversion to, in crossed fowls, ii. 39-40; hybrid of, with _G. varius_, i. 235, ii. 40; number of eggs of, ii. 112. _Gallus ferrugineus_, i. 226. _Gallus furcatus_, i. 234. _Gallus giganteus_, i. 235. _Gallus Sonneratii_, characters and habits of, i. 233; hybrids of, i. 234, ii. 45. _Gallus Stanleyi_, hybrids of, i. 234. _Gallus Temminckii_, probably a hybrid, i. 235. _Gallus varius_, character and habits of, i. 234; hybrids and probable hybrids of, i. 234-235. GAMBIER, Lord, his early cultivation of the pansy, i. 368. GAME-FOWL, i. 226, 250, 251, 252. GAPES, ii. 228. GARCILAZO de la Vega, annual hunts of the Peruvian Incas, ii. 207. GARNETT, Mr., migratory propensities of hybrid ducks, ii. 45. GARROD, Dr., on hereditary gout, ii. 7. GASPARINI, a genus of pumpkins, founded on stigmatic characters, i. 359. GAUDICHAUD, bud-variation in the pear, i. 376; apple tree with two kinds of fruit on branch, i. 392. GAUDRY, anomalous structure in the feet of horses, i. 50. GAY, on _Fragaria grandiflora_, i. 351; on _Viola lutea_ and _tricolor_, i. 368; on the nectary of _Viola grandiflora_, i. 369. GAYAL, domestication of the, i. 82. GAYOT, _see_ Moll. GÄRTNER, on the sterility of hybrids, i. 192, ii. 101; acquired sterility of varieties of plants when crossed, i. 358; sterility in transplanted plants, and in the lilac in Germany, ii. 164; mutual sterility of blue and red flowers of the pimpernel, ii. 190; supposed rules of transmission in crossing plants, ii. 68; on crossing plants, ii. 98, 127, 130, 131; on repeated crossing, ii. 267; absorption of one species by another, when crossed, ii. 88; crossing of varieties of the pea, i. 397; crossing maize, ii. 105; crossing of species of _Verbascum_, ii. 93, 105; reversion in hybrids, ii. 36, 49, 50; of _Cereus_, i. 392; of _Tropæolum majus_ and _minus_, i. 392; variability of hybrids, ii. 265; variable hybrids from one variable parent, ii. 270; graft hybrid produced by inosculation in the vine, i. 395; effect produced by grafts on the stock, i. 394, ii. 278; tendency of hybrid plants to produce double flowers, ii. 171; production of perfect fruit by sterile hybrids, ii. 172; sexual elective affinity, ii. 180; self-impotence in _Lobelia_, _Verbascum_, _Lilium_, and _Passiflora_, ii. 136-137; on the action of pollen, ii. 108; fertilisation of _Malva_, i. 402-403, ii. 363; prepotency of pollen, ii. 187; prepotency of transmission in species of _Nicotiana_, ii. 67; bud-variation in _Pelargonium zonale_, i. 375; in _Oenothera biennis_, i. 382; in _Achillæa millefolium_, i. 408; effect of manure on the fertility of plants, ii. 163; on contabescence, ii. 165-166; inheritance of plasticity, ii. 241; villosity of plants, ii. 277. GEESE (_anseres_) general fertility of, in captivity, ii. 157. GEGENBAUR, on the number of digits, ii. 13. GEMMATION and fission, ii. 358. {453} GEMMULES, or cell-gemmules, ii. 374, 378-381, 384. GENET, fertility of the, in captivity, ii. 151. GENERATION, alternate, ii. 361, 367, 390. GENERATION, sexual, ii. 359-364. GENIUS, inheritance of, ii. 7. _Gentiana amarella_, ii. 168. GEOFFROY Saint-Hilaire, production of monstrous chickens, ii. 289; "_Loi de l'affinité de soi pour soi_," ii. 339; compensation of growth, ii. 342. GEOFFROY Saint-Hilaire, Isid., origin of the dog, i. 66; barking of a jackal, i. 27; period of gestation and odour of the jackal, i. 30; anomalies in the teeth of dogs, i. 34; variations in the proportions of dogs, i. 35; webbed feet of Newfoundland dogs, i. 39; crossing of domestic and wild cats, i. 44; domestication of the arni, i. 82; supposed introduction of cattle into Europe from the East, _ibid._; absence of interdigital pits in sheep, i. 95; origin of the goat, i. 101; feral geese, i. 190; ancient history of the fowl, i. 246; skull of the Polish fowl, i. 262; preference of the Romans for the liver of white geese, i. 289; polydactylism, ii. 12; assumption of male characters by female birds, ii. 51; supernumerary mammæ in women, ii. 58; development of a proboscis in the pig, _ibid._; transmission and blending of characters in hybrids, ii. 94; refusal of animals to breed in captivity, ii. 149; on the Guinea pig, ii. 152; silkworms producing white cocoons, ii. 199; on the carp, ii. 236; on _Helix lactea_, ii. 280; on monstrosities, ii. 254; injury to the embryo a cause of monstrosity, ii. 269; alteration in the coat of horses in coal mines, ii. 278; length of the intestines in wild and tame animals, ii. 302-303; inheritance of rudimentary limbs in the dog, ii. 315; correlation in monstrosities, ii. 320; supernumerary digits in man, ii. 322; co-existence of anomalies, ii. 331; fusion of homologous parts, ii. 341-342; presence of hairs and teeth in ovarian tumours, ii. 370; development of teeth on the palate in the horse, ii. 391. GEOGRAPHICAL differences of faunas, i. 10. GEOLOGICAL succession of organisms, i. 11. _Geranium_, ii. 59. _Geranium phæum_ and _pyrenaicum_, ii. 258. _Geranium pratense_, i. 379. GERARD, asserted climatal change in Burgundian bees, i. 297. GERARDE, on varieties of the hyacinth, i. 370. GERSTÄCKER, on hive-bees, i. 299. GERVAIS, Prof., origin of the dog, i. 16; resemblance of dogs and jackals, i. 24; taming of the jackal, i. 26; number of teeth in dogs, i. 34; breeds of dogs, i. 36; on tertiary horses, i. 51; biblical notices of horses, i. 55; species of _Ovis_, i. 94; wild and domestic rabbits, i. 103; rabbits from Mount Sinai and Algeria, i. 105; earless rabbits, i. 108; batrachia with doubled limbs, ii. 391. GESTATION, period of, in the dog, wolf, &c, i. 29-30; in the pig, i. 74; in cattle, i. 87, ii. 321; in sheep, i. 97. GESTURES, inheritance of peculiarities in, ii. 6. "GHOONDOOKS" a sub-breed of fowls, i. 229. GHOR-KHUR, ii. 42. GILES, Mr., effect of cross-breeding in the pig, i. 404. GIRAFFE, co-ordination of structure of, ii. 221. GIRARD, period of appearance of permanent teeth in dogs, i. 35. GIROU de Buzareingues, inheritance in the horse, ii. 10; reversion by age in cattle, ii. 38; prepotency of transmission of character in sheep and cattle, ii. 66; on crossing gourds, ii. 108. GISBURNE, wild cattle at, i. 84. _Gladiolus_, i. 364; self-impotence of hybrids of, ii. 139. _Gladiolus colvillii_, bud-variation in, i. 382. GLANDS, compensatory development of, ii. 300. GLASTONBURY thorn, i. 364. GLENNY, Mr., on the _Cineraria_, ii. 200. GLOEDE, F., on strawberries, i. 353. GLOGER, on the wings of ducks, ii. 298. "GLOUGLOU" (pigeon), i. 154. _Gloxiniæ_, peloric, i. 365, ii. 167. GMELIN, on red cats, at Tobolsk, i. 47. GOAT, i. 101-102, ii. 33; polydactylism in the, ii. 14; sexual differences in horns of, ii. 73; valued by South Africans, ii. 207; Thibet, ii. 278; amount of milk and development of udders in the, ii. 300; hornless, rudimentary bony cores in, ii. 316; Angora, ii. 326. GODRON, odour of the hairless Turkish dog, i. 30; differences in the skull of dogs, i. 34; increase of breeds of horses, i. 51; crossing of domestic and wild swine, i. 66; on goats, i. 101-102; colour of the skin in fowls, i. 258; bees of north and south of France, i. 297; introduction of the silkworm into Europe, i. 300; variability in the silkworm, i. 304; supposed species of wheat, i. 312-314; on _Ægilops triticoides_, i. 313; variable presence of barbs in grasses, i. 314; {454} colours of the seeds of maize, i. 321; unity of character in cabbages, i. 323; correlation of colour and odour, i. 325; effect of heat and moisture on the cabbage, i. 325; on the cultivated species of _Brassica_, i. 325; on the Rouncival and sugar peas, i. 327; variation in the numbers of peas in the same pod, i. 328; wild vines in Spain, i. 332; on raising peaches from seed, i. 339; supposed specific distinctness of peach and nectarine, i. 340; nectarine producing peaches, i. 341; on the flower of _Corydalis_, i. 344; origin and variations of the plum, i. 345; origin of the cherry, i. 347; reversion of single-leaved strawberries, i. 353; five-leaved variety of _Fragaria collina_, i. 353; supposed immutability of specific characters, i. 358-359; varieties of _Robinia_, i. 361; permanency of the simple-leaved ash, i. 362; non-inheritance of certain mutilations, ii. 23; wild turnips, carrots, and celery, ii. 33; pre-potency of a goat-like ram, ii. 66; benefit of change of soil to plants, ii. 146; fertility of peloric flowers of _Corydalis solida_, ii. 167; seeding of ordinarily seedless fruit, ii. 168; sexual sterility of plants propagated by buds, &c., ii. 169; increase of sugar in beet-root, ii. 201; effects of selection in enlarging particular parts of plants, ii. 217; growth of the cabbage in the tropics, ii. 277; rejection of bitter almonds by mice, ii. 232; influence of marshy pasture on the fleece of sheep, ii. 278; on the ears of ancient Egyptian pigs, ii. 301; primitive distinctness of species, ii. 415; solid hoofed swine, ii. 429. GOETHE, on compensation of growth, ii. 342. GOLDFISH, i. 296-297, ii. 236. GOMARA, on South American cats, i. 46. GONGORA, number of seeds in the, ii. 379. GOOSE, ancient domestication of, i. 287; sacred to Juno in Rome, _ibid._; inflexibility of organisation of, i. 288; skull perforated in tufted, i. 288; characters of breeds and sub-breeds of, i. 288-289; variety of, from Sebastopol, i. 289, ii. 392; feral in La Plata, i. 190; Egyptian, hybrid of, with penguin duck, ii. 68; spontaneous segregation of varieties of, ii. 104; fertility of, increased by domestication, ii. 112; decreased fertility of, in Bogota, ii. 161; sterility of, in the Philippine Islands, ii. 162; selection of, ii. 204; white, preference of the Romans for the liver of, ii. 209; persistency of character in, ii. 254; Egyptian, change in breeding season of, ii. 304. GOOSEBERRY, i. 354-356; bud-variation in the, i. 376; Whitesmith's, ii. 232. GÖPPERT, on monstrous poppies, ii. 166. GOSSE, P. H., feral dogs in Jamaica, i. 28; feral pigs of Jamaica, i. 77-78; feral rabbits of Jamaica, i. 112; on _Columba leucocephala_, i. 183; feral Guinea fowl in Jamaica, i. 190; reproduction of individual peculiarities by gemmation in a coral, i. 374; frequency of striped legs in mules, ii. 42. GOULD, Dr., on hereditary hæmorrhage, ii. 7. GOULD, John, origin of the turkey, i. 292. _Goura coronata_ and _Victoriæ_, hybrids of, i. 194, ii. 155. GOURDS, i. 357; crossing of varieties of, ii. 108; ancient Peruvian variety of, ii. 429. GOUT, inheritance of, ii. 7; period of appearance of, ii. 77. GRABA, on the pigeon of the Faroe islands, i. 183. GRAFTING, ii. 147; effects of, ii. 259, 278; upon the stock, i. 394-395; upon the variability of trees, ii. 259; changes analogous to bud-variation produced by, i. 387, 389. GRAFT-HYBRIDS, i. 390-391, 394-397, ii. 364-365. GRAPES, bud-variation in, i. 375; cross of white and purple, i. 393; green, liable to disease, ii. 336; effect of foreign pollen on, i. 400. GRASSES, seeds of, used as food by savages, i. 307-309. GRAY, Asa, superior wild varieties of fruit-trees, i. 310; cultivated native plants of North America, i. 312, 357; non-variation of weeds, i. 317; supposed spontaneous crossing of pumpkins, i. 399; pre-ordination of variation, ii. 432; progeny of husked form of maize, i. 320; wild intermediate forms of strawberries, i. 352. GRAY, G. R., on _Columba gymnocyclus_, i. 184. GRAY, J. E., on _Sus pliciceps_, i. 70; on a variety of the gold-fish, i. 297; hybrids of the ass and zebra, ii. 42-43; on the breeding of animals at Knowsley, ii. 149; on the breeding of birds in captivity, ii. 157. GREENE, J. Reay, on the development of the echinodermata, ii. 367. GREENHOW, Mr., on a Canadian web-footed dog, i. 39. GREENING, Mr., experiments on _Abraxas grossulariata_, ii. 280. GREGSON, Mr., experiments on _Abraxas grossulariata_, ii. 280. GREY, Sir George, preservation of seed-bearing plants by the Australian savages, i. 310; {455} detestation of incest by Australian savages, ii. 123. GREYHOUNDS, sculptured on Egyptian monuments, and in the Villa of Antoninus, i. 17; modern breed of, i. 41; crossed with the bulldog, by Lord Orford, ii. 95; co-ordination of structure of, due to selection, ii. 221-222; Italian, ii. 227. GREYNESS, inherited at corresponding periods of life, ii. 77. GRIEVE, Mr., on early-flowering dahlias, i. 370. GRIGOR, Mr., acclimatisation of the Scotch fir, ii. 310. GROOM-NAPIER, C. O., on the webbed feet of the otter-hound, i. 40. "GROSSES-GORGES" (pigeons), i. 137. GROUND-TUMBLER, Indian, i. 150. GROUSE, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 156. GRÖNLAND, hybrids of _Ægilops_ and wheat, ii. 110. _Grus montigresia_, _cinerea_, and _Antigone_, ii. 156. GUANACOS, selection of, ii. 207. GUANS, general fertility of, in captivity, ii. 156. GUELDER-ROSE, ii. 185. GUELDERLAND fowls, i. 230. GUIANA, selection of dogs by the Indians of, ii. 206. GUINEA FOWL, i. 294; feral in Ascension, and Jamaica, i. 190, ii. 33; indifference of to change of climate, ii. 161. GUINEA pig, ii. 24, 152. GÜLDENSTADT, on the jackal, i. 25. GULL, herring, breeding in confinement, ii. 157. GULLS, general sterility of, in captivity, ii. 157. _Gulo_, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 152. GÜNTHER, A., on tufted ducks and geese, i. 274; on the regeneration of lost parts in batrachia, ii. 15. GURNEY, Mr., owls breeding in captivity, ii. 154; appearance of "black-shouldered" among ordinary peacocks, i. 291. HABIT, influence of, in acclimatisation, ii. 312-315. HABITS, inheritance of, ii. 395. HÄCKEL, on cells, ii. 370; on the double reproduction of medusæ, ii. 384; on inheritance, ii. 397. HACKLES, peculiarities of, in fowls, i. 254. HAIR, on the face, inheritance of, in man, ii. 4; peculiar lock of, inherited, ii. 5; growth of, under stimulation of skin, ii. 326; homologous variation of, ii. 325; development of, within the ears and in the brain, ii. 391. HAIR and teeth, correlation of, ii. 326-328. HAIRY family, corresponding period of inheritance in, ii. 77. HALF-CASTES, character of, ii. 46. HALF-LOP rabbits, figured and described, i. 107-108; skull of, i. 119. _Haliætus leucocephalus_, copulating in captivity, ii. 154. HALLAM, Col., on a two-legged race of pigs, ii. 4. HAMBURGH fowl, i. 227, 261; figured, i. 228. HAMILTON, wild cattle of, i. 84. HAMILTON, Dr., on the assumption of male plumage by the hen pheasant, ii. 51. HAMILTON, F. Buchanan, on the shaddock, i. 335; varieties of Indian cultivated plants, ii. 256. HANCOCK, Mr., sterility of tamed birds, ii. 155-157. HANDWRITING, inheritance of peculiarities in, ii. 6. HANMER, Sir J., on selection of flower seeds, ii. 204. HANSELL, Mr., inheritance of dark yolks in duck's eggs, i. 281. HARCOURT, E. V., on the Arab boar-hound, i. 17; aversion of the Arabs to dun-coloured horses, i. 55. HARDY, Mr., effect of excess of nourishment on plants, ii. 257. HARE, hybrids of, with rabbit, i. 105; sterility of the, in confinement, ii. 152; preference of, for particular plants, ii. 232. HARE-LIP, inheritance of, ii. 24. HARLAN, Dr., on hereditary diseases, ii. 7. HARMER, Mr., on the number of eggs in a codfish, ii. 379. HARVEY, Mr., monstrous red and white African bull, i. 91. HARVEY, Prof., singular form of _Begonia frigida_, i. 365-366; effects of cross-breeding on the female, i. 404; monstrous saxifrage, ii. 166. HASORA wheat, i. 313. HAUTBOIS strawberry, i. 353. HAWKER, Col., on call or decoy ducks, i. 281. HAWTHORN, varieties of, i. 360-364; pyramidal, i. 361; pendulous hybridised, ii. 18; changes of, by age, i. 364, 387; bud-variation in the, i. 377; flower buds of, attacked by bullfinches, ii. 232. HAYES, Dr., character of Esquimaux dogs, i. 21-22. HAYWOOD, W., on the feral rabbits of Porto Santo, i. 114. HAZEL, purple-leaved, i. 362, 395, ii. 330. HEAD of wild boar and Yorkshire pig, figured, i. 72. {456} HEAD and limbs, correlated variability of, ii. 323. HEADACHE, inheritance of, ii. 79. HEARTSEASE, i. 368-369; change produced in the, by transplantation, i. 386; reversion in, ii. 31, 47; effects of selection on, ii. 200; scorching of, ii. 229; effects of seasonal conditions on the, ii. 274; annual varieties of the, ii. 305. HEAT, effect of, upon the fleece of sheep, i. 98. HEBER, Bishop, on the breeding of the rhinoceros in captivity, ii. 150. HEBRIDES, cattle of the, i. 80; pigeons of the, i. 183. HEER, O., on the plants of the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 309, ii. 215, 427; on the cereals, i. 317-319; on the peas, i. 326; on the vine growing in Italy in the bronze age, i. 332. _Helix lactea_, ii. 280. _Hemerocallis fulva_ and _flava_, interchanging by bud-variation, i. 386. HEMLOCK yields no conicine in Scotland, ii. 274. HEMP, differences of, in various parts of India, ii. 165; climatal difference in products of, ii. 274. HEMPSEED, effect of, upon the colour of birds, ii. 280. HERMAPHRODITE flowers, occurrence of, in Maize, i. 321. HEN, assumption of male characters by the, ii. 51, 54; development of spurs in the, ii. 318. "HENNIES," or hen-like male fowls, i. 252. HENRY, T. A., a variety of the ash produced by grafting, i. 394; crossing of species of _Rhododendron_ and _Arabis_, i. 400. HENSLOW, Prof., individual variation in wheat, i. 314; bud-variation in the Austrian bramble rose, i. 381; partial reproduction of the weeping ash by seed, ii. 19. HEPATICA, changed by transplantation, i. 386. HERBERT, Dr., variations of _Viola grandiflora_, i. 368; bud-variation in camellias, i. 377; seedlings from reverted _Cytisus Adami_, i. 388; crosses of Swedish and other turnips, ii. 93; on hollyhocks, ii. 107; breeding of hybrids, ii. 131; self-impotence in hybrid hippeastrums, ii. 138-139; hybrid _Gladiolus_, ii. 139; on _Zephyranthes candida_, ii. 164; fertility of the crocus, ii. 165; on contabescence, ii. 165; hybrid _Rhododendron_, ii. 265. HERCULANEUM, figure of a pig found in, i. 67. HERON, Sir R., appearance of "black-shouldered" among ordinary peacocks, i. 290-291; non-inheritance of monstrous characters by goldfish, i. 296; crossing of white and coloured Angora rabbits, ii. 92; crosses of solid-hoofed pigs, ii. 93. _Herpestes fasciatus_ and _griseus_, ii. 151. HEUSINGER, on the sheep of the Tarentino, ii. 227; on correlated constitutional peculiarities, ii. 337. HEWITT, Mr., reversion in bantam cocks, i. 240; degeneration of silk fowls, i. 243; partial sterility of hen-like male fowls, i. 252; production of tailed chickens by rumpless fowls, i. 259; on taming and rearing wild ducks, i. 278-279, ii. 233, 262-263; conditions of inheritance in laced Sebright bantams, ii. 22; reversion in rumpless fowls, ii. 31; reversion in fowls by age, ii. 39; hybrids of pheasant and fowl, ii. 45, 68; assumption of male characters by female pheasants, ii. 51; development of latent characters in a barren bantam hen, ii. 54; mongrels from the silk-fowl, ii. 67; effects of close interbreeding on fowls, ii. 124-125; on feathered-legged bantams, ii. 323. HIBBERT, Mr., on the pigs of the Shetland Islands, i. 70. HIGHLAND cattle, descended from _Bos longifrons_, i. 81. HILDEBRAND, Dr., on the fertilisation of _Orchideæ_, i. 402-403; occasional necessary crossing of plants, ii. 90; on _Primula sinensis_ and _Oxalis rosea_, ii. 132; on _Corydalis cava_, ii. 132-133. HILL, R., on the Alco, i. 31; feral rabbits in Jamaica, i. 112; feral peacocks in Jamaica, i. 190; variation of the Guinea fowl in Jamaica, i. 294; sterility of tamed birds in Jamaica, ii. 155, 157. HIMALAYA, range of gallinaceous birds in the, i. 237. HIMALAYAN rabbit, i. 107, 108-111; skull of, i. 120. HIMALAYAN sheep, i. 95. HINDMARSH, Mr., on Chillingham cattle, i. 84. "HINKEL-TAUBE," i. 142-143. HINNY and mule, difference of, ii. 67-68. _Hipparion_, anomalous resemblance to in horses, i. 50. _Hippeastrum_, hybrids of, ii. 138-139. HIVE-BEES, ancient domestication of, i. 297; breeds of, i. 298; smaller when produced in old combs, i. 297; variability in, i. 298; crossing of Ligurian and common, i. 299. "HOCKER-TAUBE," i. 141. HOBBS, Fisher, on interbreeding pigs, ii. 121. HODGKIN, Dr., on the attraction of foxes by a female Dingo, i. 31; {457} origin of the Newfoundland dog, i. 42; transmission of a peculiar lock of hair, ii. 5. HODGSON, Mr., domestication of _Canis primævus_, i. 26; development of a fifth digit in Thibet mastiffs, i. 35; number of ribs in humped cattle, i. 79; on the sheep of the Himalaya, i. 95; presence of four mammæ in sheep, _ibid._; arched nose in sheep, i. 96; measurements of the intestines of goats, i. 102; presence of interdigital pits in goats, _ibid._; disuse a cause of drooping ears, ii. 301. HOFACKER, persistency of colour in horses, i. 51, ii. 21; production of dun horses from parents of different colours, i. 59; inheritance of peculiarities in handwriting, ii. 6; heredity in a one-horned stag, ii. 12; on consanguineous marriages, ii. 123. HOG, Red River, ii. 150. HOGG, Mr., retardation of breeding in cows by hard living, ii. 112. HOLLAND, Sir H., necessity of inheritance, ii. 2; on hereditary diseases, ii. 7; hereditary peculiarity in the eyelid, ii. 8; morbid uniformity in the same family, ii. 17; transmission of hydrocele through the female, ii. 52; inheritance of habits and tricks, ii. 395. HOLLY, varieties of the, i. 360, 362; bud-reversion in, i. 384; yellow-berried, ii. 19, 230. HOLLYHOCK, bud-variation in, i. 378; non-crossing of double varieties of, ii. 107; tender variety of the, ii. 310. HOMER, notice of Geese, i. 287; breeding of the horses of Æneas, ii. 202. HOMOLOGOUS parts, correlated variability of, ii. 322-331, 354-355; fusion of, ii. 393; affinity of, ii. 339-342. HOOFS, correlated with hair in variation, ii. 325. HOOK-BILLED DUCK, skull figured, i. 282. HOOKER, Dr. J. D., forked shoulder-stripe in Syrian asses, i. 63; voice of the cock in Sikkim, i. 259; use of Arum-roots as food, i. 307; native useful plants of Australia, i. 311; wild walnut of the Himalayas, i. 356; variety of the plane tree, i. 362; production of _Thuja orientalis_ from seeds of _T. pendula_, i. 362; singular form of _Begonia frigida_, i. 365; reversion in plants run wild, ii. 33; on the sugar-cane, ii. 169; on Arctic plants, ii. 256; on the oak grown at the Cape of Good Hope, ii. 274; on _Rhododendron ciliatum_, ii. 277; stock and mignonette, perennial in Tasmania, ii. 305. HOPKIRK, Mr., bud-variation in the rose, i. 381; in _Mirabilis jalapa_, i. 382; in _Convolvulus tricolor_, i. 408. HORNBEAM, heterophyllous, i. 362. HORNED fowl, i. 229; skull figured, i. 265. HORNLESS cattle in Paraguay, i. 89. HORNS of sheep, i. 95; correlation of, with fleece in sheep, ii. 326; correlation of, with the skull, ii. 333; rudimentary in young polled cattle, ii. 315; of goats, i. 102. HORSES, in Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 49; different breeds of, in Malay Archipelago, i. 49; anomalies in osteology and dentition of, i. 50; mutual fertility of different breeds, i. 51; feral, i. 51; habit of scraping away snow, i. 53; mode of production of breeds of, i. 54; inheritance and diversity of colour in, i. 55; dark stripes in, i. 56-61, ii. 351; dun-coloured, origin of, i. 59; colours of feral, i. 60-61; effect of fecundation by a Quagga on the subsequent progeny of, i. 403-404; inheritance of peculiarities in, ii. 10-11; polydactylism in, ii. 14; inheritance of colour in, ii. 21; inheritance of exostoses in legs of, ii. 23; reversion in, ii. 33, 41; hybrids of, with ass and zebra, ii. 42; prepotency of transmission in the sexes of, ii. 65; segregation of, in Paraguay, ii. 102; wild species of, breeding in captivity, ii. 150; curly, in Paraguay, ii. 205, 325; selection of, for trifling characters, ii. 209; unconscious selection of, ii. 212-213; natural selection in Circassia, ii. 225; alteration of coat of, in coal-mines, ii. 278; degeneration of, in the Falkland Islands, ii. 278; diseases of, caused by shoeing, ii. 300; feeding on meat, ii. 305; white and white-spotted, poisoned by mildewed vetches, ii. 337; analogous variations in the colour of, ii. 349; teeth developed on palate of, ii. 391; of bronze period in Denmark, ii. 427. HORSE-CHESNUT, early, at the Tuileries, i. 362; tendency to doubleness in, ii. 168. HORSE-RADISH, general sterility of the, ii. 170. "HOUDAN," a French sub-breed of fowls, i. 229. HOWARD, C., on an Egyptian monument, i. 17; on crossing sheep, ii. 95, 120. HUC, on the Emperor Khang-hi, ii. 205; Chinese varieties of the bamboo, ii. 256. HUMBOLDT, A., character of the Zambos, ii. 47; parrot speaking the language of an extinct tribe, ii. 154; on _Pulex penetrans_, ii. 275. HUMIDITY, injurious effect of, upon horses, i. 53. HUMPHREYS, Col., on Ancon sheep, i. 100. HUNGARIAN cattle, i. 80. {458} HUNTER, John, period of gestation in the dog, i. 29; on secondary sexual characters, i. 179; fertile crossing of _Anser ferus_ and the domestic goose, i. 288; inheritance of peculiarities in gestures, voice, &c., ii. 6; assumption of male characters by the human female, ii. 51; period of appearance of hereditary diseases, ii. 78; graft of the spur of a cock upon its comb, ii. 296; on the stomach of _Larus tridentatus_, ii. 302; double-tailed lizards, ii. 341. HUNTER, W., evidence against the influence of imagination upon the offspring, ii. 264. HUTTON, Capt., on the variability of the silk moth, i. 303; on the number of species of silkworms, i. 300; markings of silkworms, i. 302; domestication of the rock-pigeon in India, i. 185; domestication and crossing of _Gallus bankiva_, i. 236. HUTCHINSON, Col., liability of dogs to distemper, i. 35. HUXLEY, Prof., on the transmission of polydactylism, ii. 13; on unconscious selection, ii. 194; on correlation in the mollusca, ii. 320; on gemmation and fission, ii. 359; development of star-fishes, ii. 366. HYACINTHS, i. 370-371; bud-variation in, i. 385; graft-hybrid by union of half bulbs of, i. 395; white, reproduced by seed, ii. 20; red, ii. 229, 336; varieties of, recognisable by the bulb, ii. 251. HYACINTH, feather, ii. 185, 316. _Hyacinthus orientalis_, i. 370. _Hybiscus syriacus_, ii. 286. HYBRIDS, of hare and rabbit, i. 105; of various species of _Gallus_, i. 234-236; of almond, peach, and nectarine, i. 339; naturally produced, of species of _Cytisus_, i. 390; from twin-seed of _Fuchsia coccinea_ and _fulgens_, i. 391; reversion of, i. 392-394, ii. 36, 48-50; from mare, ass, and zebra, ii. 42; of tame animals, wildness of, ii. 44-46; female instincts of sterile male, ii. 52; transmission and blending of characters in, ii. 92-95; breed better with parent species than with each other, ii. 131; self-impotence in, ii. 138-140; readily produced in captivity, ii. 151. HYBRIDISATION, singular effects of, in oranges, i. 336; of cherries, i. 347; difficulty of, in _Cucurbitæ_, i. 358; of roses, i. 366. HYBRIDISM, ii. 178-191; the cause of a tendency to double flowers, ii. 171; in relation to pangenesis, ii. 385. HYBRIDITY in cats, i. 44-45; supposed of peach and nectarine, i. 342. _Hydra_, i. 374, ii. 293, 359. HYDRANGEA, colour of flowers of, influenced by alum, ii. 277. HYDROCELE, ii. 52. HYDROCEPHALUS, ii. 295. _Hypericum calycinum_, ii. 170. _Hypericum crispum_, ii. 227, 337. HYPERMETAMORPHOSIS, ii. 367. HYPERMETROPIA, hereditary, ii. 8. ICHTHYOPTERYGIA, number of digits in the, ii. 16. _Ilex aquifolium_, ii. 19. IMAGINATION, supposed effect of, on offspring, ii. 263. _Imatophyllum miniatum_, bud-variation in, i. 385. INCEST, abhorred by savages, ii. 123-124. INCUBATION, by crossed fowls of non-sitting varieties, ii. 43-44. INDIA, striped horses of, i. 58; pigs of, i. 66, 67, 76; breeding of rabbits in, i. 112; cultivation of pigeons in, i. 205-206. INDIVIDUAL variability in pigeons, i. 158-160. INGLEDEW, Mr., cultivation of European vegetables in India, ii. 169. "INDISCHE Taube," ii. 144. INHERITANCE, ii. 1-84, 371-373, 395, 397-402; doubts entertained of by some writers, ii. 3; importance of to breeders, 3-4; evidence of, derived from statistics of chances, 5; of peculiarities in man, 5-7, 12-16; of disease, 7-8, 17; of peculiarities in the eye, 8-10; of deviations from symmetry, 12; of polydactylism, 12-16; capriciousness of, 17-22, 27; of mutilations, 22-24; of congenital monstrosities, 24; causes of absence of, 24-26; by reversion or atavism, 28-61; its connexion with fixedness of character, 62-64; affected by prepotency of transmission of character, 65-71; limited by sex, 71-75; at corresponding periods of life, 75-80; summary of the subject of, 80-84; laws of, the same in seminal and bud varieties, i. 409; of characters in the horse, i. 10-11; in cattle, i. 87; in rabbits, i. 107; in the peach, i. 339; in the nectarine, i. 340; in plums, i. 347; in apples, i. 350; in pears, i. 351; in the pansy, i. 369; of primary characters of _Columba livia_ in crossed pigeons, i. 201; of peculiarities of plumage in pigeons, i. 160-161; of peculiarities of foliage in trees, i. 362; effects of, in varieties of the cabbage, i. 325. INSANITY, inheritance of, ii. 7, 78. INSECTS, regeneration of lost parts in, ii. 15, 294; agency of, in fecundation of larkspurs, ii. 21; effect of changed conditions upon, ii. 157; sterile neuter, ii. 186-187; {459} monstrosities in, ii. 269, 391. INSTINCTS, defective, of silkworms, i. 304. INTERBREEDING, close, ill effects of, ii. 114-131, 175. INTERCROSSING, of species, as a cause of variation, i. 188; natural, of plants, i. 336; of species of Canidæ and breeds of dogs, i. 31-33; of domestic and wild cats, i. 44-45; of breeds of pigs, i. 71, 78; of cattle, i. 83; of varieties of cabbage, i. 324; of peas, i. 326, 329-330; of varieties of orange, i. 336; of species of strawberries, i. 351-352; of _Cucurbitæ_, i. 357-358; of flowering plants, i. 364; of pansies, i. 368. INTERDIGITAL pits, in goats, i. 102. INTERMARRIAGES, close, ii. 122-123. INTESTINES, elongation of, in pigs, i. 73; relative measurements of parts of, in goats, i. 102; effects of changed diet on, ii. 302. _Ipomoea purpurea_, ii. 128. IRELAND, remains of _Bos frontosus_ and _longifrons_ found in, i. 81. IRIS, hereditary absence of the, ii. 9; hereditary peculiarities of colour of the, ii. 9-10. IRISH, ancient, selection practised by the, ii. 203. IRON period, in Europe, dog of, i. 18. ISLANDS, oceanic, scarcity of useful plants on, i. 311. ISLAY, pigeons of, i. 183. ISOLATION, effect of, in favour of selection, ii. 233-234. ITALY, vine growing in, during the bronze period, i. 332. IVY, sterility of, in the north of Europe, ii. 170. JACK, Mr., effect of foreign pollen on grapes, i. 400. JACKAL, i. 24, 27, 30; hybrids of, with the dog, i. 32; prepotency of, over the dog, ii. 67. JACOBIN pigeon, i. 154, 208. JACQUEMET-BONNEFORT, on the mulberry, i. 334. JAGUAR, with crooked legs, i. 17. JAMAICA, feral dogs of, i. 28; feral pigs of, i. 77; feral rabbits of, i. 112. JAPAN, horses of, i. 53. JAPANESE pig (figured), i. 69. JARDINE, Sir W., crossing of domestic and wild cats, i. 44. JARVES, J., silkworm in the Sandwich islands, i. 301. JAVA, Fantail pigeon in, i. 148. JAVANESE ponies, i. 53, 59. JEMMY BUTTON, i. 309. JENYNS, L., whiteness of ganders, i. 288; sunfish-like variety of the goldfish, i. 297. JERDON, J. C., number of eggs laid by the pea-hen, ii. 112; origin of domestic fowl, i. 237. JERSEY, arborescent cabbages of, i. 323. JESSAMINE, i. 394. JEITTELES, Hungarian sheep-dogs, i. 24; crossing of domestic and wild cats, i. 44. JOHN, King, importation of stallions from Flanders by, ii. 203. JOHNSON, D., occurrence of stripes on young wild pigs in India, i. 76. JORDAN, A., on Vibert's experiments on the vine, i. 332; origin of varieties of the apple, i. 350; varieties of pears found wild in woods, ii. 260. JOURDAN, parthenogenesis in the silk moth, ii. 364. JUAN DE NOVA, wild dogs on, i. 27. JUAN FERNANDEZ, dumb dogs on, i. 27. _Juglans regia_, i. 356-357. JUKES, Prof., origin of the Newfoundland dog, i. 42. JULIEN, Stanislas, early domestication of pigs in China, i. 68; antiquity of the domestication of the silk-worm in China, i. 300. JUMPERS, a breed of fowls, i. 230. JUNIPER, variations of the, i. 361, 364. _Juniperus suecica_, i. 361. _Jussiæa grandiflora_, ii. 170. JUSSIEU, A. de, structure of the pappus in _Carthamus_, ii. 316. KAIL, Scotch, reversion in, ii. 32. "KALA-PAR" pigeon, i. 142. KALES, i. 323. KALM, P., on maize, i. 322, ii. 307; introduction of wheat into Canada, i. 315; sterility of trees growing in marshes and dense woods, ii. 170. "KALMI Lotan," tumbler pigeon, i. 151. KANE, Dr., on Esquimaux dogs, i. 21. KARAKOOL sheep, i. 98. KARKEEK, on inheritance in the horse, ii. 10. "KARMELITEN Taube," i. 156. KARSTEN on _Pulex penetrans_, ii. 275. KATTYWAR horses, i. 58. KEELEY, R., pelorism in _Galeobdolon luteum_, ii. 59. KERNER on the culture of Alpine plants, ii. 163. KESTREL, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. "KHANDÉSI," i. 141. KHANG-HI, selection of a variety of rice by, ii. 205. KIANG, ii. 43. KIDD, on the canary bird, i. 77, ii. 275. KIDNEY Bean, i. 371; varieties of, ii. 256, 275. {460} KIDNEYS, compensatory development of the, ii. 300; fusion of the, ii. 341; shape of, in birds, influenced by the form of the pelvis, ii. 344. KING, Col., domestication of rock doves from the Orkneys, i. 184, 185. KING, P. S., on the Dingo, i. 21, 28. KIRBY and Spence, on the growth of galls, ii. 283. KIRGHISIAN sheep, i. 98. KITE, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. KLEINE, variability of bees, i. 298. KNIGHT, Andrew, on crossing horses of different breeds, i. 51; crossing varieties of peas, i. 326, ii. 129; persistency of varieties of peas, i. 329; origin of the peach, i. 338; hybridisation of the morello by the Elton cherry, i. 347; on seedling cherries, _ibid._; variety of the apple not attacked by coccus, i. 349; intercrossing of strawberries, i, 351, 352; broad variety of the cock's comb, i. 365; bud variation in the cherry and plum, i. 375; crossing of white and purple grapes, i. 393; experiments in crossing apples, i. 402, ii. 129; hereditary disease in plants, ii. 11; on interbreeding, ii. 116; crossed varieties of wheat, ii. 130; necessity of intercrossing in plants, ii. 175; on variation, ii. 256, 257; effects of grafting, i. 387, ii. 278; bud-variation in a plum, ii. 289; compulsory flowering of early potatoes, ii. 343; correlated variation of head and limbs, ii. 323. KNOX, Mr., breeding of the eagle owl in captivity, ii. 154. KOCH, degeneracy in the turnip, i. 325. KOHLRABI, i. 323. KÖLREUTER, reversion in hybrids, i. 392, ii. 36; acquired sterility of crossed varieties of plants, i. 358, ii. 101; absorption of _Mirabilis vulgaris_ by _M. longiflora_, ii. 88; crosses of species of _Verbascum_, ii. 93, 107; on the hollyhock, ii. 107; crossing varieties of tobacco, ii. 108; benefits of crossing plants, ii. 130, 131, 175-176; self-impotence in _Verbascum_, ii. 136, 141; effects of conditions of growth upon fertility in _Mirabilis_, ii. 164; great development of tubers in hybrid plants, ii. 172; inheritance of plasticity, ii. 241; variability of hybrids of _Mirabilis_, ii. 265; repeated crossing a cause of variation, ii. 267-268; number of pollen-grains necessary for fertilization, ii. 363. "KRAUSESCHWEIN," i. 67. KROHN, on the double reproduction of Medusæ, ii. 384. "KROPF-TAUBEN," i. 137. LABAT, on the tusks of feral bears in the West Indies, i. 77; on French wheat grown in the West Indies, ii. 307; on the culture of the vine in the West Indies, ii. 308. LABURNUM, Adam's, see _Cytisus Adami_; oak-leaved, reversion of, i. 382; pelorism in the, ii. 346; Waterer's, i. 390. LACHMANN, on gemmation and fission, ii. 358. _Lachnanthes tinctoria_, ii. 227, 336. LACTATION, imperfect, hereditary, ii. 8; deficient, of wild animals in captivity, ii. 158. LADRONE islands, cattle of, i. 86. LAING, Mr., resemblance of Norwegian and Devonshire cattle, i. 82. LAKE-DWELLINGS, sheep of, i. 94, ii. 427; cattle of, ii. 427; absence of the fowl in, i. 246; cultivated plants of, i. 309, ii. 427, 429; cereals of, i. 317-319; peas found in, i. 326; beans found in, i. 330. LAMARE-PIQUOT, observations on half-bred North American wolves, i. 22. LAMBERT, A. B., on _Thuja pendula_ or _filiformis_, i. 362. LAMBERT family, ii. 4, 76. LAMBERTYE on strawberries, i. 351, 352; five-leaved variety of _Fragaria collina_, i. 353. LANDT, L., on sheep in the Faroe islands, ii. 103. LA PLATA, wild dogs of, i. 27; feral cat from, i. 47. LARCH, ii. 310. LARKSPURS, insect agency necessary for the full fecundation of, ii. 21. _Larus argentatus_, ii. 157. _Larus tridactylus_, ii. 302. LASTERYE, merino sheep in different countries, i. 99. LATENT characters, ii. 51-56. LATHAM, on the fowl not breeding in the extreme north, ii. 161. _Lathyrus_, ii. 38. _Lathyrus aphaca_, ii. 343. _Lathyrus odoratus_, ii. 20, 91, 93, 311, 393. LA TOUCHE, J. D., on a Canadian apple with dimidiate fruit, i. 392-393. "LATZ-TAUBE," i. 154. LAUGHER pigeon, i. 155, 207. _Laurus sassafras_, ii. 274. LAWRENCE, J., production of a new breed of fox-hounds, i. 40; occurrence of canines in mares, i. 50; on three-parts-bred horses, i. 54; on inheritance in the horse, ii. 10-11. LAWSON, Mr., varieties of the potato, i. 330. LAXTON, Mr., bud-variation in the gooseberry, i. 376; crossing of varieties of the pea, i. 397-398; {461} double-flowered peas, ii. 168. LAYARD, E. L., resemblance of a Caffre dog to the Esquimaux breed, i. 25, ii. 286; crossing of the domestic cat with _Felis Caffra_, i. 44; feral pigeons in Ascension, i. 190; domestic pigeons of Ceylon, i. 206; on _Gallus Stanleyi_, i. 234; on black-skinned Ceylonese fowls, i. 256. LE COMPTE family, blindness inherited in, ii. 78. LECOQ, bud-variation in _Mirabilis jalapa_, i. 382; hybrids of _Mirabilis_, i. 393, ii. 169, 265; crossing in plants, ii. 127; fecundation of _Passiflora_, ii. 137; hybrid _Gladiolus_, ii. 139; sterility of _Ranunculus ficaria_, ii. 170; villosity in plants, ii. 277; double asters, ii. 316. LE COUTEUR, J., varieties of wheat, i. 313-315; acclimatisation of exotic wheat in Europe, i. 315; adaptation of wheat to soil and climate, i. 316; selection of seed-corn, i. 318; on change of soil, ii. 147; selection of wheat, ii. 200; natural selection in wheat, ii. 233; cattle of Jersey, ii. 234. LEDGER, Mr., on the Llama and Alpaca, ii. 208. LEE, Mr., his early culture of the pansy, i. 368. _Leersia oryzoides_, ii. 91. LEFOUR, period of gestation in cattle, i. 87. LEGS, of fowls, effects of disuse on, i. 270-272; characters and variations of, in ducks, i. 284-288; fusion of, ii. 341. LEGUAT, cattle of the Cape of Good Hope, i. 88. LEHMANN, occurrence of wild double-flowered plants near a hot spring, ii. 168. LEIGHTON, W. A., propagation of a weeping yew by seed, ii. 19. LEITNER, effects of the removal of anthers, ii. 167. LEMMING, ii. 152. LEMOINE, variegated _Symphytum_ and _Phlox_, i. 384. LEMON, i. 334, 335; orange fecundated by pollen of the, i. 399. LEMURS, hybrid, ii. 153. LEPORIDES, ii. 98-99, 152. LEPSIUS, figures of ancient Egyptian dogs, i. 17; domestication of pigeons in ancient Egypt, i. 204. _Leptotes_, ii. 134. _Lepus glacialis_, i. 111. _Lepus magellanicus_, i. 112. _Lepus nigripes_, i. 108. _Lepus tibetanus_, i. 111. _Lepus variabilis_, i. 111. LEREBOULLET, double monsters of fishes, ii. 340. LESLIE, on Scotch wild cattle, i. 85. LESSON, on _Lepus magellanicus_, i. 112. LEUCKART on the larva of Cecidomyidæ, ii. 360. LEWIS, G., cattle of the West Indies, ii. 229. LHERBETTE and Quatrefages, on the horses of Circassia, ii. 102, 225. LIEBIG, differences in human blood, according to complexion, ii. 276. LIEBREICH, occurrence of pigmentary retinitis in deaf-mutes, ii. 328. LICHENS, sterility in, ii. 171. LICHTENSTEIN, resemblance of Bosjesman's dogs to _Canis mesomelas_, i. 25; Newfoundland dog at the Cape of Good Hope, i. 36. LILACS, ii. 164. LILIACEÆ, contabescence in, ii. 165. _Lilium candidum_, ii. 137. LIMBS, regeneration of, ii. 376-377. LIMBS and head, correlated variation of, ii. 323. LIME, effect of, upon shells of the mollusca, ii. 280. LIME tree, changes of by age, i. 364, 387. LIMITATION, sexual, ii. 71-75. LIMITATION, supposed, of variation, ii. 416. _Linaria_, pelorism in, ii. 58, 61, 346; peloric, crossed with the normal form, ii. 70; sterility of, ii. 166. _Linaria vulgaris_ and _purpurea_, hybrids of, ii. 94. LINDLEY, John, classification of varieties of cabbages, i. 324; origin of the peach, i. 338; influence of soil on peaches and nectarines, i. 340; varieties of the peach and nectarine, i. 343; on the New Town pippin, i. 349; freedom of the Winter Majetin apple from coccus, i. 349; production of monoecious Hautbois strawberries by bud-selection, i. 353; origin of the large tawny nectarine, i. 375; bud-variation in the gooseberry, i. 376; hereditary disease in plants, ii. 11; on double flowers, ii. 167; seeding of ordinarily seedless fruits, ii. 168; sterility of _Acorus calamus_, ii. 170; resistance of individual plants to cold, ii. 309. LINNÆUS, summer and winter wheat regarded as distinct species by, i. 315; on the single-leaved strawberry, i. 353; sterility of Alpine plants in gardens, ii. 163; recognition of individual reindeer by the Laplanders, ii. 251; growth of tobacco in Sweden, ii. 307. LINNET, ii. 158. _Linota cannabina_, ii. 158. {462} LINUM, ii. 165. LION, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 150, 151. LIPARI, feral rabbits of, i. 113. LIVINGSTONE, Dr., striped young pigs on the Zambesi, i. 77; domestic rabbits at Loanda, i. 112; use of grass-seeds as food in Africa, i. 308; planting of fruit-trees by the Batokas, i. 309; character of half-castes, ii. 46; taming of animals among the Barotse, ii. 160; selection practised in South Africa, ii. 207, 209. LIVINGSTONE, Mr., disuse a cause of drooping ears, ii. 301. LIZARDS, reproduction of tail in, ii. 294; with a double tail, ii. 341. LLAMA, selection of, ii. 208. LLOYD, Mr., taming of the wolf, i. 26; English dogs in northern Europe, i. 36; fertility of the goose increased by domestication, i. 288; number of eggs laid by the wild goose, ii. 112; breeding of the capercailzie in captivity, ii. 156. LOANDA, domestic rabbits at, i. 112. _Loasa_, hybrid of two species of, ii. 98. _Lobelia_, reversion in hybrids of, ii. 392; contabescence in, ii. 166. _Lobelia fulgens_, _cardinalis_, and _syphilitica_, ii. 136. LOCKHART, Dr., on Chinese pigeons, i. 206. LOCUST-TREE, ii. 274. LOISELEUR-DESLONGCHAMPS, originals of cultivated plants, i. 307; Mongolian varieties of wheat, i. 313; characters of the ear in wheat, i. 314; acclimatisation of exotic wheat in Europe, i. 315; effect of change of climate on wheat, i. 316; on the supposed necessity of the coincident variation of weeds and cultivated plants, i. 317; advantage of change of soil to plants, ii. 146. _Lolium temulentum_, variable presence of barbs in, i. 314. LONG-TAILED sheep, i. 94, 95. LOOCHOO islands, horses of, i. 53. LORD, J. K., on Canis latrans, i. 22. "LORI RAJAH," how produced, ii. 280. _Lorius garrulus_, ii. 280. "LOTAN," tumbler pigeon, i. 150. LOUDON, J. W., varieties of the carrot, i. 326; short duration of varieties of peas, i. 329; on the glands of peach-leaves, i. 343; presence of bloom on Russian apples, i. 349; origin of varieties of the apple, i. 350; varieties of the gooseberry, i. 354; on the nut tree, i. 357; varieties of the ash, i. 360; fastigate juniper (_J. suecica_), i. 361; on _Ilex aquifolium ferox_, i. 362; varieties of the Scotch fir, i. 363; varieties of the hawthorn, _ibid._; variation in the persistency of leaves on the elm and Turkish oak, i. 363; importance of cultivated varieties, _ibid._; varieties of _Rosa spinosissima_, i. 367; variation of dahlias from the same seed, i. 370; production of Provence roses from seeds of the moss rose, i. 380; effect of grafting the purple-leaved upon the common hazel, i. 395; nearly evergreen Cornish variety of the elm, ii. 310. LOW, G., on the pigs of the Orkney islands, i. 70. LOW, Prof., pedigrees of greyhounds, ii. 3; origin of the dog, i. 10; burrowing instinct of a half-bred Dingo, i. 28; inheritance of qualities in horses, i. 51; comparative powers of English race-horses, Arabs, &c., i. 54; British breeds of cattle, i. 80; wild cattle of Chartley, i. 84; effect of abundance of food on the size of cattle, i. 91; effects of climate on the skin of cattle, i. 92, ii. 326; on interbreeding, ii. 116; selection in Hereford cattle, ii. 214; formation of new breeds, ii. 244; on "sheeted" cattle, ii. 349. LOWE, Mr., on hive bees, i. 299. LOWE, REV. Mr., on the range of _Pyrus malus_ and _P. acerba_, i. 348. "LOWTAN" tumbler pigeon, i. 150. _Loxia pyrrhula_, ii. 154. LUBBOCK, Sir J., developments of the Ephemeridæ, ii. 366. LUCAS, P., effects of cross-breeding on the female, i. 404; hereditary diseases, ii. 7, 78-79; hereditary affections of the eye, ii. 9-10; inheritance of anomalies in the human eye and in that of the horse, ii. 10, 11; inheritance of polydactylism, ii. 13; morbid uniformity in the same family, ii. 17; inheritance of mutilations, ii. 23; persistency of cross-reversion, ii. 35; persistency of character in breeds of animals in wild countries, ii. 64; prepotency of transmission, ii. 65, 68; supposed rules of transmission in crossing animals, ii. 68; sexual limitations of transmission of peculiarities, ii. 72-73; absorption of the minority in crossed races, ii. 88; crosses without blending of certain characters, ii. 92; on interbreeding, ii. 116; variability dependent on reproduction, ii. 250; period of action of variability, ii. 260; inheritance of deafness in cats, ii. 329; complexion and constitution, ii. 335. LUCAZE-DUTHIERS, structure and growth of galls, ii. 282-284. LUIZET, grafting of a peach-almond on a peach, i. 338. {463} LÜTKE, cats of the Caroline Archipelago, i. 47. LUXURIANCE, of vegetative organs, a cause of sterility in plants, ii. 168-171. LYONNET, on the scission of _Nais_, ii. 358. _Lysimachia nummularia_, sterility of, ii. 170. _Lythrum_, trimorphic species of, ii. 400. _Lythrum salicaria_, ii. 183; contabescence in, ii. 166. _Lytta vesicatoria_, affecting the kidneys, ii. 380. _Macacus_, species of, bred in captivity, ii. 153. MACAULAY, Lord, improvement of the English horse, ii. 213. MCCLELLAND, Dr., variability of fresh-water fishes in India, ii. 259. MCCOY, Prof., on the dingo, i. 26. MACFAYDEN, influence of soil in producing sweet or bitter oranges from the same seed, i. 335. MACGILLIVRAY, domestication of the rock-dove, i. 185; feral pigeons in Scotland, i. 190; number of vertebræ in birds, i. 266; on wild geese, i. 287; number of eggs of wild and tame ducks, ii. 112. MACKENZIE, Sir G., peculiar variety of the potato, i. 330. MACKENZIE, P., bud-variation in the currant, i. 376. MACKINNON, Mr., horses of the Falkland islands, i. 52; feral cattle of the Falkland islands, i. 86. MACKNIGHT, C., on interbreeding cattle, ii. 118. MACNAB, Mr., on seedling weeping birches, ii. 18; non-production of the weeping beech by seed, ii. 19. MADAGASCAR, cats of, i. 47. MADDEN, H., on interbreeding cattle, ii. 118. MADEIRA, rock pigeon of, i. 184. _Magnolia grandiflora_, ii. 308. MAIZE, its unity of origin, i. 320; antiquity of, _ibid._; with husked grains said to grow wild, _ibid._; variation of, i. 321; irregularities in the flowers of, i. 321; persistence of varieties, _ibid._; adaptation of to climate, i. 322, ii. 307; acclimatisation of, ii. 313, 347; crossing of, i. 400, ii. 104-105; extinct Peruvian varieties of, ii. 425. MALAY fowl, i. 227. MALAY Archipelago, horses of, i. 53; short-tailed cats of, i. 47; striped young wild pigs of, i. 76; ducks of, i. 280. MALE, influence of, on the fecundated female, i. 397-406; supposed influence of, on offspring, ii. 68. MALE flowers, appearance of, among female flowers in maize, i. 321. MALFORMATIONS, hereditary, ii. 79. _Malva_, fertilisation of, i. 402, ii. 363. _Mamestra suasa_, ii. 157. MAMMÆ, variable in number in the pig, i. 74; rudimentary, occasional full development of, in cows, i. 87, ii. 317; four present in some sheep, i. 95; variable in number in rabbits, i. 106; latent functions of, in male animals, ii. 52, 317; supernumerary and inguinal, in women, ii. 57. MANGLES, Mr., annual varieties of the heartsease, ii. 305. MANTELL, Mr., taming of birds by the New Zealanders, ii. 161. MANU, domestic fowl noticed in the Institutes of, i. 246. MANURE, effect of, on the fertility of plants, ii. 163. MANX cats, i. 46, ii. 66. MARCEL de Serres, fertility of the ostrich, ii. 156. MARIANNE islands, varieties of _Pandanus_ in, ii. 256. MARKHAM, Gervase, on rabbits, i. 104, ii. 204. MARKHOR, probably one of the parents of the goat, i. 101. MARQUAND, cattle of the channel islands, i. 80. MARRIMPOEY, inheritance in the horse, ii. 10. MARROW, vegetable, i. 357. MARRYATT, Capt., breeding of asses in Kentucky, ii. 237. MARSDEN, notice of _Gallus giganteus_, i. 235. MARSHALL, Mr., voluntary selection of pasture by sheep, i. 96; adaptation of wheats to soil and climate, i. 316; "Dutch-buttocked" cattle, ii. 8; segregation of herds of sheep, ii. 103; advantage of change of soil to wheat and potatoes, ii. 146; fashionable change in the horns of cattle, ii. 210; sheep in Yorkshire, ii. 235. MARSHALL, Prof., growth of the brain in microcephalous idiots, ii. 389. MARTENS, E. Von, on _Achatinella_, ii. 53. MARTIN, W. C. L., origin of the dog, i. 16; Egyptian dogs, i. 18; barking of a Mackenzie River dog, i. 27; African hounds in the Tower menagerie, i. 32; on dun horses and dappled asses, i. 55; breeds of the horse, i. 49; wild horses, i. 51; Syrian breeds of asses, i. 62; asses without stripes, i. 63; effects of cross-breeding on the female in dogs, i. 404; striped legs of mules, ii. 42. MARTINS, defective instincts of silkworms, i. 304. MARTINS, C., fruit trees of Stockholm, ii. 307. {464} MASON, W., bud-variation in the ash, i. 382. MASTERS, Dr., reversion in the spiral-leaved weeping willow, i. 383; on peloric flowers, ii. 58; pelorism in a clover, ii. 346; position as a cause of pelorism, ii. 345, 347. MASTERS, Mr., persistence of varieties of peas, i. 329; reproduction of colour in hyacinths, ii. 20; on hollyhocks, ii. 107; selection of peas for seed, ii. 199-200; on _Opuntia leucotricha_, ii. 286; reversion by the terminal pea in the pod, ii. 347. MASTIFF, sculptured on an Assyrian monument, i. 17, ii. 429; Tibetan, i. 35-36, ii. 278. MATTHEWS, Patrick, on forest trees, ii. 237. _Matthiola annua_, i. 399, ii. 20. _Matthiola incana_, i. 381, 399. MAUCHAMP, merino sheep, i. 100. MAUDUYT, crossing of wolves and dogs in the Pyrenees, i. 24. MAUND, Mr. crossed varieties of wheat, ii. 130. MAUPERTUIS, axiom of "least action," i. 12. MAURITIUS, importation of goats into, i. 101. MAW, G., correlation of contracted leaves and flowers in pelargoniums, ii. 330, 331. MAWZ, fertility of _Brassica rapa_, ii. 165. _Maxillaria_, self-fertilised capsules of, ii. 134; number of seeds in, ii. 379. _Maxillaria atro-rubens_, fertilisation of, by _M. squalens_, ii. 133. MAYES, M., self-impotence in _Amaryllis_, ii. 139. MECKEL, on the number of digits, ii. 13; correlation of abnormal muscles in the leg and arm, ii. 322. MEDUSÆ, development of, ii. 368, 384. MEEHAN, Mr., comparison of European and American trees, ii. 281. _Meleagris mexicana_, i. 292. _Meles taxus_, ii. 151. MELONS, i. 359-360; mongrel, supposed to be produced from a twin-seed, i. 391; crossing of varieties of, i. 399, ii. 108, 129; inferiority of, in Roman times, ii. 216; changes in, by culture and climate, ii. 275; serpent, correlation of variations in, ii. 330; analogous variations in, ii. 349. MEMBRANES, false, ii. 294-295. MÉNÉTRIES, on the stomach of _Strix grallaria_, ii. 302. MENINGITIS, tubercular, inherited, ii. 78. METAGENESIS, ii. 366. METAMORPHOSIS, ii. 366. METAMORPHOSIS and development, ii. 388, 389. METZGER, on the supposed species of wheat, i. 312-313; tendency of wheat to vary, i. 315; variation of maize, i. 321-322; cultivation of American maize in Europe, i. 322, ii. 347; on cabbages, i. 323-325; acclimatisation of Spanish wheat in Germany, ii. 26; advantage of change of soil to plants, ii. 146; on rye, ii. 254; cultivation of different kinds of wheat, ii. 261. MEXICO, dog from, with tan spots on the eyes, i. 29; colours of feral horses in, i. 61. MEYEN, on sending of bananas, ii. 168. MICE, grey and white, colours of, not blended by crossing, ii. 92; rejection of bitter almonds by, ii. 232; naked, ii. 279. MICHAUX, F., roan-coloured feral horses of Mexico, i. 61; origin of domestic turkey, i. 292; on raising peaches from seed, i. 339. MICHEL, F., selection of horses in mediæval times, ii. 203; horses preferred on account of slight characters, ii. 209. MICHELY, effects of food on caterpillars, ii. 280; on _Bombyx hesperus_, ii. 304. MICROPHTHALMIA, associated with defective teeth, ii. 328. MIDDENS, Danish, remains of dogs in, i. 18, ii. 427. MIGNONETTE, ii. 237, 311. MILLET, i. 371. MILLS, J., diminished fertility of mares when first turned out to grass, ii. 161. MILNE-EDWARDS, on the development of the crustacea, ii. 368. MILNE-EDWARDS, A., on a crustacean with a monstrous eye-peduncle, ii. 391. _Milvus niger_, ii. 154. _Mimulus luteus_, ii. 128. MINOR, W. C., gemmation and fission in the Annelida, ii. 358. _Mirabilis_, fertilisation of, ii. 363; hybrids of, ii. 131, 169, 265. _Mirabilis jalapa_, i. 382, 393. _Mirabilis longiflora_, ii. 88. _Mirabilis vulgaris_, ii. 88. _Misocampus_ and _Cecidomyia_, i. 5. MITCHELL, Dr., effects of the poison of the rattlesnake, ii. 289. MITFORD, Mr., notice of the breeding of horses by Erichthonius, ii. 202. MOCCAS Court, weeping oak at, ii. 18. MOGFORD, horses poisoned by fool's parsley, ii. 337. MÖLLER, L., effects of food on insects, ii. 281. MOQUIN-TANDON, original form of maize, i. 320; variety of the double columbine, i. 365; {465} peloric flowers, ii. 58-59, 61; position as a cause of pelorism in flowers, ii. 345; tendency of peloric flowers to become irregular, ii. 70; on monstrosities, ii. 254; correlation in the axis and appendages of plants, ii. 321; fusion of homologous parts in plants, ii. 339, 341-342; on a bean with monstrous stipules and abortive leaflets, ii. 343; conversion of parts of flowers, ii. 392. MOLE, white, ii. 332. MOLL and Gayot, on cattle, i. 80, ii. 96, 210. MOLLUSCA, change in shells of, ii. 280. MONKE, Lady, culture of the pansy by, i. 368. MONKEYS, rarely fertile in captivity, ii. 153. MONNIER, identity of summer and winter wheat, i. 315. MONSTER, cyclopean, ii. 341. MONSTERS, double, ii. 339-340. MONSTROSITIES, occurrence of, in domesticated animals and cultivated plants, i. 366, ii. 254; due to persistence of embryonic conditions, ii. 57; occurring by reversion, ii. 57-60; a cause of sterility, ii. 166-167; caused by injury to the embryo, ii. 269. MONTEGAZZA, growth of a cock's-spur inserted into the eye of an ox, ii. 369. MONTGOMERY, E., formation of cells, ii. 370. MOOR, J. H., deterioration of the horse in Malasia, i. 53. MOORCROFT, Mr., on Hasora wheat, i. 313; selection of white-tailed yaks, ii. 206; melon of Kaschmir, ii. 275; varieties of the apricot cultivated in Ladakh, i. 345; varieties of the walnut cultivated in Kaschmir, i. 356. MOORE, Mr., on breeds of pigeons, i. 148, 156, 208, 209, 211. MOORUK, fertility of, in captivity, ii. 156. MORLOT, dogs of the Danish Middens, i. 18; sheep and horse of the bronze period, ii. 427. _Mormodes ignea_, ii. 53. MOROCCO, estimation of pigeons in, i. 205. MORREN, C., on pelorism, ii. 58; in _Calceolaria_, ii. 346; non-coincidence of double flowers and variegated leaves, ii. 167. MORRIS, Mr., breeding of the Kestrel in captivity, ii. 154. MORTON, Lord, effect of fecundation by a quagga on an Arab mare, i. 403-404. MORTON, Dr., origin of the dog, i. 16; hybrid of zebra and mare, ii. 42. _Morus alba_, i. 334. MOSCOW, rabbits of, i. 106, 120; effects of cold on pear-trees at, ii. 307. MOSSES, sterility in, ii. 171; retrogressive metamorphosis in, ii. 361. MOSS-ROSE, probable origin of, from _Rosa centifolia_, i. 379; Provence roses produced from seeds of, i. 380. MOSTO, Cada, on the introduction of rabbits into Porto Santo, i. 113. MOTTLING of fruits and flowers, i. 400. MOUFFLON, i. 94. MOUNTAIN-ASH, ii. 230. MOUSE, Barbary, ii. 152. "MÖVEN-TAUBE," i. 148. MOWBRAY, Mr., on the eggs of game fowls, i. 248; early pugnacity of game cocks, i. 251; diminished fecundity of the pheasant in captivity, ii. 155. MOWBRAY, Mr., reciprocal fecundation of _Passiflora alata_ and _racemosa_, ii. 137. MULATTOS, character of, ii. 46. MULBERRY, i. 334, ii. 256. MULE and hinny, differences in the, ii. 67-68. MULES, striped colouring of, ii. 42; obstinacy of, ii. 45; production of, among the Romans, ii. 110; noticed in the Bible, ii. 202. MÜLLER, Fritz, reproduction of orchids, ii. 134-135; development of crustacea, ii. 368; number of seeds in a _maxillaria_, ii. 379. MÜLLER, H., on the face and teeth in dogs, i. 34, 73, ii. 345. MÜLLER, J., production of imperfect nails after partial amputation of the fingers, ii. 15; tendency to variation, ii. 252; atrophy of the optic nerve consequent on destruction of the eye, ii. 297; on Janus-like monsters, ii. 340; on gemmation and fission, ii. 358; identity of ovules and buds, ii. 360; special affinities of the tissues, ii. 380. MÜLLER, Max, antiquity of agriculture, ii. 243. MULTIPLICITY of origin of pigeons, hypotheses of, discussed, i. 188-194. MUNIZ, F., on Niata cattle, i. 90. MUNRO, R., on the fertilisation of orchids, ii. 133; reproduction of _Passiflora alata_, ii. 138. "MURASSA" pigeon, i. 144. MURPHY, J. J., the structure of the eye not producible by selection, ii. 222. _Mus alexandrinus_, ii. 87-88. _Musa sapientum_, _Chinensis_ and _Cavendishii_, i. 377. _Muscari comosum_, ii. 185, 316. MUSCLES, effects of use on, ii. 297. MUSK duck, feral hybrid of, with the common duck, i. 190. {466} MUSMON, female, sometimes hornless, i. 95. MUTILATIONS, inheritance or non-inheritance of, ii. 22-24, 397. MYATT, on a five-leaved variety of the strawberry, i. 353. MYOPIA, hereditary, ii. 8. MYRIAPODA, regeneration of lost parts in, ii. 15, 294. NAILS, growing on stumps of fingers, ii. 394. NAIS, scission of, ii. 358. NAMAQUAS, cattle of the, i. 88, ii. 207. NARCISSUS, double, becoming single in poor soil, ii. 167. NARVAEZ, on the cultivation of native plants in Florida, i. 312. _Nasua_, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 152. "NATAS," or Niatas, a South American breed of cattle, i. 89-91. NATHUSIUS, H. von, on the pigs of the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 68; on the races of pigs, i. 65-68; convergence of character in highly-bred pigs, i. 73, ii. 241; causes of changes in the form of the pig's skull, i. 72-73; changes in breeds of pigs by crossing, i. 78; change of form in the pig, ii. 279; effects of disuse of parts in the pig, ii. 299; period of gestation in the pig, i. 74; appendages to the jaw in pigs, i. 76; on _Sus pliciceps_, i. 70; period of gestation in sheep, i. 97; on Niata cattle, i. 89; on short-horn cattle, ii. 118; on interbreeding, ii. 116; in the sheep, ii. 120; in pigs, ii. 122; unconscious selection in cattle and pigs, ii. 214; variability of highly selected races, ii. 238. NATO, P., on the Bizzaria orange, i. 391. NATURAL selection, its general principles, i. 2-14. NATURE, sense in which the term is employed, i. 6. NAUDIN, supposed rules of transmission in crossing plants, ii. 68; on the nature of hybrids, ii. 48-49; essences of the species in hybrids, ii. 386, 401; reversion of hybrids, ii. 36, 49-50; reversion in flowers by stripes and blotches, ii. 37; hybrids of _Linaria vulgaris_ and _purpurea_, ii. 94; pelorism in _Linaria_, ii. 58, 346; crossing of peloric _Linaria_ with the normal form, ii. 70; variability in _Datura_, ii. 266; hybrids of _Datura lævis_ and _stramonium_, i. 392; prepotency of transmission of _Datura stramonium_ when crossed, ii. 67; on the pollen of _Mirabilis_ and of hybrids, i. 389; fertilisation of _Mirabilis_, ii. 363; crossing of _Chamærops humilis_ and the date palm, i. 399; cultivated Cucurbitaceæ, i. 357-360, ii. 108; rudimentary tendrils in gourds, ii. 316; dwarf _Cucurbitæ_, ii. 330; relation between the size and number of the fruit in _Cucurbita pepo_, ii. 343; analogous variation in _Cucurbitæ_, ii. 349; acclimatisation of Cucurbitaceæ, ii. 313; production of fruit by sterile hybrid Cucurbitaceæ, ii. 172; on the melon, i. 360, ii. 108, 275; incapacity of the cucumber to cross with other species, i. 359. NECTARINE, i. 336-344; derived from the peach, i. 337, 339-342; hybrids of, i. 339; persistency of characters in seedling, i. 340; origin of, _ibid._; produced on peach trees, i. 340-341; producing peaches, i. 341; variation in, i. 342-343; bud-variation in, i. 374; glands in the leaves of the, ii. 231; analogous variation in, ii. 348. NECTARY, variations of, in pansies, i. 369. NEES, on changes in the odour of plants, ii. 274. "NEGRO" cat, i. 46. NEGROES, polydactylism in, ii. 14; selection of cattle practised by, ii. 207. NEOLITHIC period, domestication of _Bos longifrons_ and _primigenius_ in the, i. 81; cattle of the, distinct from the original species, i. 87; domestic goat in the, i. 101; cereals of the, i. 317. NERVE, optic, atrophy of the, ii. 297. NEUMEISTER, on the Dutch and German pouter pigeons, i. 138; on the Jacobin pigeon, i. 154; duplication of the middle flight feather in pigeons, i. 159; on a peculiarly coloured breed of pigeons, "Staarhalsige Taube," i. 161; fertility of hybrid pigeons, i. 192; mongrels of the trumpeter pigeon, ii. 66; period of perfect plumage in pigeons, ii. 77; advantage of crossing pigeons, ii. 126. NEURALGIA, hereditary, ii. 79. NEW ZEALAND, feral cats of, i. 47; cultivated plants of, i. 311. NEWFOUNDLAND dog, modification of, in England, i. 42. NEWMAN, E., sterility of Sphingidæ under certain conditions, ii. 158. NEWPORT, G., non-copulation of _Vanessæ_ in confinement, ii. 157; regeneration of limbs in myriapoda, ii. 294; fertilisation of the ovule in batrachia, ii. 363. NEWT, polydactylism in the, ii. 14. NEWTON, A., absence of sexual distinctions in the Columbidæ, i. 162; production of a "black-shouldered" pea-hen among the ordinary kind, i. 291; on hybrid ducks, ii. 157. NGAMI, Lake, cattle of, i. 88. "NIATA" cattle, i. 89-91; resemblance of to _Sivatherium_, i. 89; {467} prepotency of transmission of character by, ii. 66. "NICARD" rabbit, i. 107. NICHOLSON, Dr., on the cats of Antigua, i. 46; on the sheep of Antigua, i. 98. _Nicotiana_, crossing of varieties and species of, ii. 108; prepotency of transmission of characters in species of, ii. 67; contabescence of female organs in, ii. 166. _Nicotiana glutinosa_, ii. 108. NIEBUHR, on the heredity of mental characteristics in some Roman families, ii. 65. NIGHT-BLINDNESS, non-reversion to, ii. 36. NILSSON, Prof., on the barking of a young wolf, i. 27; parentage of European breeds of cattle, i. 80, 81; on _Bos frontosus_ in Scania, i. 81. NIND, Mr., on the dingo, i. 39. "NISUS formativus," i. 293, 294, 355. NITZSCH, on the absence of the oil-gland in certain Columbæ, i. 147. NON-INHERITANCE, causes of, ii. 24-26. "NONNAIN" pigeon, i. 154. NORDMANN, dogs of Awhasie, i. 25. NORMANDY, pigs of, with appendages under the jaw, i. 75. NORWAY, striped ponies of, i. 58. NOTT and Gliddon, on the origin of the dog, i. 16; mastiff represented on an Assyrian tomb, i. 17; on Egyptian dogs, i. 18; on the Hare-Indian dog, i. 22. _Notylia_, ii. 135. NOURISHMENT, excess of, a cause of variability, ii. 257. NUMBER, importance of, in selection, ii. 235. _Numida ptilorhyncha_, the original of the Guinea-fowl, i. 294. NUN pigeon, i. 155; known to Aldrovandi, i. 207. NUTMEG tree, ii. 237. OAK, weeping, i. 361, ii. 18, 241; pyramidal, i. 361; Hessian, i. 361; late-leaved, i. 363; variation in persistency of leaves of, i. 363; valueless as timber at the Cape of Good Hope, ii. 274; changes in, dependent on age, i. 387; galls of the, ii. 282. OATS, wild, i. 313; in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 319. OBERLIN, change of soil beneficial to the potato, ii. 146. ODART, Count, varieties of the vine, i. 333, ii. 278; bud-variation in the vine, i. 375. ODOUR and colour, correlation of, ii. 325. _Oecidium_, ii. 284. _Oenothera biennis_, bud-variation in, i. 382. OGLE, W., resemblance of twins, ii. 252. OIL-GLAND, absence of, in fantail pigeons, i. 147, 160. OLDFIELD, Mr., estimation of European dogs among the natives of Australia, ii. 215. OLEANDER, stock affected by grafting in the, i. 394. OLLIER, Dr., insertion of the periosteum of a dog beneath the skin of a rabbit, ii. 369. _Oncidium_, reproduction of, ii. 133-135, 164. ONIONS, crossing of, ii. 90; white, liable to the attacks of fungi and disease, ii. 228, 336. _Ophrys apifera_, self-fertilisation of, ii. 91; formation of pollen by a petal in, ii. 392. _Opuntia leucotricha_, ii. 277. ORANGE, i. 334-336; crossing of, ii. 91; with the lemon, i. 399, ii. 365; naturalisation of, in Italy, ii. 308; variation of, in North Italy, ii. 256; peculiar variety of, ii. 331; Bizzaria, i. 391; trifacial, _ibid._ ORCHIDS, reproduction of, i. 402, 403; ii. 133-135. ORFORD, Lord, crossing greyhounds with the bulldog, i. 41. ORGANISMS, origin of, i. 13. ORGANISATION, advancement in, i. 8. ORGANS, rudimentary and aborted, ii. 315-318; multiplication of abnormal, ii. 391. ORIOLE, assumption of hen-plumage by a male in confinement, ii. 158. ORKNEY islands, pigs of, i. 70; pigeons of, i. 184. ORTHOPTERA, regeneration of hind legs in the, ii. 294. _Orthosia munda_, ii. 157. ORTON, R., on the effects of cross-breeding on the female, i. 404; on the Manx cat, ii. 66; on mongrels from the silk-fowl, ii. 67. OSBORNE, Dr., inherited mottling of the iris, ii. 10. OSPREY, preying on Black-fowls, ii. 230. OSTEN-SACKEN, Baron, on American oak galls, ii. 282. OSTEOLOGICAL characters of pigs, i. 66, 67, 71-74; of rabbits, i. 115-130; of pigeons, i. 162-167; of ducks, i. 282-284. OSTRICH, diminished fertility of the, in captivity, ii. 156. OSTYAKS, selection of dogs by the, ii. 206. OTTER, ii. 151. "OTTER" sheep of Massachusetts, i. 100. OUDE, feral humped cattle in, i. 79. OUISTITI, breed in Europe, ii. 153. {468} OVARY, variation of, in _Cucurbita moschata_, i. 359; development of, independently of pollen, i. 403. _Ovis montana_, i. 99. OVULES and buds, identity of nature of, ii. 360. OWEN, Capt., on stiff-haired cats at Mombas, i. 46. OWEN, Prof. R., palæontological evidence as to the origin of dogs, i. 15; on _Bos longifrons_, i. 81; on the skull of the "Niata" cattle, i. 89, 90; on fossil remains of rabbits, i. 104; on the significance of the brain, i. 124; on the number of digits in the Ichthyopterygia, ii. 16; on metagenesis, ii. 366; theory of reproduction and parthenogenesis, ii. 375. OWL, eagle, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. OWL pigeon, i. 148; African, figured, i. 149; known in 1735, i. 209. _Oxalis_, trimorphic species of, ii. 400. _Oxalis rosea_, ii. 132. OXLEY, Mr., on the nutmeg tree, ii. 237. OYSTERS, differences in the shells of, ii. 280. PACA, sterility of the, in confinement, ii. 152. PACIFIC islands, pigs of the, i. 70. PADUA, earliest known flower garden at, ii. 217. PADUAN fowl of Aldrovandi, i. 247. _Pæonia moutan_, ii. 205. PÆONY, tree, ancient cultivation of, in China, ii. 205. PAMPAS, feral cattle on the, i. 85. _Pandanus_, ii. 256. PANGENESIS, hypothesis of, ii. 357-404. _Panicum_, seeds of, used as food, i. 309; found in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317. PANSY, i. 368-370. PAPPUS, abortion of the, in _Carthamus_, ii. 316. PAGET, on the Hungarian sheep dog, i. 24. PAGET, inheritance of cancer, ii. 7; hereditary elongation of hairs in the eyebrow, ii. 8; period of inheritance of cancer, ii. 79-80; on _Hydra_, ii. 293; on the healing of wounds, ii. 294; on the reparation of bones, _ibid._; growth of hair near inflamed surfaces or fractures, ii. 295; on false membranes, _ibid._; compensatory development of the kidney, ii. 300; bronzed skin in disease of supra-renal capsules, ii. 331; unity of growth and gemmation, ii. 359; independence of the elements of the body, ii. 369; affinity of the tissues for special organic substances, ii. 380. PALLAS, on the influence of domestication upon the sterility of intercrossed species, i. 31, 83, 193, ii. 109; hypothesis that variability is wholly due to crossing, i. 188, 374, ii. 250, 264; on the origin of the dog, i. 16; variation in dogs, i. 33; crossing of dog and jackal, i. 25; origin of domestic cats, i. 43; origin of Angora cat, i. 45; on wild horses, i. 52, 60; on Persian sheep, i. 94; on Siberian fat-tailed sheep, ii. 279; on Chinese sheep, ii. 315; on Crimean varieties of the vine, i. 333; on a grape with rudimentary seeds, ii. 316; on feral musk-ducks, ii. 46; sterility of Alpine plants in gardens, ii. 163; selection of white-tailed yaks, ii. 206. _Paradoxurus_, sterility of species of, in captivity, ii. 151. PARAGUAY, cats of, i. 46; cattle of, i. 89; horses of, ii. 102; dogs of, ii. 102; black-skinned domestic fowl of, i. 232. PARALLEL variation, ii. 348-352. PARAMOS, woolly pigs of, i. 78. PARASITES, liability to attacks of, dependent on colour, ii. 228. PARIAH dog, with crooked legs, i. 17; resembling the Indian wolf, i. 24. PARISET, inheritance of handwriting, ii. 6. PARKER, W. K., number of vertebræ in fowls, i. 266. PARKINSON, Mr., varieties of the hyacinth, i. 370. PARKYNS, Mansfield, on _Columba guinea_, i. 183. PARMENTIER, differences in the nidification of pigeons, i. 178; on white pigeons, ii. 230. PARROTS, general sterility of, in confinement, ii. 155; alteration of plumage of, ii. 280. PARSNIP, reversion in, ii. 31; influence of selection on, ii. 201; experiments on, ii. 277; wild, enlargement of roots of, by cultivation, i. 326. PARTHENOGENESIS, ii. 359, 364. PARTRIDGE, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 156. PARTURITION, difficult, hereditary, ii. 8. _Parus major_, ii. 231. _Passiflora_, self-impotence in species of, ii. 137-138; contabescence of female organs in, ii. 166. _Passiflora alata_, fertility of, when grafted, ii. 188. PASTURE and climate, adaptation of breeds of sheep to, i. 96, 97. PASTRANA, Julia, peculiarities in the hair and teeth of, ii. 328. PATAGONIA, crania of pigs from, i. 77. PATAGONIAN rabbit, i. 105. {469} PATERSON, R., on the Arrindy silk moth, ii. 306. PAUL, W., on the hyacinth, i. 370; varieties of pelargoniums, i. 378; improvement of pelargoniums, ii. 216. _Pavo cristatus_ and _muticus_, hybrids of, i. 290. _Pavo nigripennis_, i. 290-291. "PAVODOTTEN-TAUBE," i. 141. PEACH, i. 336-344; derived from the almond, i. 337; stones of, figured, _ibid._; contrasted with almonds, i. 338; double-flowering, i. 338-339, 343; hybrids of, i. 339; persistency of races of, _ibid._; trees producing nectarines, i. 340-341; variation in, i. 342-343, ii. 256; bud-variation in, i. 374; pendulous, ii. 18; variation by selection in, ii. 218; peculiar disease of the, ii. 228; glands on the leaves of the, ii. 231; antiquity of the, ii. 308; increased hardiness of the, _ibid._; varieties of, adapted for forcing, ii. 310; yellow-fleshed, liable to certain diseases, ii. 336. PEACH-ALMOND, i. 338. PEAFOWL, origin of, i. 290; japanned or black-shouldered, i. 290-291; feral, in Jamaica, i. 190; comparative fertility of, in wild and tame states, ii. 112, 268; white, ii. 332. PEARS, i. 350; bud-variation in, i. 376; reversion in seedling, ii. 31; inferiority of, in Pliny's time, ii. 215; winter nelis, attacked by aphides, ii. 231; soft-barked varieties of, attacked by wood-boring beetles, ii. 231; origination of good varieties of, in woods, ii. 260; Forelle, resistance of, to frost, ii. 306. PEAS, i. 326-330; origin of, 326; varieties of, 326-329; found in Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317, 319, 326-329; fruit and seeds figured, i. 328; persistency of varieties, i. 329; intercrossing of varieties, i. 330, 397, ii. 129; effect of crossing on the female organs in, i. 398; double-flowered, ii. 168; maturity of, accelerated by selection, ii. 201; varieties of, produced by selection, ii. 218; thin-shelled, liable to the attacks of birds, ii. 231; reversion of, by the terminal seed in the pod, ii. 347. PECCARY, breeding of the, in captivity, ii. 150. PEDIGREES of horses, cattle, greyhounds, game-cocks, and pigs, ii. 3. PEGU, cats of, i. 47; horses of, i. 53. PELARGONIUMS, multiple origin of, i. 364; zones of, i. 366; bud-variation in, i. 378; variegation in, accompanied by dwarfing, i. 384; pelorism in, ii. 167, 345; by reversion, ii. 59; advantage of change of soil to, ii. 147; improvement of, by selection, ii. 216; scorching of, ii. 229; numbers of, raised from seed, ii. 235; effects of conditions of life on, ii. 274; stove-variety of, ii. 311; correlation of contracted leaves and flowers in, ii. 330-331. _Pelargonium fulgidum_, conditions of fertility in, ii. 164. "PELONES," a Columbian breed of cattle, i. 88. PELORIC flowers, tendency of, to acquire the normal form, ii. 70; fertility or sterility of, ii. 166-167. PELORIC races of _Gloxinia speciosa_ and _Antirrhinum majus_, i. 365. PELORISM, ii. 58-60, 345-346. PELVIS, characters of, in rabbits, i. 122-123; in pigeons, i. 166; in fowls, i. 268; in ducks, i. 284. PEMBROKE cattle, i. 81. PENDULOUS trees, i. 361, ii. 348; uncertainty of transmission of, ii. 18-19. PENGUIN ducks, i. 280, 282; hybrid of the, with the Egyptian goose, i. 282. PENNANT, production of wolf-like curs at Fochabers, i. 37; on the Duke of Queensberry's wild cattle, i. 84. _Pennisetum_, seeds of, used as food in the Punjab, i. 309. _Pennisetum distichum_, seeds of, used as food in Central Africa, i. 308. PERCIVAL, Mr., on inheritance in horses, ii. 10; on horn-like processes in horses, i. 50. _Perdix rubra_, occasional fertility of, in captivity, ii. 156. PERIOD of action of causes of variability, ii. 269. PERIOSTEUM of a dog, producing bone in a rabbit, ii. 369. PERIWINKLE, sterility of, in England, ii. 170. PERSIA, estimation of pigeons in, i. 205; carrier pigeon of, i. 141; tumbler pigeon of, i. 150; cats of, i. 45-47; sheep of, i. 94. _Persica intermedia_, i. 338. PERSISTENCE of colour in horses, i. 50; of generic peculiarities, i. 111. PERU, antiquity of maize in, i. 320; peculiar potato from, i. 331; selection of wild animals practised by the Incas of, ii. 207-208. "PERÜCKEN-TAUBE," i. 154. PETALS, rudimentary, in cultivated plants, ii. 316; producing pollen, ii. 392. PETUNIAS, multiple origin of, i. 364; double-flowered, ii. 167. "PFAUEN-TAUBE," i. 146. _Phacochoerus Africanus_, i. 76. _Phalænopsis_, pelorism in, ii. 346. PHALANGES, deficiency of, ii. 73. {470} _Phaps chalcoptera_, ii. 349. _Phaseolus multiflorus_, ii. 309, 322. _Phaseolus vulgaris_, ii. 309. _Phasianus pictus_, i. 275. _Phasianus Amherstiæ_, i. 275. PHEASANT, assumption of male plumage by the hen, ii. 51; wildness of hybrids of, with the common fowl, ii. 45; prepotency of the, over the fowl, ii. 68; diminished fecundity of the, in captivity, ii. 155. PHEASANTS, golden and Lady Amherst's, i. 275. PHEASANT-FOWLS, i. 244. PHILIPEAUX, regeneration of limbs in the salamander, ii. 376. PHILIPPAR, on the varieties of wheat, i. 314. PHILIPPINE Islands, named breeds of game fowl in the, i. 232. PHILLIPS, Mr., on bud-variation in the potato, i. 385. _Phlox_, bud-variation by suckers in, i. 384. PHTHISIS, affection of the fingers in, ii. 332. PICKERING, Mr., on the grunting voice of humped cattle, i. 79; occurrence of the head of a fowl in an ancient Egyptian procession, i. 246; seeding of ordinarily seedless fruits, ii. 168; extinction of ancient Egyptian breeds of sheep and oxen, ii. 425; on an ancient Peruvian gourd, ii. 429. PICOTEES, effect of conditions of life on, ii. 273. PICTET, A., oriental names of the pigeon, i. 205. PICTET, Prof., origin of the dog, i. 15; on fossil oxen, i. 81. PIEBALDS, probably due to reversion, ii. 37. PIGEAUX, hybrids of the hare and rabbit, ii. 99, 152. PIGEON à cravate, i. 148. PIGEON Bagadais, i. 142, 143. PIGEON coquille, i. 155. PIGEON cygne, i. 143. PIGEON heurté, i. 156. PIGEON Patu plongeur, i. 156. PIGEON Polonais, i. 144. PIGEON Romain, i. 142, 144. PIGEON tambour, i. 154. PIGEON Turc, i. 139. PIGEONS, origin of, i. 131-134, 180-204; classified table of breeds of, i. 136; pouter, i. 137-139; carrier, i. 139-142; runt, i. 142-144; barbs, i. 144-146; fantail, i. 146-148; turbit and owl, i. 148-149; tumbler, i. 150-153; Indian frill-back, i. 153; Jacobin, i. 154; trumpeter, i. 154; other breeds of, i. 155-157; differences of, equal to generic, i. 157-158; individual variations of, i. 158-160; variability of peculiarities characteristic of breeds in, i. 161; sexual variability in, i. 161-162; osteology of, i. 162-167; correlation of growth in, i. 167-171, ii. 321; young of some varieties naked when hatched, i. 170, ii. 332; effects of disuse in, i. 172-177; settling and roosting in trees, i. 181; floating in the Nile to drink, i. 181; Dovecot, i. 185-186; arguments for unity of origin of, i. 188-204; feral in various places, i. 190, ii. 33; unity of coloration in, i. 195-197; reversion of mongrel, to coloration of, _C. livia_, i. 197-202; history of the cultivation of, i. 205-207; history of the principal races of, i. 207-212; mode of production of races of, i. 212-224; reversion in, ii. 29, 47; by age, ii. 38; produced by crossing in, ii. 40, 48; prepotency of transmission of character in breeds of, ii. 66-67; sexual differences in some varieties of, ii. 74; period of perfect plumage in, ii. 77; effect of segregation on, ii. 86; preferent pairing of, within the same breed, ii. 103; fertility of, increased by domestication, ii. 112, 155; effects of interbreeding and necessity of crossing, ii. 125-126; indifference of, to change of climate, ii. 161; selection of, ii. 195, 199, 204; among the Romans, ii. 202; unconscious selection of, ii. 211, 214; facility of selection of, ii. 234; white, liable to the attacks of hawks, ii. 230; effects of disuse of parts in, ii. 298; fed upon meat, ii. 304; effect of first male upon the subsequent progeny of the female, i. 405; homology of the leg and wing feathers in, ii. 323; union of two outer toes in feather-legged, _ibid._; correlation of beak, limbs, tongue, and nostrils in, ii. 324; analogous variation in, ii. 349-350; permanence of breeds of, ii. 429. PIGS, of Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 67-68; types of, derived from _Sus scrofa_ and _Sus indica_, i. 66-67; Japanese (_Sus pliciceps_, Gray), figured, i. 69; of Pacific islands, i. 70, ii. 87; modifications, of skull in, i. 71-73; length of intestines in, i. 73, ii. 303; period of gestation of, i. 74; number of vertebræ and ribs in, i. 74; anomalous forms, i. 75-76; development of tusks and bristles in, i. 76; striped young of, i. 76-77; reversion of feral, to wild type, i. 77-78, ii. 33, 47; production and changes of breeds of, by intercrossing, i. 78; effects produced by the first male upon the subsequent progeny of the female, i. 404; two-legged race of, ii. 4; {471} polydactylism in, ii. 14; cross-reversion in, ii. 35; hybrid, wildness of, ii. 45; monstrous development of a proboscis in, ii. 57; disappearance of tusks in male under domestication, ii, 74; solid hoofed, ii. 429; crosses of, ii. 93, 95; mutual fertility of all varieties of, ii. 110; increased fertility by domestication, ii. 111; ill effects of close interbreeding in, ii. 121-122; influence of selection on, ii. 198; prejudice against certain colours in, ii. 210, 229, 336; unconscious selection of, ii. 214; black Virginian, ii. 227, 336; similarity of the best breeds of, ii. 241; change of form in, ii. 279; effects of disuse of parts in, ii. 299; ears of, ii. 301; correlations in, ii. 327; white, buck-wheat injurious to, ii. 337; tail of, grafted upon the back, ii. 369; extinction of the older races of, ii. 426. PIMENTA, ii. 91. PIMPERNEL, ii. 190. PINE-APPLE, sterility and variability of the, ii. 262. PINK, Chinese. 322. PINKS, bud-variation in, i. 381; improvement of, ii. 216. _Pinus pumilio_, _Mughus_, and _nana_, varieties of _P. sylvestris_, i. 363. _Pinus sylvestris_, i. 363, ii. 310; hybrids of, with _P. nigricans_, ii. 130. PIORRY, on hereditary disease, ii. 7, 78. _Pistacia lentiscus_, ii. 274. PISTILS, rudimentary, in cultivated plants, ii. 316. PISTOR, sterility of some mongrel pigeons, i. 192; fertility of pigeons, ii. 112. _Pisum arvense_ and _sativum_, i. 326. PITYRIASIS versicolor, inheritance of, ii. 79. PLANCHON, G., on a fossil vine, i. 332; sterility of _Jussiæa grandifiora_ in France, ii. 170. PLANE tree, variety of the, i. 362. PLANTIGRADE carnivora, general sterility of the, in captivity, ii. 151. PLANTS, progress of cultivation of, i. 305-312; cultivated, their geographical derivation, i. 311; crossing of, ii. 98, 99, 127; comparative fertility of wild and cultivated, ii. 112-113; self-impotent, ii. 131-140; dimorphic and trimorphic, ii. 132, 140; sterility of, from changed conditions, ii. 163-165; from contabescence of anthers, ii. 165-166; from monstrosities, ii. 166-167; from doubling of the flowers, ii. 167-168; from seedless fruit, ii. 168; from excessive development of vegetative organs, ii. 168-171; influence of selection on, ii. 199-201; variation by selection, in useful parts of, ii. 217-219; variability of, ii. 237; variability of, induced by crossing, ii. 265; direct action of change of climate on, ii. 277; change of period of vegetation in, ii. 304-305; varieties of, suitable to different climates, ii. 306; correlated variability of, ii. 330-331; antiquity of races of, ii. 429. PLASTICITY, inheritance of, ii. 241. PLATEAU, F., on the vision of amphibious animals, ii. 223. _Platessa flesus_, ii. 53. PLATO, notice of selection in breeding dogs by, ii. 212. PLICA polonica, ii. 276. PLINY, on the crossing of shepherd's dogs with the wolf, i. 24; on Pyrrhus' breed of cattle, ii. 202; on the estimation of pigeons among the Romans, i. 205; pears described by, ii. 215. PLUM, i. 345-347; stones figured, i. 345; varieties of the, i. 345-346, ii. 219; bud-variation in the, i. 375; peculiar disease of the, ii. 227; flower-buds of, destroyed by bullfinches, ii. 232; purple-fruited, liable to certain diseases, ii. 336. PLUMAGE, inherited peculiarities of, in pigeons, i. 160-161; sexual peculiarities of, in fowls, i. 251-255. PLURALITY of races, Pouchet's views on, i. 2. _Poa_, seeds of, used as food, i. 308; species of, propagated by bulblets, ii. 170. PODOLIAN cattle, i. 80. POINTERS, modification of, i. 42; crossed with the foxhound, ii. 95. POIS sans parchemin, ii. 231. POITEAU, origin of _Cytisus Adami_, i. 390; origin of cultivated varieties of fruit-trees, ii. 260. POLISH fowl, i. 227, 250, 254, 256-257, 262; skull figured, i. 262; section of skull figured, i. 263; development of protuberance of skull, i. 250; furcula figured, i. 268. POLISH, or Himalayan rabbit, i. 108. POLLEN, ii. 363-364; action of, ii. 108; injurious action of, in some orchids, ii. 134-135; resistance of, to injurious treatment, ii. 164; prepotency of, ii. 187. POLLOCK, Sir F., transmission of variegated leaves in _Ballota nigra_, i. 383; on local tendency to variegation, ii. 274. POLYANTHUS, ii. 21. POLYDACTYLISM, inheritance of, ii. 12-16; significance of, ii. 16-17. _Polyplectron_, i. 255. PONIES, most frequent on islands and mountains, i. 52; Javanese, i. 53. POOLE, Col., on striped Indian horses, i. 58, 59; {472} on the young of _Asinus indicus_, ii. 43. POPLAR, Lombardy, i. 361. PÖPPIG, on Cuban wild dogs, i. 27. POPPY, found in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317, 319; with the stamens converted into pistils, i. 365; differences of the, in different parts of India, ii. 165; monstrous, fertility of, ii. 166; black-seeded, antiquity of, ii. 429. PORCUPINE, breeding of, in captivity, ii. 152. PORCUPINE family, ii. 4, 76. _Porphyrio_, breeding of a species of, in captivity, ii. 156. PORTAL, on a peculiar hereditary affection of the eye, ii. 9. PORTO Santo, feral rabbits of, i. 112. _Potamochoerus penicillatus_, ii. 150. POTATO, i. 330-331; bud-variation by tubers in the, i. 384-385; graft-hybrid of, by union of half-tubers, i. 395; individual self-impotence in the, ii. 137; sterility of, ii. 169; advantage of change of soil to the, ii. 146; relation of tubers and flowers in the, ii. 343. POTATO, sweet, sterility of the, in China, ii. 169; varieties of the, suited to different climates, ii. 309. POUCHET, M., his views on plurality of races, i. 2. POUTER pigeons, i. 137-139; furcula figured, i. 167; history of, i. 207. POWIS, Lord, experiments in crossing humped and English cattle, i. 83, ii. 45. POYNTER, Mr., on a graft-hybrid rose, i. 396. PRAIRIE wolf, i. 22. PRECOCITY of highly-improved breeds, ii. 321. PREPOTENCY of pollen, ii. 187. PREPOTENCY of transmission of character, ii. 65, 174; in the Austrian emperors and some Roman families, ii. 65; in cattle, ii. 65-66; in sheep, ii. 66; in cats, _ibid._; in pigeons, ii. 66-67; in fowls, ii. 67; in plants, _ibid._; in a variety of the pumpkin, i. 358; in the jackal over the dog, ii. 67; in the ass over the horse, _ibid._; in the pheasant over the fowl, ii. 68; in the penguin duck over the Egyptian goose, _ibid._; discussion of the phenomena of, ii. 69-71. PRESCOTT, Mr., on the earliest known European flower-garden, ii. 217. PRESSURE, mechanical, a cause of modification, ii. 344-345. PREVOST and Dumas, on the employment of several spermatozoids to fertilise one ovule, ii. 363. PRICE, Mr., variations in the structure of the feet in horses, i. 50. PRICHARD, Dr., on polydactylism in the negro, ii. 14; on the Lambert family, ii. 77; on an albino negro, ii. 229; on Plica polonica, ii. 276. PRIMROSE, ii. 21; double, rendered single by transplantation, ii. 167. _Primula_, intercrossing of species of, i. 336; contabescence in, ii. 166; hose and hose, i. 365; with coloured calyces, sterility of, ii. 166. _Primula sinensis_, reciprocally dimorphic, ii. 132. _Primula veris_, ii. 21, 109, 182. _Primula vulgaris_, ii. 21, 109. PRINCE, Mr., on the intercrossing of strawberries, i. 352. _Procyon_, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 152. PROLIFICACY, increased by domestication, ii. 174. PROPAGATION, rapidity of, favourable to selection, ii. 297. PROTOZOA, reproduction of the, ii. 376. _Prunus armeniaca_, i. 344-345. _Prunus avium_, i. 347. _Prunus cerasus_, i. 347, 375. _Prunus domestica_, i. 345. _Prunus insititia_, i. 345-347. _Prunus spinosa_, i. 345. PRUSSIA, wild horses in, i. 60. _Psittacus erithacus_, ii. 155. _Psittacus macoa_, ii. 155. _Psophia_, general sterility of, in captivity, ii. 157. PTARMIGAN fowls, i. 228. _Pulex penetrans_, ii. 275. PUMPKINS, i. 357. PUNO ponies of the Cordillera, i. 52. PURSER, Mr. on _Cytisus Adami_, i. 389. PUSEY, Mr., preference of hares and rabbits for common rye, ii. 232. PUTSCHE and Vertuch, varieties of the potato, i. 330. PUVIS, effects of foreign pollen on apples, i. 401; supposed non-variability of monotypic genera, ii. 266. _Pyrrhula vulgaris_, ii. 232; assumption of the hen-plumage by the male, in confinement, ii. 158. PYRRHUS, his breed of cattle, ii. 202. _Pyrus_, fastigate Chinese species of, ii. 277. _Pyrus acerba_, i. 348. _Pyrus aucuparia_, ii. 230. _Pyrus communis_, i. 350, 376. _Pyrus malus_, i. 348, 376. _Pyrus paradisiaca_, i. 348. _Pyrus præcox_, i. 348. QUAGGA, effect of fecundation by, on the subsequent progeny of a mare, i. 403-404. QUATREFAGES, A. de, on the burrowing of a bitch to litter, i. 77; {473} selection in the silkworm, i. 301; development of the wings in the silkmoth, i. 303, ii. 298; on varieties of the mulberry, i. 334; special raising of eggs of the silkmoth, ii. 197; on disease of the silkworm, ii. 228; on monstrosities in insects, ii. 269, 391; on the Anglo-Saxon race in America, ii. 276; on a change in the breeding season of the Egyptian goose, ii. 304; fertilisation of the _Teredo_, ii. 363; tendency to similarity in the best races, ii. 241; on his "_tourbillon vital_," ii. 61; on the independent existence of the sexual elements, ii. 360. _Quercus cerris_, i. 363. _Quercus robur_ and _pedunculata_, hybrids of, ii. 130. QUINCE, pears grafted on the, ii. 259. RABBITS, domestic, their origin, i. 103-105; of Mount Sinai and Algeria, i. 105; breeds of, i. 105-111; Himalayan, Chinese, Polish, or Russian, i. 108-111, ii. 97; feral, i. 111-115; of Jamaica, i. 112; of the Falkland islands, i. 112; of Porto Santo, i. 112-115, ii. 103, 279; osteological characters of, i. 115-129; discussion of modifications in, i. 129-130; one-eared, transmission of peculiarity of, ii. 12; reversion in feral, ii. 33; in the Himalayan, ii. 41; crossing of white and coloured Angora, ii. 92; comparative fertility of wild and tame, ii. 111; high-bred, often bad breeders, ii. 121; selection of, ii. 204; white, liable to destruction, ii. 230; effects of disuse of parts in, ii. 298; skull of, affected by drooping ears, ii. 301; length of intestines in, ii. 303; correlation of ears and skull in, ii. 324-325; variations in skull of, ii. 350; periosteum of a dog producing bone in, ii. 369. RACE-HORSE, origin of, i. 54. RACES, modification and formation of, by crossing, ii. 95-99; natural and artificial, ii. 245; Pouchet's views on plurality of, i. 2; of pigeons, i. 207-212. RADISHES, i. 326; crossing of, ii. 90; varieties of, ii. 217-218. RADCLYFFE, W. F., effect of climate and soil on strawberries, i. 354; constitutional differences in roses, i. 367. RADLKOFER, retrogressive metamorphosis in mosses and algæ, ii. 361. RAFFLES, Sir Stamford, on the crossing of Javanese cattle with _Bos sondaicus_, ii. 206. RAM, goat-like, from the Cape of Good Hope, ii. 66. RANCHIN, heredity of diseases, ii. 7. RANGE of gallinaceous birds on the Himalaya, i. 237. _Ranunculus ficaria_, ii. 170. _Ranunculus repens_, ii. 168. RAPE, i. 325. _Raphanus sativus_, ii. 343. RASPBERRY, yellow-fruited, ii. 230. RATTLESNAKE, experiments with poison of the, ii. 289. RAVEN, stomach of, affected by vegetable diet, ii. 302. RAWSON, A., self-impotence in hybrids of _Gladiolus_, ii. 139-140. RÉ, Le Compte, on the assumption of a yellow colour by all varieties of maize, i. 321. RÉAUMUR, effect of confinement upon the cock, ii. 52; fertility of fowls in most climates, ii. 161. REED, Mr., atrophy of the limbs of rabbits, consequent on the destruction of their nerves, ii. 297. REGENERATION of amputated parts in man, ii. 14; in the human embryo, ii. 15; in the lower vertebrata, insects, and myriapoda, _ibid._ REINDEER, individuals recognised by the Laplanders, ii. 251. REGNIER, early cultivation of the cabbage by the Celts, i. 324. REISSEK, experiments in crossing _Cytisus purpureus_ and _laburnum_, i. 389; modification of a _Thesium_ by _Oecidium_, ii. 284. RELATIONS, characters of, reproduced in children, ii. 34. RENGGER, occurrence of jaguars with crooked legs in Paraguay, i. 17; naked dogs of Paraguay, i. 23, 31, ii. 93, 102; feral dogs of La Plata, i. 27; on the aguara, i. 26; cats of Paraguay, i. 46, ii. 86, 151; dogs of Paraguay, ii. 87; feral pigs of Buenos Ayres, i. 77; on the refusal of wild animals to breed in captivity, ii. 149; on _Dicotyles labiatus_, ii. 150; sterility of plantigrade carnivora in captivity, ii. 152; on _Cavia aperea_, ii. 152; sterility of _Cebus azaræ_ in captivity, ii. 153; abortions produced by wild animals in captivity, ii. 158. REPRODUCTION, sexual and asexual, contrasted, ii. 361; unity of forms of, ii. 383; antagonism of, to growth, ii. 384. _Reseda odorata_, ii. 237. RETINITIS, pigmentary, in deaf-mutes, ii. 328. REVERSION, ii. 28-29, 372-373, 396, 398-402; in pigeons, ii. 29; in cattle, ii. 29-30; in sheep, ii. 30; in fowls, ii. 31; in the heartsease, _ibid._; in vegetables, _ibid._; in feral animals and plants, ii. 32-34; to characters derived from a previous cross in man, dogs, pigeons, pigs, and fowls, ii. 34-35; {474} in hybrids, ii. 36; by bud-propagation in plants, ii. 36-38; by age in fowls, cattle, &c., ii. 38-39; caused by crossing, ii. 39-51; explained by latent characters, ii. 51-56; producing monstrosities, ii. 57; producing peloric flowers, ii. 58-60; of feral pigs to the wild type, i. 77-78; of supposed feral rabbits to the wild type, i. 104, 111, 115; of pigeons, in coloration, when crossed, i. 197-202; in fowls, i. 239-246; in the silkworm, i. 302; in the pansy, i. 369; in a pelargonium, i. 378; in Chrysanthemums, i. 379; of varieties of the China rose in St. Domingo, i. 380; by buds in pinks and carnations, i. 381; of laciniated varieties of trees to the normal form, i. 382; in variegated leaves of plants, i. 383-384; in tulips, i. 386; of suckers of the seedless barberry to the common form, i. 384; by buds in hybrids of _Tropæolum_, i. 392; in plants, i. 409; of crossed peloric snapdragons, ii. 71; analogous variations due to, ii. 349-351. REYNIER, selection practised by the Celts, ii. 202-203. RHINOCEROS, breeding in captivity in India, ii. 150. _Rhododendron_, hybrid, ii. 265. _Rhododendron ciliatum_, ii. 277. _Rhododendron Dalhousiæ_, effect of pollen of _R. Nuttallii_ upon, i. 400. RHUBARB, not medicinal when grown in England, ii. 274. _Ribes grossularia_, i. 354-356, 376. _Ribes rubrum_, i. 376. RIBS, number and characters of, in fowls, i. 267; characters of, in ducks, i. 283-284. RICE, Imperial, of China, ii. 205; Indian varieties of, ii. 256; variety of, not requiring water, ii. 305. RICHARDSON, H. D., on jaw-appendages in Irish pigs, i. 76; management of pigs in China, i. 68; occurrence of striped young in Westphalian pigs, i. 76; on crossing pigs, ii. 95; on interbreeding pigs, ii. 122; on selection in pigs, ii. 194. RICHARDSON, Sir John, observations on the resemblance between North American dogs and wolves, i. 21-22; on the burrowing of wolves, i. 27; on the broad feet of dogs, wolves, and foxes in North America, i. 40; on North American horses scraping away the snow, i. 53. _Ricinus_, annual in England, ii. 305. RIEDEL, on the "Bagadotte" pigeon, i. 141; on the Jacobin pigeon, i. 154; fertility of hybrid pigeons, i. 192. RINDERPEST, ii. 378. RISSO, on varieties of the orange, i. 336, ii. 308, 331. RIVERS, Lord, on the selection of greyhounds, ii. 235. RIVERS, Mr., persistency of characters in seedling potatoes, i. 331; on the peach, i. 338, 339; persistency of races in the peach and nectarine, i. 339, 340; connexion between the peach and the nectarine, i. 340; persistency of character in seedling apricots, i. 344; origin of the plum, i. 345; seedling varieties of the plum, i. 346; persistency of character in seedling plums, i. 347; bud-variation in the plum, i. 375; plum, attacked by bullfinches, ii. 232; seedling apples with surface-roots, i. 349; variety of the apple found in a wood, ii. 260; on roses, i. 366-367; bud-variation in roses, i. 379-381; production of Provence roses from seeds of the moss-rose, i. 380; effect produced by grafting on the stock in jessamine, i. 394; in the ash, i. 394; on grafted hazels, i. 395; hybridisation of a weeping thorn, ii. 18; experiments with the seed of the weeping elm and ash, ii. 19; variety of the cherry with curled petals, ii. 232. RIVIÈRE, reproduction of _Oncidium Cavendishianum_, ii. 133. ROBERTS, Mr., on inheritance in the horse, ii. 10. ROBERTSON, Mr., on glandular-leaved peaches, i. 343. ROBINET, on the silkworm, i. 301-304, ii. 197. _Robinia_, ii. 274. ROBSON, Mr., deficiencies of half-bred horses, ii. 11. ROBSON, Mr., on the advantage of change of soil to plants, ii. 146-147; on the growth of the verbena, ii. 273; on broccoli, ii. 310. ROCK pigeon, measurements of the, i. 134; figured, i. 135. RODENTS, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 152. _Rodriguezia_, ii. 134, 135. RODWELL, J., poisoning of horses by mildewed tares, ii. 337. ROHILCUND, feral humped cattle in, i. 79. ROLLE, F., on the history of the peach, ii. 308. ROLLER-PIGEONS, Dutch, i. 151. ROLLESTON, Prof., incisor teeth affected in form in cases of pulmonary tubercle, ii. 332. ROMANS, estimation of pigeons by, i. 205; breeds of fowls possessed by, i. 231, 247. {475} ROOKS, pied, ii. 77. _Rosa_, cultivated species of, i. 366. _Rosa devoniensis_, graft-hybrid produced by, on the white Banksian rose, i. 396. _Rosa indica_ and _centifolia_, fertile hybrids of, i. 366. _Rosa spinosissima_, history of the culture of, i. 367. ROSELLINI, on Egyptian dogs, i. 17. ROSES, i. 366-367; origin of, i. 364; bud-variation in, i. 379-381; Scotch, doubled by selection, ii. 200; continuous variation of, ii. 241; effect of seasonal conditions on, ii. 273; noisette, ii. 308; galls of, ii. 284. ROUENNAIS rabbit, i. 105. ROULIN, on the dogs of Juan Fernandez, i. 27; on South American cats, i. 46; striped young pigs, i. 77; feral pigs in South America, i. 78, ii. 33; on Columbian cattle, i. 88, ii. 205, 226; effects of heat on the hides of cattle in South America, i. 92; fleece of sheep in the hot valleys of the Cordilleras, i. 98; diminished fertility of these sheep, ii. 161; on black-boned South American fowls, i. 258; variation of the guinea-fowl in tropical America, i. 294; frequency of striped legs in mules, ii. 42; geese in Bogota, ii. 161; sterility of fowls introduced into Bolivia, ii. 162. ROY, M., on a variety of _Magnolia grandiflora_, ii. 308. ROYLE, Dr., Indian varieties of the mulberry, i. 334; on _Agave vivipara_, ii. 169; variety of rice not requiring irrigation, ii. 305; sheep from the Cape in India, ii. 306. _Rubus_, pollen of, ii. 268. RUDIMENTARY organs, i. 12, ii. 315-318. RUFZ de Lavison, extinction of breeds of dogs in France, ii. 425. RUMINANTS, general fertility of, in captivity, ii. 150. RUMPLESS fowls, i. 230. RUNTS, i. 142-144; history of, i. 210; lower jaws and skull figured, i. 164-165. RUSSIAN or Himalayan rabbit, i. 108. RÜTIMEYER, Prof., dogs of the Neolithic period, i. 19; horses of Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 49; diversity of early domesticated horses i. 51; pigs of the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 65, 67-68; on humped cattle, i. 80; parentage of European breeds of cattle, i. 80, 81, ii. 427; on "Niata" cattle, i. 89; sheep of the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 94, ii. 427; goats of the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 101; absence of fowls in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 246; on crossing cattle, ii. 98; differences in the bones of wild and domesticated animals, ii. 279; decrease in size of wild European animals, ii. 427. RYE, wild, De Candolle's observations on, i. 313; found in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 319; common, preferred by hares and rabbits, ii. 232; less variable than other cultivated plants, ii. 254. SABINE, Mr., on the cultivation of _Rosa spinosissima_, i. 367; on the cultivation of the dahlia, i. 369-370, ii. 261; effect of foreign pollen on the seed-vessel in _Amaryllis vittata_, i. 400. ST. ANGE, influence of the pelvis on the shape of the kidneys in birds, ii. 344. ST. DOMINGO, wild dogs of, i. 28; bud-variation of dahlias in, i. 385. ST. HILAIRE, Aug., milk furnished by cows in South America, ii. 300; husked form of maize, i. 320. ST. JOHN, C., feral cats in Scotland, i. 47; taming of wild ducks, i. 278. ST. VALERY apple, singular structure of the, i. 350; artificial fecundation of the, i. 401. ST. VITUS' Dance, period of appearance of, ii. 77. SAGERET, origin and varieties of the cherry, i. 347-348; origin of varieties of the apple, i. 350; incapacity of the cucumber for crossing with other species, i. 359; varieties of the melon, i. 360; supposed twin-mongrel melon, i. 391; crossing melons, ii. 108, 129; on gourds, ii. 108; effects of selection in enlarging fruit, ii. 217; on the tendency to depart from type, ii. 241; variation of plants in particular soils, ii. 278. SALAMANDER, experiments on the, ii. 293, 341; regeneration of lost parts in the, ii. 15, 376, 385. _Salamandra cristata_, polydactylism in, ii. 14. SALISBURY, Mr., on the production of nectarines by peach-trees, i. 341; on the dahlia, i. 369-370. _Salix_, intercrossing of species of, i. 336. _Salix humilis_, galls of, ii. 282, 283. SALLÉ, feral guinea-fowl in St. Domingo, i. 294. SALMON, early breeding of male, ii. 384. SALTER, Mr., on bud-variation in pelargoniums, i. 378; in the Chrysanthemum, i. 379; transmission of variegated leaves by seed, i. 383; bud-variation by suckers in _Phlox_, i. 384; application of selection to bud-varieties of plants, i. 411; accumulative effect of changed conditions of life, ii. 262; on the variegation of strawberry leaves, ii. 274. SALTER, S. J., hybrids of _Gallus Sonneratii_ and the common fowl, i. 234, ii. 45; {476} crossing of races or species of rats, ii. 87-88. SAMESREUTHER, on inheritance in cattle, ii. 10. SANDFORD. _See_ DAWKINS. SAP, ascent of the, ii. 296. _Saponaria calabrica_, ii. 20. SARDINIA, ponies of, i. 52. SARS, on the development of the hydroida, ii. 368. SATIATION of the stigma, i. 402-403. _Saturnia pyri_, sterility of, in confinement, ii. 157. SAUL, on the management of prize gooseberries, i. 356. SAUVIGNY, varieties of the goldfish, i. 296. SAVAGES, their indiscriminate use of plants as food, i. 307-310; fondness of, for taming animals, ii. 160. SAVI, effect of foreign pollen on maize, i. 400. _Saxifraga geum_, ii. 166. SAYZID MOHAMMED MUSARI, on carrier-pigeons, i. 141; on a pigeon which utters the sound "Yahu," i. 155. SCANDEROONS (pigeons), i. 142, 143. SCANIA, remains of _Bos frontosus_ found in, i. 81. SCAPULA, characters of, in rabbits, i. 123; in fowls, i. 268; in pigeons, i. 167; alteration of, by disuse, in pigeons, i. 175. SCARLET fever, ii. 276. SCHAAFFHAUSEN, on the horses represented in Greek statues, ii. 213. SCHACHT, H., on adventitious buds, ii. 384. SCHLEIDEN, excess of nourishment a cause of variability, ii. 257. SCHOMBURGK, Sir R., on the dogs of the Indians of Guiana, i. 19, 23, ii. 206; on the musk duck, i. 182; bud-variation in the Banana, i. 377; reversion of varieties of the China rose in St. Domingo, i. 380; sterility of tame parrots in Guiana, ii. 155; on _Dendrocygna viduata_, ii. 157; selection of fowls in Guiana, ii. 209. SCHREIBERS, on _Proteus_, ii. 297. _Sciuropterus volucella_, ii. 152. _Sciurus palmarum_ and _cinerea_, ii. 152. SCLATER, P. L., on _Asinus tæniopus_, i. 62, ii. 41; on _Asinus indicus_, ii. 42; striped character of young wild pigs, i. 70; osteology of _Gallinula nesiotis_, i. 287; on the black-shouldered peacock, i. 290; on the breeding of birds in captivity, ii. 157. SCHMERLING, Dr., varieties of the dog, found in a cave, i. 19. SCOTCH fir, local variation of, i. 363. SCOTCH kail and cabbage, cross between, ii. 98. SCOTT, John, irregularities in the sex of the flowers of Maize, i. 321; bud-variation in _Imatophyllum miniatum_, i. 385; crossing of species of _Verbascum_, ii. 106-107; experiments on crossing _Primulæ_, ii. 109; reproduction of orchids, ii. 133; fertility of _Oncidium divaricatum_, ii. 164; acclimatisation of the sweet pea in India, ii. 311; number of seeds in _Acropera_ and _Gongora_, ii. 379. SCOTT, Sir W., former range of wild cattle in Britain, i. 85. SCROPE, on the Scotch deerhound, ii. 73, 121. SEBRIGHT, Sir John, effects of close interbreeding in dogs, ii. 121; care taken by, in selection of fowls, ii. 197. _Secale cereale_, ii. 254. SEDGWICK, W., effects of crossing on the female, i. 404; on the "Porcupine-man," ii. 4; on hereditary diseases, ii. 7; hereditary affections of the eye, ii. 9, 78-79; inheritance of polydactylism and anomalies of the extremities, ii. 13-14; morbid uniformity in the same family, ii. 17; on deaf-mutes, ii. 22; inheritance of injury to the eye, ii. 24; atavism in diseases and anomalies of structure, ii. 34; non-reversion to night-blindness, ii. 36; sexual limitation of the transmission of peculiarities in man, ii. 72-73; on the effects of hard-drinking, ii. 289; inherited baldness with deficiency of teeth, ii. 326-327; occurrence of a molar tooth in place of an incisor, ii. 391; diseases occurring in alternate generations, ii. 401. SEDILLOT, on the removal of portions of bone, ii. 296. SEEDS, early selection of, ii. 204; rudimentary, in grapes, ii. 316; relative position of, in the capsule, ii. 345. SEEDS and buds, close analogies of, i. 411. SEEMANN, B., crossing of the wolf and Esquimaux dog, i. 22. SELBY, P. J., on the bud-destroying habits of the bullfinch, ii. 232. SELECTION, ii. 192-249; methodical, i. 214, ii. 194-210; by the ancients and semi-civilised people, ii. 201-210; of trifling characters, ii. 208-210; unconscious, i. 214, 217, ii. 174, 210-217; effects of, shown by differences in most valued parts, ii. 217-220; produced by accumulation of variability, ii. 220-223; natural, as affecting domestic productions, ii. 185-189, 224-233; as the origin of species, genera and other groups, ii. 429-432; circumstances favourable to, ii. 233-239; tendency of towards extremes, ii. 239-242; {477} possible limit of, ii. 242; influence of time on, ii. 243-244; summary of subject, ii. 246-249; effects of, in modifying breeds of cattle, i. 92, 93; in preserving the purity of breeds of sheep, i. 99-100; in producing varieties of pigeons, i. 213-218; in breeding fowls, i. 232-233; in the goose, i. 289; in the canary, i. 295; in the goldfish, i. 296; in the silkworm, i. 300-301; contrasted in cabbages and cereals, i. 323; in the white mulberry, i. 334; on gooseberries, i. 356; applied to wheat, i. 317-318; exemplified in carrots, &c., i. 326; in the potato, i. 331; in the melon, i. 360; in flowering plants, i. 365; in the hyacinth, i. 371; applied to bud-varieties of plants, i. 411; illustrations of, ii. 421-428. SELECTION, sexual, ii. 75. SELF-IMPOTENCE in plants, ii. 131-140; in individual plants, ii. 136-138; of hybrids, ii. 174. SELWYN, Mr., on the Dingo, i. 26. SELYS-LONGCHAMPS, on hybrid ducks, i. 190, ii. 46, 157; hybrid of the hook-billed duck and Egyptian goose, i. 282. SERINGE, on the St. Valery apple, i. 350. SERPENT Melon, i. 360. SERRES, Olivier de, wild poultry in Guiana, i. 237. SESAMUM, white-seeded, antiquity of the, ii. 429. _Setaria_, found in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317. SETTERS, degeneration of, in India, i. 38; Youatt's remarks on, i. 41. SEX, secondary characters of, latent, ii. 51-52; of parents, influence of, on hybrids, ii. 267. SEXUAL characters, sometimes lost in domestication, ii. 74. SEXUAL limitation of characters, ii. 71-75. SEXUAL peculiarities, induced by domestication in sheep, i. 95; in fowls, i. 251-257; transfer of, i. 255-257. SEXUAL variability in pigeons, i. 161-162. SEXUAL selection, ii. 75. SHADDOCK, i. 335. SHAILER, Mr., on the moss-rose, i. 379-380. SHANGHAI fowls, i. 227. SHANGHAI sheep, their fecundity, i. 97. SHAN ponies, striped, i. 58. SHEEP, disputed origin of, i. 94; early domestication of, i. 94; large-tailed, i. 94, 95, 98, ii. 279; variations in horns, mammæ and other characters of, i. 95; sexual characters of, induced by domestication, i. 95, 96; adaptation of, to climate and pasture, i. 96, 97; periods of gestation of, i. 97; effect of heat on the fleece of, i. 98-99, ii. 278; effect of selection on, i. 99-101; "ancon" or "otter" breeds of, i. 17, 92, 100; "Mauchamp-merino," i. 100-101; cross of German and merino, ii. 85-89; black, of the Tarentino, ii. 227; Karakool, ii. 278; Jaffna, with callosities on the knees, ii. 302; Chinese, ii. 315; Danish, of the bronze period, ii. 427; polydactylism in, ii. 14; occasional production of horns in hornless breeds of, ii. 30; reversion of colour in, ii. 30; influence of male, on offspring, ii. 68; sexual differences in, ii. 73; influence of crossing or segregation on, ii. 86, 95-96, 102-103; interbreeding of, ii. 119-120; effect of nourishment on the fertility of, ii. 111-112; diminished fertility of, under certain conditions, ii. 161; unconscious selection of, ii. 213; natural selection in breeds of, ii. 224, 225, 227; reduction of bones in, ii. 242; individual differences of, ii. 251; local changes in the fleece of, in England, ii. 278; partial degeneration of, in Australia, ii. 278; with numerous horns, ii. 291; correlation of horns and fleece in, ii. 326; feeding on flesh, ii. 303; acclimatisation of, ii. 305-306; mountain, resistance of, to severe weather, ii. 312; white, poisoned by _Hypericum crispum_, ii. 337. SHEEP dogs resembling wolves, i. 24. SHELLS, sinistral and dextral, ii. 53. SHERIFF, Mr. new varieties of wheat, i. 315, 317; on crossing wheat, ii. 104-105; continuous variation of wheat, ii. 241. SIAM, cats of, i. 47; horses of, i. 53. SHIRLEY, E. P., on the fallow-deer, ii. 103, 120. SHORT, D., hybrids of the domestic cat and _Felis ornata_, i, 45. SIBERIA, northern range of wild horses in, i. 52. SICHEL, J., on the deafness of white cats with blue eyes, ii. 329. SIDNEY, S., on the pedigrees of pigs, ii. 3; on cross-reversion in pigs, ii. 35; period of gestation in the pig, i. 74; production of breeds of pigs by intercrossing, i. 78, 95; fertility of the pig, ii. 112; effects of interbreeding on pigs, ii. 121-122; on the colours of pigs, ii. 210, 229. SIEBOLD, on the sweet potato, ii. 309. SIEBOLD, von Carl, on parthenogenesis, ii. 364. _Silene_, contabescence in, ii. 166. SILK-FOWLS, i. 230, ii. 67, 69. {478} SILK-MOTH, Arrindy, ii. 306, 312; Tarroo, ii. 157. SILK-MOTHS, i. 300-304; domesticated species of, i. 300; history of, _ibid._; causes of modification in, i. 300-301; differences presented by, i. 301-304; crossing of, ii. 98; disease in, ii. 228; effects of disuse of parts in, ii. 298; selection practised with, ii. 197, 199; variation of, ii. 236; parthenogenesis in, ii. 364. SILKWORMS, variations of, i. 301-302; yielding white cocoons, less liable to disease, ii. 336. SILVER-GREY rabbit, i. 108, 111, 120. SIMONDS, J. B., period of maturity in various breeds of cattle, i. 87; differences in the periods of dentition in sheep, i. 96; on the teeth in cattle, sheep, &c., ii. 322; on the breeding of superior rams, ii. 196. SIMON, on the raising of eggs of the silk-moth in China, ii. 197. SIMPSON, Sir J., regenerative power of the human embryo, ii. 15. _Siredon_, breeding in the branchiferous stage, ii. 384. SISKIN, breeding in captivity, ii. 154. _Sivatherium_, resemblance of the, to Niata cattle, i. 89. SIZE, difference of, an obstacle to crossing, ii. 101. SKIN, and its appendages, homologous, ii. 325; hereditary affections of the, ii. 79. SKIRVING, R. S., on pigeons settling on trees in Egypt, i. 181. SKULL, characters of the, in breeds of dogs, i. 34; in breeds of pigs, i. 71; in rabbits, i. 116-120, 127; in breeds of pigeons, i. 163-165; in breeds of fowls, i. 260-266; in ducks, i. 282-283. SKULL and horns, correlation of the, ii. 333. SKYLARK, ii. 154. SLEEMAN, on the Cheetah, ii. 151. SLOE, i. 345. SMALL-POX, ii. 378. SMITER (pigeon), i. 156. SMITH, Sir A., on Caffrarian cattle, i. 88; on the use of numerous plants as food in South Africa, i. 307. SMITH, Colonel Hamilton, on the odour of the jackal, i. 30; on the origin of the dog, i. 16; wild dogs in St. Domingo, i. 28; on the Thibet mastiff and the alco, i. 28-29; development of the fifth toe in the hind feet of mastiffs, i. 35; differences in the skull of dogs, i. 34; history of the pointer, i. 42; on the ears of the dog, ii. 301; on the breeds of horses, i. 49; origin of the horse, i. 51; dappling of horses, i. 55; striped horses in Spain, i. 58; original colour of the horse, i. 60; on horses scraping away snow, i. 52; on _Asinus hemionus_, ii. 43; feral pigs of Jamaica, i. 77-78. SMITH, Sir J. E., production of nectarines and peaches by the same tree, i. 340; on _Viola amoena_, i. 368; sterility of _Vinca minor_ in England, ii. 170. SMITH, J., development of the ovary in _Bonatea speciosa_, by irritation of the stigma, i. 403. SMITH, N. H., influence of the bull "Favourite" on the breed of Short-horn cattle, ii. 65. SMITH, W., on the inter-crossing of strawberries, i. 352. SNAKE-RAT, ii. 87, 88. SNAKES, form of the viscera in, ii. 344. SNAPDRAGON, bud-variation in, i. 381; non-inheritance of colour in, ii. 21; peloric, crossed with the normal form, ii. 70, 93; asymmetrical variation of the, ii. 322. SOIL, adaptation of plums to, i. 346; influence of, on the zones of pelargoniums, i. 366; on roses, i. 367; on the variegation of leaves, i. 383; advantages of change of, ii. 146-148. SOIL and climate, effects of, on strawberries, i. 353. _Solanum_, non-intercrossing of species of, ii. 91. _Solanum tuberosum_, i. 330-331. SOLID-HOOFED pigs, i. 75. SOLOMON, his stud of horses, i. 55. SOMERVILLE, Lord, on the fleece of Merino sheep, i. 99; on crossing sheep, ii. 120; on selection of sheep, ii. 195; diminished fertility of Merino sheep brought from Spain, ii. 161. SOOTY fowls, i. 230, 256. SOTO, Ferdinand de, on the cultivation of native plants in Florida, i. 312. _Sorghum_, i. 371. SPAIN, hawthorn monogynous in, i. 364. SPALLANZANI, on feral rabbits in Lipari, i. 113; experiments on salamanders, ii. 15, 293, 385; experiments in feeding a pigeon with meat, ii. 304. SPANIELS, in India, i. 38; King Charles's, i. 41; degeneration of, caused by interbreeding, ii. 121. SPANISH fowls, i. 227, 250, 253; figured, i. 226; early development of sexual characters in, i. 250, 251; furcula of, figured, i. 268. SPECIES, difficulty of distinguishing from varieties, i. 4; conversion of varieties into, i. 5; origin of, by natural selection, ii. 414-415; by mutual sterility of varieties, ii. 185-189. {479} SPENCER, Lord, on selection in breeding, ii. 195. SPENCER, Herbert, on the "survival of the fittest," i. 6; increase of fertility by domestication, ii. 111; on life, ii. 148, 177; changes produced by external conditions, ii. 281; effects of use on organs, ii. 295, 296; ascent of the sap in trees, ii. 296; correlation exemplified in the Irish elk, ii. 333-334; on "physiological units," ii. 375; antagonism of growth and reproduction, ii. 384; formation of ducts in plants, ii. 300. SPERMATOPHORES of the cephalopoda, ii. 383. SPERMATOZOIDS, ii. 363-364; apparent independence of, in insects, ii. 384. SPHINGIDÆ, sterility of, in captivity, ii. 157. SPINOLA, on the injurious effect produced by flowering buckwheat on white pigs, ii. 337. SPITZ dog, i. 31. SPOONER, W. C., cross-breeding of sheep, i. 100, ii. 95-96, 120; on the effects of crossing, ii. 96-97; on crossing cattle, ii. 118; individual sterility, ii. 162. SPORES, reproduction of abnormal forms by, i. 383. SPORTS, i. 373; in pigeons, i. 213. SPOT pigeon, i. 156, 207. SPRENGEL, C. K., on dichogamous plants, ii. 90; on the hollyhock, ii. 107; on the functions of flowers, ii. 175. SPROULE, Mr., inheritance of cleft-palate and hare-lip, ii. 24. SPURS, of fowls, i. 255; development of, in hens, ii. 318. SQUASHES, i. 357. SQUINTING, hereditary, ii. 9. SQUIRRELS, generally sterile in captivity, ii. 152. SQUIRRELS, flying, breeding in confinement, ii. 152. "STAARHALSIGE Taube," i. 161. STAG, one-horned, supposed heredity of character in, ii. 12; degeneracy of, in the Highlands, ii. 208. STAMENS, occurrence of rudimentary, ii. 316; conversion of, into pistils, i. 365; into petals, ii. 392. _Staphylea_, ii. 168. STEENSTRUP, Prof., on the dog of the Danish Middens, i. 18; on the obliquity of flounders, ii. 53. STEINAN, J., on hereditary diseases, ii. 7, 79. STERILITY, in dogs, consequent on close confinement, i. 32; comparative, of crosses, ii. 103, 104; from changed conditions of life, ii. 148-165; occurring in the descendants of wild animals bred in captivity, ii. 160; individual, ii. 162; resulting from propagation by buds, cuttings, bulbs, &c., ii. 169; in hybrids, ii. 178-180, 386, 410-411; in specific hybrids of pigeons, i. 193; as connected with natural selection, ii. 185-189. STERNUM, characters of the, in rabbits, i. 123; in pigeons, i. 167, 174-175; in fowls, i. 268, 273; effects of disuse on the, i. 174-175, 273. STEPHENS, J. F., on the habits of the Bombycidæ, i. 303. STEWART, H., on hereditary disease, ii. 79. STIGMA, variation of the, in cultivated Cucurbitaceæ, i. 359; satiation of the, i. 402-403. STOCKS, bud-variation in, i. 381; effect of crossing upon the colour of the seed of, i. 398-399; true by seed, ii. 20; crosses of, ii. 93; varieties of, produced by selection, ii. 219; reversion by the upper seeds in the pods of, ii. 347-348. STOCKHOLM, fruit-trees of, ii. 307. STOKES, Prof., calculation of the chance of transmission of abnormal peculiarities in man, ii. 5. STOLONS, variations in the production of, by strawberries, i. 353. STOMACH, structure of the, affected by food, ii. 302. STONE in the bladder, hereditary, ii. 8, 79. STRAWBERRIES, i. 351-354; remarkable varieties of, i. 352-353; hautbois, dioecious, i. 353; selection in, ii. 200; mildew of, ii. 228; probable further modification of, ii. 243; variegated, effects of soil on, ii. 274. STRICKLAND, A., on the domestication of _Anser ferus_, i. 287; on the colour of the bill and legs in geese, i. 288. _Strictoenas_, i. 183. STRIPES on young of wild swine, i. 76; of domestic pigs of Turkey, Westphalia, and the Zambesi, i. 76-77; of feral swine of Jamaica and New Granada, i. 77; of fruit and flowers, i. 400, ii. 37; in horses, i. 56-60; in the ass, i. 62-63; production of, by crossing species of Equidæ, ii. 42-43. _Strix grallaria_, ii. 302. _Strix passerina_, ii. 154. "STRUPP-TAUBE," i. 155. STRUTHERS, Mr., osteology of the feet in solid-hoofed pigs, i. 75; on polydactylism, ii. 13-14. STURM, prepotency of transmission of characters in sheep and cattle, ii. 66; absorption of the minority in crossed races, ii. 88; correlation of twisted horns and curled wool in sheep, ii. 326. {480} SUB-SPECIES, wild, of _Columba livia_ and other pigeons, i. 204. SUCCESSION, geological, of organisms, i. 11. SUCKERS, bud-variation by, i. 384. SUGAR cane, sterility of, in various countries, ii. 169; white, liability of, to disease, ii. 228, 336. SUICIDE, hereditary tendency to, ii. 7, 78. SULIVAN, Admiral, on the horses of the Falkland Islands, i. 53; wild pigs of the Falkland Islands, i. 77; feral cattle of the Falkland Islands, i. 86, 102; feral rabbits of the Falkland Islands, i. 112. SULTAN fowl, i. 228, 255. _Sus indica_, i. 65, 67-70, ii. 110. _Sus pliciceps_, i. 69 (figured). _Sus scrofa_, i. 65, 66, ii. 110. _Sus scrofa palustris_, i. 68. _Sus vittatus_, i. 67. SWALLOWS, a breed of pigeons, i. 156. SWAYNE, Mr., on artificial crossing of varieties of the pea, i. 397. SWEET Peas, ii. 91; crosses of, ii. 93, 94; varieties of, coming true by seed, ii. 20; acclimatisation of, in India, ii. 311. SWEET William, bud-variation in, i. 381. SWINHOE, R., on Chinese pigeons, i. 28, 206; on striped Chinese horses, i. 59. SWITZERLAND, ancient dogs of, i. 19; pigs of, in the Neolithic period, i. 67-68; goats of, i. 101. SYCAMORE, pale-leaved variety of the, ii. 330. SYKES, Colonel, on a Pariah dog with crooked legs, i. 17; on small Indian asses, i. 62; on _Gallus Sonneratii_, i. 233; on the voice of the Indian Kulm cock, i. 259; fertility of the fowl in most climates, ii. 161. SYMMETRY, hereditary departures from, ii. 12. _Symphytum_, variegated, i. 384. SYPHILIS, hereditary, ii. 332. SYRIA, asses of, i. 62. _Syringa persica_, _chinensis_, and _vulgaris_, ii. 164. TACITUS, on the care taken by the Celts in breeding animals, ii. 202. _Tagetes signata_, dwarf variety of, ii. 20. TAHITI, varieties of cultivated plants in, ii. 256. TAIL, occasional development of, in man, ii. 57; never curled in wild animals, ii. 301; rudimentary in Chinese sheep, ii. 315. TAIL-FEATHERS, numbers of, in breeds of pigeons, i. 158-159; peculiarities of, in cocks, i. 254-255; variability of, in fowls, i. 258; curled, in _Anas boschas_, and tame drakes, i. 280. TALENT, hereditary, ii. 7. TANKERVILLE, Earl of, on Chillingham cattle, i. 84, ii. 119. TANNER, Prof., effects of disuse of parts in cattle, ii. 299. TAPIR, sterility of the, in captivity, ii. 150. TARGIONI-TOZZETTI, on cultivated plants, i. 306; on the vine, i. 332; varieties of the peach, i. 342; origin and varieties of the plum, i. 345; origin of the cherry, i. 347; origin of roses, i. 366. TARSUS, variability of the, in fowls, i. 259; reproduction of the, in a thrush, ii. 15. TARTARS, their preference for spiral-horned sheep, ii. 209. TAVERNIER, abundance of pigeons in Persia, i. 205. _Taxus baccata_, ii. 18. TEEBAY, Mr., reversion in fowls, ii. 38. TEETH, number and position of, in dogs, i. 34; deficiency of, in naked Turkish dogs, i. 35; period of appearance of, in breeds of dogs, i. 35; precocity of, in highly bred animals, ii. 322; correlation of, with hair, ii. 326; double row of, with redundant hair, in Julia Pastrana, ii. 328; affected in form by hereditary syphilis and by pulmonary tubercle, ii. 332; fusion of, ii. 341; developed on the palate, ii. 391. TEGETMEIER, Mr., on a cat with monstrous teeth, i. 48; on a swift-like pigeon, i. 157; naked young of some pigeons, i. 170; fertility of hybrid pigeons, i. 192; on white pigeons, ii. 230; reversion in crossed breeds of fowls, i. 239-244; chicks of the white silk-fowl, i. 249; development of the cranial protuberance in Polish fowls, i. 250; on the skull in the Polish fowl, i. 257, 262; on the intelligence of Polish fowls, i. 264; correlation of the cranial protuberance and crest in Polish fowls, i. 274; development of the web in the feet of Polish fowls, i. 259; early development of several peculiarities in Spanish cocks, i. 250; on the comb in Spanish fowls, i. 253; on the Spanish fowl, ii. 306; varieties of game-fowls, i. 252; pedigrees of game-fowls, ii. 3; assumption of female plumage by a game cock, i. 253; natural selection in the game cock, ii. 225; pugnacity of game hens, i. 256; length of the middle toe in Cochin fowls, i. 259; origin of the Sebright bantam, ii. 54; differences in the size of fowls, i. 257; effect of crossing in fowls, i. 258, ii. 96; effects of interbreeding in fowls, ii. 124-125; incubation by mongrels of non-sitting races of fowls, ii. 44; inverse correlation of crest and comb in fowls, i. 274; {481} occurrence of pencilled feathers in fowls, ii. 40; on a variety of the goose from Sebastopol, i. 289; on the fertility of the peahen, ii. 112; on the intercrossing of bees, ii. 126. TEMMINCK, origin of domestic cats, i. 43; origin of domestic pigeons, i. 180; on _Columba guinea_, i. 182; on _Columba leucocephala_, i. 183; asserted reluctance of some breeds of pigeons to cross, i. 192; sterility of hybrid turtle-doves, i. 193; variations of _Gallus bankiva_, i. 235; on a buff-coloured breed of Turkeys, i. 293; number of eggs laid by the peahen, ii. 112; breeding of Guans in captivity, ii. 156; behaviour of grouse in captivity, _ibid._; sterility of the partridge in captivity, _ibid._ TENDRILS in Cucurbitaceæ, i. 358, ii. 316. TENNENT, Sir J. E., on the goose, i. 287; on the growth of the apple in Ceylon, ii. 277; on the Jaffna sheep, ii. 302. _Teredo_, fertilisation in, ii. 363. TERRIERS, wry-legged, ii. 245; white, subject to distemper, ii. 336. TESCHEMACHER, on a husked form of maize, i. 320. TESSIER, on the period of gestation of the dog, i. 29; of the pig, i. 74; in cattle, i. 87; experiments on change of soil, ii. 147. _Tetrao_, breeding of species of, in captivity, ii. 156. _Tetrapteryx paradisea_, ii. 156. _Teucrium campanulatum_, pelorism in, ii. 345. TEXAS, feral cattle in, i. 85. THEOGNIS, his notice of the domestic fowl, i. 246. THEOPHRASTUS, his notice of the peach, ii. 308. _Thesium_, ii. 284. THOMPSON, Mr., on the peach and nectarine, i. 342; on the varieties of the apricot, i. 344; classification of varieties of cherries, i. 347-348; on the "Sister ribston-pippin," i. 350; on the varieties of the gooseberry, i. 354, 355. THOMPSON, William, on the pigeons of Islay, i. 184; feral pigeons in Scotland, i. 190; colour of the bill and legs in geese, i. 288; breeding of _Tetrao scotius_ in captivity, ii. 156; destruction of black-fowls by the osprey, ii. 230. THOMPSON, Prof. W., on the obliquity of the flounder, ii. 53. THORNS, reconversion of, into branches, in pear trees, ii. 318. THORN, grafting of early and late, i. 363; Glastonbury, i. 364. THRUSH, asserted reproduction of the tarsus in a, ii. 15. _Thuja pendula_ or _filiformis_, a variety of _T. orientalis_, i. 362. THURET, on the division of the zoospores of an alga, ii. 378. THWAITES, G. H., on the cats of Ceylon, i. 46; on a twin seed of _Fuchsia coccinea_ and _fulgens_, i. 391. TIBURTIUS, experiments in rearing wild ducks, i. 278. TIGER, rarely fertile in captivity, ii. 150, 151. _Tigridia conchiflora_, bud-variation in, i. 386. TIME, importance of, in the production of races, ii. 243. TINZMANN, self-impotence in the potato, ii. 137. TISSUES, affinity of, for special organic substances, ii. 380. TITMICE, destructive to thin-shelled walnuts, i. 356; attacking nuts, i. 357; attacking peas, ii. 231. TOBACCO, crossing of varieties of, ii. 108; cultivation of in Sweden, ii. 307. TOBOLSK, red-coloured cats of, i. 47. TOES, relative length of, in fowls, i. 259; development of fifth in dogs, ii. 317. TOLLET, Mr., his selection of cattle, ii. 199. TOMATO, ii. 91. TOMTITS. See _Titmice_. TONGUE, relation of, to the beak in pigeons, i. 168. TOOTH, occurrence of a molar, in place of an incisor, ii. 391. "TORFSCHWEIN," i. 68. TRAIL, R., on the union of half-tubers of different kinds of potatoes, i. 395. TREES, varieties of, suddenly produced, i. 361; weeping or pendulous, i. 361; fastigate or pyramidal, i. 361; with variegated or changed foliage, i. 362; early or late in leaf, i. 362-363; forest, non-application of selection to, ii. 237. "TREMBLEUR" (pigeons), i. 146. TREMBLEY, on reproduction in Hydra, ii. 359. "TREVOLTINI" silkworms, i. 301-302. _Trichosanthes anguina_, i. 360. TRICKS, inheritance of, ii. 6-7, 395. _Trifolium minus_ and _repens_, ii. 164. TRIMORPHIC plants, conditions of reproduction in, ii. 181-184. TRISTRAM, H. B., selection of the dromedary, ii. 205-206. _Triticum dicoccum_, i. 319. _Triticum monococcum_, i. 319. _Triticum spelta_, i. 319. _Triticum turgidum_, i. 319. _Triticum vulgare_, wild in Asia, i. 312. {482} TRITON, breeding in the branchiferous stage, ii. 384. "TROMMEL-TAUBE," i. 154. "TRONFO" pigeon, i. 144. _Tropæolum_, ii. 38. _Tropæolum minus_ and _majus_, reversion in hybrids of, i. 392. TROUBETZKOY, Prince, experiments with pear-trees at Moscow, ii. 307. TROUSSEAU, Prof., pathological resemblance of twins, ii. 252. TRUMPETER pigeon, i. 154; known in 1735, i. 207. TSCHARNER, H. A. de, graft-hybrid produced by inosculation in the vine, i. 395. TSCHUDI, on the naked Peruvian dog, i. 23; extinct varieties of maize from Peruvian tombs, i. 320, ii. 425. TUBERS, bud-variation by, i. 384-385. TUCKERMAN, Mr., sterility of _Carex rigida_, ii. 170. TUFTED ducks, i. 281. TULIPS, variability of, i. 370; bud-variation in, i. 385-386; influence of soil in "breaking," i. 385. TUMBLER pigeon, i. 150-153; short-faced, figured, i. 152; skull figured, i. 163; lower jaw figured, i. 165; scapula and furcula figured, i. 167; early known in India, i. 207; history of, i. 209; sub-breeds of, i. 220; young unable to break the egg-shell, ii. 226; probable further modification of, ii. 242. "TÜMMLER" (pigeons), i. 150. TUMOURS, ovarian, occurrence of hairs and teeth in, ii. 370; polypoid, origin of, ii. 381. "TÜRKISCHE TAUBE," i. 139. TURBIT (pigeon), i. 148. TURKEY, domestic, origin of, i. 292-293; crossing of with North American wild Turkey, i. 292-293; breeds of, i. 293; crested white cock, i. 293; wild, characters of, i. 293-294; degeneration of, in India, i. 294, ii. 278; failure of eggs of, in Delhi, ii. 161; feral on the Parana, i. 190; change produced in by domestication, ii. 262. TURKEY, striped young pigs in, i. 76. TURNER (pigeon), i. 156. TURNER, W., on compensation in arteries and veins, ii. 300; on cells, ii. 370. TURNIPS, origin of, i. 325; reversion in, ii. 31; run wild, ii. 33; crosses of, ii. 93, 96; Swedish, preferred by hares, ii. 232; acclimatisation of, in India, ii. 311. TURNSPIT, on an Egyptian monument, i. 17; crosses of the, ii. 92. TURTLE-DOVE, white and coloured, crossing of, ii. 92. _Turtur auritus_, hybrids of, with _T. cambayensis_ and _T. suratensis_, i. 194. _Turtur risorius_, crossing of, with the common pigeon, i. 193; hybrid of, with _T. vulgaris_, _ibid._ _Turtur suratensis_, sterile hybrids of, with _T. vulgaris_, i. 193; hybrids of, with _T. auritus_, i. 194. _Turtur vulgaris_, crossing of, with the common pigeon, i. 193; hybrid of, with _T. risorius_, _ibid._; sterile hybrids of, with _T. suratensis_ and _Ectopistes migratorius_, _ibid._ TUSKS of wild and domesticated pigs, i. 76, 77. _Tussilago farfara_, variegated, i. 384. TWIN-SEED _Fuchsia coccinea_ and _fulgens_, i. 391. TYERMAN, B., on the pigs of the Pacific islands, i. 70, ii. 87; on the dogs of the Pacific islands, ii. 87. TYLOR, Mr., on the prohibition of consanguineous marriages, ii. 122-123. UDDERS, development of the, ii. 300. _Ulex_, double-flowered, ii. 167. _Ulmus campestris_ and _effusa_, hybrids of, ii. 130. UNIFORMITY of character, maintained by crossing, ii. 85-90. UNITS of the body, functional independence of the, ii. 368-371. UNITY or plurality of origin of organisms, i. 13. UPAS poison, ii. 380. UREA, secretion of, ii. 380. USE and disuse of parts, effects of, ii. 295-303, 352-353, 418-419; in rabbits, i. 124-128; in ducks, i. 284-286. UTILITY, considerations of, leading to uniformity, ii. 241. VALENTIN, experimental production of double monsters by, ii. 340. _Vallota_, ii. 139. VAN BECK, Barbara, a hairy-faced woman, ii. 4. VAN MONS on wild fruit-trees, i. 312, ii. 260; production of varieties of the vine, i. 333; correlated variability in fruit-trees, ii. 330; production of almond-like fruit by peach-seedlings, i. 339. _Vanessa_, species of, not copulating in captivity, ii. 157. VARIABILITY, i. 4, ii. 371-373, 394-397, 406-420; causes of, ii. 250-270; correlated, ii. 319-338, 353-355, 419-420; law of equable, ii. 351-352; necessity of, for selection, ii. 192; of selected characters, ii. 238-239; of multiple homologous parts, ii. 342. {483} VARIATION, laws of, ii. 293-356; continuity of, ii. 241; possible limitation of, ii. 242, 416-417; in domestic cats, i. 45-48; origin of breeds of cattle by, i. 88; in osteological characters of rabbits, i. 115-130; of important organs, i. 359; analogous or parallel, i. 348-352; in horses, i. 55; in the horse and ass, i. 64; in fowls, i. 243-246; in geese, i. 288; exemplified in the production of fleshy stems in cabbages, &c., i. 326; in the peach, nectarine, and apricot, i. 342, 344; individual, in wheat, i. 314. VARIEGATION of foliage, i. 383, ii. 167-168. VARIETIES and species, resemblance of, i. 4, ii. 411-413; conversion of, into species, i. 5; abnormal, ii. 413; domestic, gradually produced, ii. 414. VARRO, on domestic ducks, i. 277; on feral fowls, ii. 33; crossing of the wild and domestic ass, ii. 206. VASEY, Mr., on the number of sacral vertebræ in ordinary and humped cattle, i. 79; on Hungarian cattle, i. 80. VAUCHER, sterility of _Ranunculus ficaria_ and _Acorus calamus_, ii. 170. VEGETABLES, cultivated, reversion in, ii. 31-32; European, culture of, in India, ii. 168-169. VEITH, Mr., on breeds of horses, i. 49. _Verbascum_, intercrossing of species of, i. 336, ii. 93, 105-107; reversion in hybrids of, i. 392; contabescent, wild plants of, ii. 165; villosity in, ii. 277. _Verbascum austriacum_, ii. 136. _Verbascum blattaria_, ii. 105-106. _Verbascum lychnitis_, ii. 105-106, 136. _Verbascum nigrum_, ii. 136. _Verbascum phoeniceum_, ii. 107, 137; variable duration of, ii. 305. _Verbascum thapsus_, ii. 106. VERBENAS, origin of, i. 364; white, liability of, to mildew, ii. 228, 336; scorching of dark, ii. 229, 336; effect of changed conditions of life on, ii. 273. VERLOT, on the darkleaved Barberry, i. 362; inheritance of peculiarities of foliage in trees, i. 362; production of _Rosa cannabifolia_ by bud-variation from _R. alba_, i. 381; bud-variation in _Aralia trifoliata_, i. 382; variegation of leaves, i. 383; colours of tulips, i. 386; uncertainty of inheritance, ii. 18; persistency of white flowers, ii. 20; peloric flowers of _Linaria_, ii. 58; tendency of striped flowers to uniformity of colour, ii. 70; non-intercrossing of certain allied plants, ii. 91; sterility of _Primulæ_ with coloured calyces, ii. 166; on fertile proliferous flowers, _ibid._; on the Irish yew, ii. 241; differences in the _Camellia_, ii. 251; effect of soil on the variegated strawberry, ii. 274; correlated variability in plants, ii. 330. _Verruca_, ii. 53, 400. VERTEBRÆ, characters of, in rabbits, i. 120-122; in ducks, i. 283-284; number and variations of, in pigeons, i. 165-166; number and characters of, in fowls, i. 266-268; variability of number of, in the pig, i. 74. VERTUCH, see Putsche. "VERUGAS," ii. 276. VESPUCIUS, early cultivation in Brazil, i. 311. VIBERT'S experiments on the cultivation of the vine from seed, i. 332. _Viburnum opulus_, ii. 185, 316. _Vicia sativa_, leaflet converted into a tendril in, ii. 392. VICUNAS, selection of, ii. 207. VILLOSITY of plants, influenced by dryness, ii. 277. VILMORIN, cultivation of the wild carrot, i. 326, ii. 217; colours of tulips, i. 386; uncertainty of inheritance in balsams and roses, ii. 18; experiments with dwarf varieties of _Saponaria calabrica_ and _Tagetes signata_, ii. 20; reversion of flowers by stripes and blotches, ii. 37; on variability, ii. 262. _Vinca minor_, sterility in, ii. 170. VINE, i. 332-334; parsley-leaved, reversion of, i. 382; graft-hybrid produced by inosculation in the, i. 395; disease of, influenced by colour of grapes, ii. 228; influence of climate, &c., on varieties of the, ii. 278; diminished extent of cultivation of the, ii. 308; acclimatisation of the, in the West Indies, ii. 313. _Viola_, species of, i. 368. _Viola lutea_, different coloured flowers in, i. 408. _Viola tricolor_, reversion in, ii. 31, 47. VIRCHOW, Prof., blindness occurring in the offspring of consanguineous marriages, ii. 143; on the growth of bones, ii. 294, 381; on cellular prolification, ii. 295; independence of the elements of the body, ii. 369; on the cell-theory, ii. 370; presence of hairs and teeth in ovarian tumours, ii. 370; of hairs in the brain, ii. 391; special affinities of the tissues, ii. 380; origin of polypoid excrescences and tumours, ii. 381. VIRGIL on the selection of seed-corn, i. 318, ii. 203; of cattle and sheep, ii. 202. VIRGINIAN islands, ponies of, i. 52. _Virgularia_, ii. 378. VISION, hereditary peculiarities of, ii. 8-9; {484} in amphibious animals, ii. 223; varieties of, ii. 300; affections of organs of, correlated with other peculiarities, ii. 328. _Vitis vinifera_, i. 332-334, 375. _Viverra_, sterility of species of, in captivity, ii. 151. VOGEL, varieties of the date palm, ii. 256. VOGT, on the indications of stripes on black kittens, ii. 55. VOICE, differences of, in fowls, i. 259; peculiarities of, in ducks, i. 281; inheritance of peculiarities of, ii. 6. VOLZ, on the history of the dog, i. 16; ancient history of the fowl, i. 246; domestic ducks unknown to Aristotle, i. 277; Indian cattle sent to Macedonia by Alexander, ii. 202; mention of mules in the Bible, ii. 202; history of the increase of breeds, ii. 244. VON BERG on _Verbascum phoeniceum_, ii. 305. VOORHELM, G., his knowledge of hyacinths, i. 371, ii. 251. VROLIK, Prof., on polydactylism, ii. 12; on double monsters, ii. 340; influence of the shape of the mother's pelvis on her child's head, ii. 344. WADERS, behaviour of, in confinement, ii. 156. WAHLENBERG, on the propagation of Alpine plants by buds, runners, bulbs, &c., ii. 169. "WAHLVERWANDTSCHAFT" of Gärtner, ii. 180. WALES, white cattle of, in the 10th century, i. 85. WALKER, A., on intermarriage, i. 404; on the inheritance of polydactylism, ii. 13. WALKER, D., advantage of change of soil to wheat, ii. 146. WALLACE, A. R., on a striped Javanese horse, i. 59; on the conditions of life of feral animals, ii. 32; artificial alteration of the plumage of birds, ii. 280; on polymorphic butterflies, ii. 399-400; on reversion, ii. 415; on the limit of change, ii. 417. WALLACE, Dr., on the sterility of Sphingidæ hatched in autumn, ii. 158. WALLACHIAN sheep, sexual peculiarities in the horns of, i. 96. WALLFLOWER, bud-variation in, i. 382. WALLICH, Dr., on _Thuja pendula_ or _filiformis_, i. 362. WALNUTS, i. 356-357; thin-shelled, attacked by tomtits, ii. 231; grafting of, ii. 259. WALSH, B. D., on galls, ii. 282, 283; his "Law of equable variability," ii. 351-352. WALTHER, F. L., on the history of the dog, i. 16; on the intercrossing of the zebu and ordinary cattle, i. 83. WARING, Mr., on individual sterility, ii. 162. WART hog, i. 76. WATERER, Mr., spontaneous production of _Cytisus alpino-laburnum_, i. 390. WATER melon, i. 357. WATERHOUSE, G. R., on the winter-colouring of _Lepus variabilis_, i. 111. WATERTON, C., production of tailless foals, i. 53; on taming wild ducks, i. 278; on the wildness of half-bred wild ducks, ii. 45; assumption of male characters by a hen, ii. 51. WATSON, H. C., on British wild fruit-trees, i. 312; on the non-variation of weeds, i. 317; origin of the plum, i. 345; variation in _Pyrus malus_, i. 348; on _Viola amoena_ and _tricolor_, i. 368; on reversion in Scotch kail, ii. 32; fertility of _Draba sylvestris_ when cultivated, ii. 163; on generally distributed British plants, ii. 285. WATTLES, rudimentary, in some fowls, ii. 315. WATTS, Miss, on Sultan fowls, i. 228. WEBB, James, interbreeding of sheep, ii. 120. WEBER, effect of the shape of the mother's pelvis on her child's head, ii. 344. WEEDS, supposed necessity for their modification, coincidently with cultivated plants, i. 317. WEEPING varieties of trees, i. 361. WEEPING habit of trees, capricious inheritance of, ii. 18-19. WEEVIL, injury done to stone-fruit by, in North America, ii. 231. WELSH cattle, descended from _Bos longifrons_, i. 81. WEST Indies, feral pigs of, i. 77; effect of climate of, upon sheep, i. 98. WESTERN, Lord, change effected by, in the sheep, ii. 198. WESTPHALIA, striped young pigs in, i. 76. WESTWOOD, J. O., on peloric flowers of _Calceolaria_, ii. 346. WHATELY, Archbishop, on grafting early and late thorns, i. 363. WHEAT, specific unity or diversity of, i. 312-313, 316-317; Hasora, i. 313; presence or absence of barbs in, i. 314; Godron on variations in, _ibid._; varieties of, i. 314-315; effects of soil and climate on, i. 316; deterioration of, _ibid._; crossing of varieties of, _ibid._, ii. 96, 104-105, 130; in the Swiss lake-dwellings, i. 317-319; selection applied to, i. 318, ii. 200; increased fertility of hybrids of, with _Ægilops_, ii. 110; advantage of change of soil to, ii. 146; {485} differences of, in various parts of India, ii. 165; continuous variation in, ii. 200; red, hardiness of, ii. 229, 336; Fenton, ii. 232; natural selection in, ii. 233; varieties of, found wild, ii. 260; effects of change of climate on, ii. 307; ancient variety of, ii. 429. WHITBY, Mrs., on the markings of silkworms, i. 302; on the silkmoth, i. 303. WHITE, Mr., reproduction of supernumerary digits after amputation, ii. 14; time occupied in the blending of crossed races, ii. 87. WHITE, Gilbert, vegetable diet of dogs, ii. 303. WHITE and white-spotted animals, liability of, to disease, ii. 336-337. WHITE flowers, most truly reproduced by seed, ii. 20. WICHURA, Max, on hybrid willows, ii. 50, 131, 267; analogy between the pollen of old-cultivated plants, and of hybrids, ii. 268. WICKING, Mr., inheritance of the primary characters of _Columba livia_ in cross-bred pigeons, i. 201; production of a white head in almond tumblers, ii. 199. WICKSTED, Mr., on cases of individual sterility, ii. 162. WIEGMANN, spontaneous crossing of blue and white peas, i. 397; crossing of varieties of cabbage, ii. 130; on contabescence, ii. 165. WIGHT, Dr., sexual sterility of plants propagated by buds, &c., ii. 169. WILDE, Sir W. R., occurrence of _Bos frontosus_ and _longifrons_ in Irish crannoges, i. 81; attention paid to breeds of animals by the ancient Irish, ii. 203. WILDMAN, on the dahlia, ii. 216, 273. WILDNESS of the progeny of crossed tame animals, ii. 44-46. WILKES, Capt., on the taming of pigeons among the Polynesians, ii. 161. WILKINSON, J., on crossed cattle, ii. 104. WILLIAMS, Mr., change of plumage in a Hamburgh hen, i. 258. WILLIAMS, Mr., intercrossing of strawberries, i. 352. WILLIAMSON, Capt., degeneration of dogs in India, i. 37; on small Indian asses, i. 62. WILLIAMSON, Rev. W., doubling of _Anemone coronaria_ by selection, ii. 200. WILLOWS, weeping, i. 361; reversion of spiral-leaved weeping, i. 383; hybrids of, ii. 267; galls of, ii. 282-283. WILLOUGHBY, F., notice of spot pigeons, i. 156; on a fantail pigeon, i. 208; on tumbler pigeons, i. 209; on the turbit, i. 209; on the barb and carrier pigeons, i. 211; on the hook-billed duck, i. 277. WILMOT, Mr., on a crested white Turkey cock, i. 293; reversion of sheep in colour, ii. 30. WILSON, B. O., fertility of hybrids of humped and ordinary cattle in Tasmania, i. 83. WILSON, Dr., prepotency of the Manx over the common cat, ii. 66. WILSON, James, origin of dogs, i. 16. WILSON, Mr., on prepotency of transmission in sheep, ii. 69; on the breeding of bulls, ii. 196. WINGS, proportionate length of, in different breeds of pigeons, i. 175-176; of fowls, effects of disuse on, i. 270-272; characters and variations of, in ducks, i. 284-286; diminution of, in birds of small islands, i. 286-287. WING-FEATHERS, number of, in pigeons, i. 159; variability of, in fowls, i. 258. WOLF, recent existence of, in Ireland, i. 16; barking of young, i. 27; hybrids of, with the dog, i. 32. WOLF-DOG, black, of Florida, i. 22. WOLVES, North American, their resemblance to dogs of the same region, i. 21-22; burrowing of, i. 27. WOODBURY, Mr., crossing of the Ligurian and common hive bees, i. 299, ii. 126; variability of bees, i. 298. WOODWARD, S. P., on Arctic Mollusca, ii. 256. WOOD, Willoughby, on Mr. Bates' cattle, ii. 118. WOOLER, W. A., on the young of the Himalayan rabbit, i. 109; persistency of the coloured calyx in a crossed Polyanthus, i. 365. WORRARA poison, ii. 380. WOUNDS, healing of, ii. 294. WRIGHT, J., production of crippled calves by shorthorned cattle, ii. 118; on selection in cattle, ii. 194; effect of close interbreeding on pigs, ii. 121-122; deterioration of game cocks by close interbreeding, ii. 124. WRIGHT, Strethill, on the development of the hydroida, ii. 368. WYMAN, Dr., on Niata cattle, and on a similar malformation in the codfish, i. 89; on Virginian pigs, ii. 227. XENOPHON, on the colours of hunting dogs, ii. 209. XIMENES, Cardinal, regulations for the selection of rams, ii. 204. "YAHOO," the name of the pigeon in Persia, i. 155. YAKS, domestication of, i. 82; selection of white-tailed, ii. 206, 209. {486} YAM, development of axillary bulbs in the, ii. 169. YARRELL, Mr., deficiency of teeth in hairless dogs, i. 34, ii. 326; on ducks, i. 279, ii. 262; characters of domestic goose, resembling those of _Anser albifrons_, i. 288; whiteness of ganders, i. 288; variations in goldfish, i. 296-297; assumption of male plumage by the hen-pheasant, ii. 51; effect of castration upon the cock, ii. 51-52; breeding of the skylark in captivity, ii. 154; plumage of the male linnet in confinement, ii. 158; on the dingo, ii. 263. YELLOW fever, in Mexico, ii. 276. YEW, fastigate, ii. 241. YEW, Irish, hardy in New York, ii. 309. YEW, weeping, i. 361; propagation of, by seed, ii. 18-19. YOLK, variations of, in the eggs of ducks, i. 281. YOUATT, Mr., history of the dog, i. 16-17; variations of the pulse in breeds of dogs, i. 35; liability to disease in dogs, i. 35, ii. 227; inheritance of goître in dogs, ii. 10; on the greyhound, i. 34, 41; on King Charles' spaniels, i. 41; on the setter, i. 41; on breeds of horses, i. 49; variation in the number of ribs in the horse, i. 50; inheritance of diseases in the horse, ii. 10, 11; introduction of Eastern blood into English horses, ii. 212-213; on white Welsh cattle, i. 85, ii. 209; improvement of British breeds of cattle, i. 93; rudiments of horns in young hornless cattle, ii. 55, 315; on crossed cattle, ii. 104, 119; on Bakewell's long-horned cattle, ii. 118; selection of qualities in cattle, ii. 196; degeneration of cattle by neglect, ii. 239; on the skull in hornless cattle, ii. 333; disease of white parts of cattle, ii. 337; displacement of long-horned by short-horned cattle, ii. 426; on Angola sheep, i. 95; on the fleece of sheep, i. 99; correlation of horns and fleece in sheep, i. 95; adaptation of breeds of sheep to climate and pasture, i. 96; horns of Wallachian sheep, i. 96; exotic sheep in the Zoological Gardens, i. 96-97, ii. 305; occurrence of horns in hornless breeds of sheep, ii. 30; on the colour of sheep, ii. 30; on interbreeding sheep, ii. 120; on Merino rams in Germany, ii. 196; effect of unconscious selection on sheep, ii. 213; reversion of Leicester sheep on the Lammermuir Hills, ii. 224; on many-horned sheep, ii. 326; reduction of bone in sheep, ii. 242; persistency of character in breeds of animals in mountainous countries, ii. 64; on interbreeding, ii. 116; on the power of selection, ii. 194-195; slowness of production of breeds, ii. 244; passages in the Bible relating to the breeding of animals, ii. 201-202. YOUNG, J., on the Belgian rabbit, i. 106. YULE, Capt., on a Burmese hairy family, ii. 77, 327. ZAMBESI, striped young pigs on the, i. 77. ZAMBOS, character of the, ii. 47. ZANO, J. G., introduction of rabbits into Porto Santo by, i. 112. _Zea Mays_, i. 320. ZEBU, i. 79; domestication of the, i. 82; fertile crossing of, with European cattle, i. 83, ii. 110. ZEBRA, hybrids of, with the ass and mare, ii. 42. _Zephyranthes candida_, ii. 164. _Zinnia_, cultivation of, ii. 261. ZOLLINGER on Malayan penguin ducks, i. 280. ZOOSPORE, division of, in Algæ, ii. 378. "ZOPF-TAUBE," i. 154. THE END. LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, DUKE STREET, STAMFORD STREET, AND CHARING CROSS. * * * * * NOTES [1] 'Medical Notes and Reflections,' 3rd edit., 1855, p. 267. [2] Mr. Buckle, in his grand work on 'Civilisation,' expresses doubts on the subject owing to the want of statistics. _See_ also Mr. Bowen, Professor of Moral Philosophy, in 'Proc. American Acad. of Sciences,' vol. v. p. 102 [3] For greyhounds, _see_ Low's 'Domest. Animals of the British Islands,' 1845, p. 721. For game-fowls, _see_ 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 123. For pigs, _see_ Mr. Sidney's edit. of 'Youatt on the Pig,' 1860, pp. 11, 22. [4] 'The Stud Farm,' by Cecil, p. 39. [5] 'Philosophical Transactions,' 1755, p. 23. I have seen only second-hand accounts of the two grandsons. Mr. Sedgwick, in a paper to which I shall hereafter often refer, states that _four_ generations were affected, and in each the males alone. [6] Barbara Van Beck, figured, as I am informed by the Rev. W. D. Fox, in Woodburn's 'Gallery of Rare Portraits,' 1816, vol. ii. [7] 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1833, p. 16 [8] Hofacker, 'Ueber die Eigenschaften,' &c., 1828, s. 34. Report by Pariset in 'Comptes Rendus,' 1847, p. 592. [9] Hunter, as quoted in Harlan's 'Med. Researches,' p. 530. Sir A. Carlisle, 'Phil. Transact.,' 1814, p. 94. [10] Girou de Buzareignues, 'De la Génération,' p. 282. [11] 'Macmillan's Magazine,' July and August, 1865. [12] The works which I have read and found most useful are Dr. Prosper Lucas's great work, 'Traité de l'Hérédité Naturelle,' 1847. Mr. W. Sedgwick, in 'British and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' April and July, 1861, and April and July, 1863: Dr. Garrod on Gout is quoted in these articles. Sir Henry Holland, 'Medical Notes and Reflections,' 3rd edit., 1855. Piorry, 'De l'Hérédité dans les Maladies,' 1840. Adams, 'A Philosophical Treatise on Hereditary Peculiarities,' 2nd edit., 1815. Essay on 'Hereditary Diseases,' by Dr. J. Steinan, 1843. _See_ Paget, in 'Medical Times,' 1857, p. 192, on the Inheritance of Cancer; Dr. Gould, in 'Proc. of American Acad. of Sciences,' Nov. 8, 1853, gives a curious case of hereditary bleeding in four generations. Harlan, 'Medical Researches,' p. 593. [13] Marshall, quoted by Youatt in his work on Cattle, p. 284. [14] 'Philosoph. Transact.,' 1814, p. 94. [15] 'Medical Notes and Reflections,' 3rd edit., p. 33. [16] This affection, as I hear from Mr. Bowman, has been ably described and spoken of as hereditary by Dr. Dondera, of Utrecht, whose work was published in English by the Sydenham Society in 1864. [17] Quoted by Mr. Herbert Spencer, 'Principles of Biology,' vol. i. p. 244. [18] 'British and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review, 'April, 1861, p. 482-6; 'l'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. i. pp. 391-408. [19] Dr. Osborne, Pres. of Royal College of Phys. in Ireland, published this case in the 'Dublin Medical Journal' for 1835. [20] These various statements are taken from the following works and papers:--Youatt on 'The Horse,' pp. 35, 220. Lawrence, 'The Horse,' p. 30. Karkeek, in an excellent paper in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1853, p. 92. Mr. Burke, in 'Journal of R. Agricul. Soc. of England,' vol. v. p. 511. 'Encyclop. of Rural Sports,' p. 279. Girou de Buzareignues, 'Philosoph. Phys.,' p. 215. _See_ following papers in 'The Veterinary:' Roberts, in vol. ii. p. 144; M. Marrimpoey, vol. ii. p. 387; Mr. Karkeek, vol. iv. p. 5; Youatt on Goître in Dogs, vol. v. p. 483; Youatt, in vol. vi. pp. 66, 348, 412; M. Bernard, vol. xi. p. 539; Dr. Samesreuther, on Cattle, in vol. xii. p. 181; Percivall, in vol. xiii. p. 47. With respect to blindness in horses, _see_ also a whole row of authorities in Dr. P. Lucas's great work, tom. i. p. 399. Mr. Baker, in 'The Veterinary,' vol. xiii. p. 721, gives a strong case of hereditary imperfect vision and of jibbing. [21] Knight on 'The Culture of the Apple and Pear,' p. 31. Lindley's 'Horticulture,' p. 180. [22] These statements are taken from the following works in order:--Youatt on 'The Horse,' p. 48; Mr. Darvill, in 'The Veterinary,' vol. viii. p. 50. With respect to Robson, _see_ 'The Veterinary,' vol. iii. p. 580; Mr. Lawrence on 'The Horse,' 1829, p. 9; 'The Stud Farm,' by Cecil, 1851; Baron Cameronn, quoted in 'The Veterinary,' vol x. p. 500. [23] 'Recreations in Agriculture and Nat. Hist.,' vol. i. p. 68. [24] 'Ueber die Eigenschaften,' &c., 1828, s. 107. [25] Bronn's 'Geschichte der Natur,' band ii. s. 132. [26] Vrolik has discussed this point at full length in a work published in Dutch, from which Mr. Paget has kindly translated for me passages. _See_, also, Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire's 'Hist. des Anomalies,' 1832, tom. i. p. 684. [27] 'Edinburgh New Phil. Journal,' July, 1863. [28] Some great anatomists, as Cuvier and Meckel, believe that the tubercle one side of the hinder foot of the tailless Batrachians represents a sixth digit. Certainly, when the hinder foot of a toad, as soon as it first sprouts from the tadpole, is dissected, the partially ossified cartilage of this tubercle resembles under the microscope, in a remarkable manner, a digit. But the highest authority on such subjects, Gegenbaur (Untersuchung. zur vergleich. anat. der Wirbelthiere: Carpus et Tarsus, 1864, s. 63), concludes that this resemblance is not real, only superficial. [29] For these several statements, _see_ Dr. Struthers, in work cited, especially on intermissions in the line of descent. Prof. Huxley, 'Lectures on our Knowledge of Organic Nature,' 1863, p. 97. With respect to inheritance, _see_ Dr. Prosper Lucas, 'L'Hérédité Nat.,' tom. i. p. 325. Isid. Geoffroy, 'Anom.,' tom. i. p. 701. Sir A. Carlisle, in 'Phil. Transact.,' 1814, p. 94. A. Walker, on 'Intermarriage,' 1838, p. 140, gives a case of five generations; as does Mr. Sedgwick, in 'Brit. and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' April, 1863, p. 462. On the inheritance of other anomalies in the extremities, _see_ Dr. H. Dobell, in vol. xlvi. of 'Medico-Chirurg. Transactions,' 1863; also Mr. Sedgwick, in op. cit., April, 1863, p. 460. With respect to additional digits in the negro, _see_ Prichard, 'Physical History of Mankind.' Dr. Dieffenbach ('Journ. Royal Geograph. Soc.,' 1841, p. 208) says this anomaly is not uncommon with the Polynesians of the Chatham Islands. [30] 'The Poultry Chronicle,' 1854, p. 559. [31] The statements in this paragraph are taken from Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. i. pp. 688-693. [32] As quoted by Carpenter, 'Princ. of Comp. Physiology,' 1854, p. 480. [33] Müller's 'Phys.,' Eng. translat., vol. i. 1838, p. 407. A thrush, however, was exhibited before the British Association at Hull, in 1853, which had lost its tarsus, and this member, it was asserted, had been thrice reproduced: I presume it was lost each time by disease. [34] 'Monthly Journal of Medical Science,' Edinburgh, 1848, new series, vol. ii. p. 890. [35] 'An Essay on Animal Reproduction,' trans. by Dr. Maty, 1769, p. 79. [36] Bonnet, 'Oeuvres d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. v., part i., 4to. edit., 1781, pp. 343, 350, 353. [37] So with insects, the larvæ reproduce lost limbs, but, except in one order, the mature insect has no such power. But the Myriapoda, which apparently represent the larvæ of true insects, have, as Newport has shown, this power until their last moult. _See_ an excellent discussion on this whole subject by Dr. Carpenter in his 'Princ. Comp. Phys.,' 1854, p. 479. [38] Dr. Günther, in Owen's 'Anatomy of Vertebrates,' vol. i., 1866, p. 567. Spallanzani has made similar observations. [39] 'On the Anatomy of Vertebrates,' 1866, p. 170: with respect to the pectoral fins of fishes, pp. 166-168. [40] 'Medical Notes and Reflections,' 1839, pp. 24, 34. _See_, also, Dr. P. Lucas, 'l'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 33. [41] 'Du Danger des Mariages Consanguins,' 2nd edit., 1862, p. 103. [42] 'British and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' July, 1863, pp. 183, 189. [43] Verlot, 'La Production des Variétés,' 1865, p. 32. [44] Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. xii., 1836, p. 368. [45] Verlot, 'La Product. des Variétés,' 1865, p. 94. [46] Bronn's 'Geschichte der Natur,' b. ii. s. 121. [47] Rev. W. A. Leighton, 'Flora of Shropshire,' p. 497; and Charlesworth's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. i, 1837, p. 30. [48] Verlot, op. cit., p. 93. [49] For these several statements, _see_ Loudon's 'Gard. Magazine,' vol. x., 1834, pp. 408, 180; and vol. ix., 1833, p. 597. [50] These statements are taken from Alph. De Candolle, 'Bot. Géograph.,' p. 1083. [51] Verlot, op. cit., p. 38. [52] Op. cit., p. 59. [53] Alph. De Candolle, 'Géograph. Bot.,' p. 1082. [54] _See_ 'Cottage Gardener,' April 10, 1860, p. 18, and Sept. 10, 1861, p. 456; 'Gard. Chron.,' 1845, p. 102. [55] Darwin, in 'Journal of Proc. Linn. Soc. Bot.,' 1862, p. 94. [56] Hofacker, 'Ueber die Eigenschaften,' &c., s. 10. [57] Bechstein, 'Naturgesch. Deutschlands,' b. iv. s. 462. Mr. Brent, a great breeder of canaries, informs me that he believes that these statements are correct. [58] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 245. [59] 'British and Foreign Med.-Chirurg. Review,' July, 1861, pp. 200-204. Mr. Sedgwick has given such full details on this subject, with ample references, that I need refer to no other authorities. [60] 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii., 1859, p. 299. [61] 'Philosoph. Magazine,' vol. iv., 1799, p. 5. [62] This last case is quoted by Mr. Sedgwick in 'British and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' April, 1861, p. 484. For Blumenbach, _see_ above-cited paper. _See_, also, Dr. P. Lucas, 'Traité de l'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 492. Also 'Transact. Lin. Soc.,' vol. ix. p. 323. Some curious cases are given by Mr. Baker in 'The Veterinary,' vol. xiii. p. 723. Another curious case is given in the 'Annales des Scienc. Nat.,' 1st series, tom. xi. p. 324. [63] 'Proc. Royal Soc.,' vol. x. p. 297. [64] Mr. Sproule, in 'British Medical Journal,' April 18, 1863. [65] Downing, 'Fruits of America,' p. 5; Sageret, 'Pom. Phys.,' pp. 43, 72. [66] Youatt on Sheep, pp. 20, 234. The same fact of loose horns occasionally appearing in hornless breeds has been observed in Germany: Bechstein, 'Naturgesch. Deutschlands,' b. i. s. 362. [67] Youatt on Cattle, pp. 155, 174. [68] Youatt on Sheep, 1838, pp. 17, 145. [69] I have been informed of this fact through the Rev. W. D. Fox, on the excellent authority of Mr. Wilmot: _see_, also, remarks on this subject in an original article in the 'Quarterly Review,' 1849, p. 395. [70] Youatt, pp. 19, 234. [71] 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 231. [72] Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. x., 1834, p. 396: a nurseryman, with much experience on this subject, has likewise assured me that this sometimes occurs. [73] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1855, p. 777. [74] Ibid., 1862, p. 721. [75] _See_ some excellent remarks on this subject by Mr. Wallace, 'Journal Proc. Linn. Soc.,' 1858, vol. iii. p. 60. [76] Dureau de la Malle, in 'Comptes Rendus,' tom. xli., 1855, p. 807. From the statements above given, the author concludes that the wild pigs of Louisiana are not descended from the European _Sus scrofa_. [77] Capt. W. Allen, in his 'Expedition to the Niger,' states that fowls have run wild on the island of Annobon, and have become modified in form and voice. The account is so meagre and vague that it did not appear to me worth copying; but I now find that Dureau de la Malle ('Comptes Rendus,' tom. xli., 1855, p. 690) advances this as a good instance of reversion to the primitive stock, and as confirmatory of a still more vague statement in classical times by Varro. [78] 'Flora of Australia,' 1859, Introduct., p. ix. [79] 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii. pp. 54, 58, 60. [80] Mr. Sedgwick gives many instances in the 'British and Foreign Med.-Chirurg. Review,' April and July, 1863, pp. 448, 188. [81] In his edit. of 'Youatt on the Pig,' 1860, p. 27. [82] Dr. P. Lucas, 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. pp. 314, 892: _see_ a good practical article on this subject in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1856, p. 620. I could add a vast number of references, but they would be superfluous. [83] Kölreuter gives cases in his 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' 1766, s. 53, 59; and in his well-known 'Memoirs on Lavatera and Jalapa.' Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 437, 441, &c. Naudin, in his 'Recherches sur l'Hybridité, Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 25. [84] Quoted by Mr. Sedgwick in 'Med.-Chirurg. Review,' April, 1861, p. 485. Dr. H. Dobell, in 'Med.-Chirurg. Transactions,' vol. xlvi., gives an analogous case, in which, in a large family, fingers with thickened joints were transmitted to several members during five generations; but when the blemish once disappeared it never reappeared. [85] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 63. [86] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 25. Alex. Braun (in his 'Rejuvenescence,' Ray Soc., 1853, p. 315) apparently holds a similar opinion. [87] Mr. Teebay, in 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 72. [88] Quoted by Hofacker, 'Ueber die Eigenschaften,' &c., s. 98. [89] 'Essais Hist. Nat. du Paraguay,' tom. ii. 1801, p. 372. [90] These facts are given on the high authority of Mr. Hewitt, in 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 248. [91] 'The Poultry Book,' by Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 97. [92] 'Gardener's Chron. and Agricultural Gazette,' 1866, p. 528. [93] Ibid., 1860, p. 343. [94] Sclater, in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1862, p. 163. [95] 'History of the Horse,' p. 212. [96] 'Mém. présentés par divers Savans à l'Acad. Royale,' tom. vi. 1835, p. 338. [97] 'Letters from Alabama,' 1859, p. 280. [98] 'Hist. Nat. des Mammifères,' 1820, tom. i. [99] 'Philosoph. Transact.,' 1821, p. 20. [100] Sclater, in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1862, p. 163: this species is the Ghor-Khur of N.W. India, and has often been called the Hemionus of Pallas. _See_, also, Mr. Blyth's excellent paper in 'Journ. of Asiatic Soc. of Bengal,' vol. xxviii., 1860, p. 229. [101] Another species of wild ass, the true _A. hemionus_ or _Kiang_, which ordinarily has no shoulder-stripes, is said occasionally to have them; and these, as with the horse and ass, are sometimes double: _see_ Mr. Blyth, in the paper just quoted, and in 'Indian Sporting Review,' 1856, p. 320; and Col. Hamilton Smith, in 'Nat. Library, Horses,' p. 318; and 'Dict. Class. d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. iii. p. 563. [102] Figured in the 'Gleanings from the Knowsley Menageries,' by Dr. J. E. Gray. [103] Cases of both Spanish and Polish hens sitting are given in the 'Poultry Chronicle,' 1855, vol. iii. p. 477. [104] 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, pp. 119, 163. The author, who remarks on the two negatives ('Journ. of Hort.,' 1862, p. 325), states that two broods were raised from a Spanish cock and Silver-pencilled Hamburgh hen, neither of which are incubators, and no less than seven out of eight hens in these two broods "showed a perfect obstinacy in sitting." The Rev. E. S. Dixon ('Ornamental Poultry,' 1848, p. 200) says that chickens reared from a cross between Golden and Black Polish fowls, are "good and steady birds to sit." Mr. B. P. Brent informs me that he raised some good sitting hens by crossing Pencilled Hamburgh and Polish breeds. A cross-bred bird from a Spanish non-incubating cock and Cochin incubating hen is mentioned in the 'Poultry Chronicle,' vol. iii. p. 13, as an "exemplary mother." On the other hand, an exceptional case is given in the 'Cottage Gardener,' 1860, p. 388, of a hen raised from a Spanish cock and black Polish hen which did not incubate. [105] 'The Poultry Book,' by Tegetmeier, 1866, pp. 165, 167. [106] 'Natural History Review,' 1863, April, p. 277. [107] 'Essays on Natural History,' p. 197. [108] As stated by Mr. Orton, in his 'Physiology of Breeding,' p. 12. [109] M. E. de Selys-Longchamps refers ('Bulletin Acad. Roy. de Bruxelles,' tom. xii. No. 10) to more than seven of these hybrids shot in Switzerland and France. M. Deby asserts ('Zoologist,' vol. v., 1845-46, p. 1254) that several have been shot in various parts of Belgium and Northern France. Audubon ('Ornitholog. Biography,' vol. iii. p. 168), speaking of these hybrids, says that, in North America, they "now and then wander off and become quite wild." [110] 'Journal of Researches,' 1845, p. 71. [111] 'Expedition to the Zambesi,' 1865, pp. 25, 150. [112] Dr. P. Broca, on 'Hybridity in the Genus Homo,' Eng. translat., 1864, p. 39. [113] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 151. [114] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 582, 438, &c. [115] 'Die Bastardbefruchtung ... der Weiden,' 1865, s. 23. For Gärtner's remarks on this head, _see_ 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 474, 582. [116] Yarrell, 'Phil. Transact.,' 1827, p. 268; Dr. Hamilton, in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1862, p. 23. [117] 'Archiv. Skand. Beiträge zur Naturgesch.,' viii. s. 397-413. [118] In his 'Essays on Nat. Hist.,' 1838. Mr. Hewitt gives analogous cases with hen-pheasants in 'Journal of Horticulture,' July 12, 1864, p. 37. Isidore Geoffroy Saint Hilaire, in his 'Essais de Zoolog. Gén.' (suites à Buffon, 1842, pp. 496-513), has collected such cases in ten different kinds of birds. It appears that Aristotle was well aware of the change in mental disposition in old hens. The case of the female deer acquiring horns is given at p. 513. [119] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1860, p. 379. [120] 'Art de faire Eclorre,' &c., 1749, tom. ii. p. 8. [121] Sir H. Holland, 'Medical Notes and Reflections,' 3rd edit., 1855, p. 31. [122] Prof. Thomson on Steenstrup's Views on the Obliquity of Flounders: 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' May, 1865, p. 361. [123] Dr. E. von Martens, in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' March, 1866, p. 209. [124] Darwin, 'Balanidæ,' Ray Soc., 1854, p. 499: _see_ also the appended remarks on the apparently capricious development of the thoracic limbs on the right and left sides in the higher crustaceans. [125] Mormodes ignea: Darwin, 'Fertilization of Orchids,' 1862, p. 251. [126] 'Journal of Horticulture,' July, 1864, p. 38. I have had the opportunity of examining these remarkable feathers through the kindness of Mr. Tegetmeier. [127] 'The Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 241. [128] Carl Vogt, 'Lectures on Man,' Eng. translat., 1864, p. 411. [129] On Cattle, p. 174. [130] Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Des Anomalies,' tom. iii. p. 353. With respect to the mammæ in women, _see_ tom. i. p. 710. [131] 'Natural Hist. Review,' April, 1863, p. 258. _See_ also his Lecture, Royal Institution, March 16, 1860. On same subject, _see_ Moquin-Tandon, 'Eléments de Tératologie,' 1841, pp. 184, 352. [132] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 89; Naudin, 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 137. [133] In his discussion on some curious peloric calceolarias, quoted in 'Journal of Horticulture,' Feb. 24, 1863, p. 152. [134] For other cases of six divisions in peloric flowers of the Labiatæ and Scrophulariaceæ, _see_ Moquin-Tandon, 'Tératologie,' p. 192. [135] Moquin-Tandon, 'Tératologie,' p. 186. [136] _See_ Youatt on Cattle, pp. 92, 69, 78, 88, 163: also Youatt on Sheep, p. 325. Also Dr. Lucas, 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 310. [137] 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. pp. 112-120. [138] Sir H. Holland, 'Chapters on Mental Physiology,' 1852, p. 234. [139] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1860, p. 270. [140] Mr. N. H. Smith, Observations on Breeding, quoted in 'Encyclop. of Rural Sports,' p. 278. [141] Quoted by Bronn, 'Geschichte der Natur,' b. ii. s. 170. _See_ Sturm, 'Ueber Racen,' 1825, s. 104-107. For the niata cattle, _see_ my 'Journal of Researches,' 1845, p. 146. [142] Lucas, 'l'Hérédité Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 112. [143] Mr. Orton, 'Physiology of Breeding,' 1855, p. 9. [144] Boitard and Corbié, 'Les Pigeons,' 1824, p. 224. [145] 'Les Pigeons, pp. 168, 198. [146] 'Das Ganze,' &c., 1837, s. 39. [147] 'The Pigeon Book,' p. 46. [148] 'Physiology of Breeding,' p.22; Mr. Hewitt, in 'The Poultry Book,' by Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 224. [149] Boitard and Corbié, 'Les Pigeons,' 1824, p. 226. [150] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 256, 290, &c. Naudin ('Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 149) gives a striking instance of prepotency in _Datura stramonium_ when crossed with two other species. [151] Flourens, 'Longévité Humaine,' p. 144, on crossed jackals. With respect to the difference between the mule and the hinny, I am aware that this has generally been attributed to the sire and dam transmitting their characters differently; but Colin, who has given in his 'Traité Phys. Comp.,' tom. ii. pp. 537-539, the fullest description which I have met with of these reciprocal hybrids, is strongly of opinion that the ass preponderates in both crosses, but in an unequal degree. This is likewise the conclusion of Flourens, and of Bechstein in his 'Naturgeschichte Deutschlands,' b. i. s. 294. The tail of the hinny is much more like that of the horse than is the tail of the mule, and this is generally accounted for by the males of both species transmitting with greater power this part of their structure; but a compound hybrid which I saw in the Zoological Gardens, from a mare by a hybrid ass-zebra, closely resembled its mother in its tail. [152] Mr. Hewitt, who has had such great experience in raising these hybrids, says ('Poultry Book,' by Mr. Tegetmeier, 1866, pp. 165-167) that in all, the head was destitute of wattles, comb, and ear-lappets; and all closely resembled the pheasant in the shape of the tail and general contour of the body. These hybrids were raised from hens of several breeds by a cock-pheasant; but another hybrid, described by Mr. Hewitt, was raised from a hen-pheasant by a silver-laced Bantam cock, and this possessed a rudimental comb and wattles. [153] 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. book ii. ch. i. [154] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 264-266. Naudin ('Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 148) has arrived at a similar conclusion. [155] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1856, pp. 101, 137. [156] _See_ some remarks on this head with respect to sheep by Mr. Wilson, in 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1863, p. 15. [157] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 66. [158] Moquin-Tandon, 'Tératologie,' p. 191. [159] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 137. [160] 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. pp. 137-165. _See_, also, Mr. Sedgwick's four memoirs, immediately to be referred to. [161] On Sexual Limitation in Hereditary Diseases, 'Brit. and For. Med.-Chirurg. Review,' April, 1861, p. 477; July, p. 198; April, 1863, p. 44; and July, p. 159. [162] W. Scrope, 'Art of Deer Stalking,' p. 354. [163] Boitard and Corbié, 'Les Pigeons,' p. 173; Dr. F. Chapuis, 'Le Pigeon Voyageur Belge,' 1865, p. 87. [164] Prichard, 'Phys. Hist. of Mankind,' 1851, vol. i. p. 349. [165] 'Embassy to the Court of Ava,' vol. i. p. 320. The third generation is described by Capt. Yule in his 'Narrative of the Mission to the Court of Ava,' 1855, p. 94. [166] 'Das Ganze der Taubenzucht,' 1837, s. 21, tab. i., fig. 4; s. 24, tab. iv., fig. 2. [167] Kidd's 'Treatise on the Canary,' p. 18. [168] Charlesworth, 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. i., 1837, p. 167. [169] Dr. Prosper Lucas, 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 713. [170] 'L'Héréd. dans les Maladies,' 1840, p. 135. For Hunter, _see_ Harlan's 'Med. Researches,' p. 530. [171] 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 850. [172] Sedgwick, 'Brit. and For. Med.-Chirurg. Review,' April 1861, p. 485. I have seen three accounts, all taken from the same original authority (which I have not been able to consult), and all differ in the details! but as they agree in the main facts, I have ventured to quote this case. [173] Prosper Lucas, 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. i. p. 400. [174] Sedgwick, idem, July, 1861, p. 202. [175] Piorry, p. 109; Prosper Lucas, tom. ii. p. 759. [176] Prosper Lucas, tom. ii. p. 748. [177] Prosper Lucas, tom. ii. pp. 678, 700, 702; Sedgwick, idem, April, 1863, p. 449, and July, 1863, p. 162; Dr. J. Steinan, 'Essay on Hereditary Disease,' 1843, pp. 27, 34. [178] These cases are given by Mr. Sedgwick, on the authority of Dr. H. Stewart, in 'Med.-Chirurg. Review,' April, 1863, pp. 449, 477. [179] 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 852. [180] Communications to the Board of Agriculture, vol. i. p. 367. [181] 'Review of Reports, North of England,' 1808, p. 200. [182] 'Säugethiere von Paraguay,' 1830, s. 212. [183] Rengger, 'Säugethiere,' &c., s. 154. [184] White, 'Regular Gradation in Man,' p. 146. [185] Dr. W. F. Edwards, in his 'Charactères Physiolog. des Races Humaines,' p. 23, first called attention to this subject, and ably discussed it. [186] Rev. D. Tyerman, and Bennett, 'Journal of Voyages,' 1821-1829, vol. i. p. 300. [187] Mr. S. J. Salter, 'Journal Linn. Soc.,' vol. vi., 1862, p. 71. [188] Sturm, 'Ueber Racen, &c.,' 1825, s. 107. Bronn, 'Geschichte der Natur.,' b. ii. s. 170, gives a table of the proportions of blood after successive crosses. Dr. P. Lucas, 'l'Hérédité Nat.,' tom. ii. p. 308. [189] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 463, 470. [190] 'Nova Acta Petrop.,' 1794, p. 393: _see_ also previous volume. [191] As quoted in the 'True Principles of Breeding,' by C. H. Macknight and Dr. H. Madden, 1865, p. 11. [192] With respect to plants, an admirable essay on this subject (Die Geschlechter-Vertheilung bei den Pflanzen: 1867) has lately been published by Dr. Hildebrand, who arrives at the same general conclusions as I have done. [193] 'Teoria della Riproduzione Vegetal,' 1816, p. 12. [194] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 72. [195] Duval-Jouve, 'Bull. Soc. Bot. de France,' tom. x., 1863, p. 194. [196] Extract of a letter from Sir R. Heron, 1838, given me by Mr. Yarrell. With respect to mice, _see_ 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' tom. i. p. 180; and I have heard of other similar cases. For turtle-doves, Boitard and Corbié, 'Les Pigeons,' &c., p. 238. For the Game fowl, 'The Poultry Book,' 1866, p. 128. For crosses of tailless fowls, _see_ Bechstein, 'Naturges. Deutsch.' b. iii. s. 403. Bronn, 'Geschichte der Natur,' b. ii. s. 170, gives analogous facts with horses. On the hairless condition of crossed South American dogs, _see_ Rengger, 'Säugethiere von Paraguay,' s. 152: but I saw in the Zoological Gardens mongrels, from a similar cross, which were hairless, quite hairy, or hairy in patches, that is, piebald with hair. For crosses of Dorking and other fowls, _see_ 'Poultry Chronicle,' vol. ii. p. 355. About the crossed pigs, extract of letter from Sir R. Heron to Mr. Yarrell. For other cases, _see_ P. Lucas, 'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. i. p. 212. [197] 'Internat. Hort. and Bot. Congress of London,' 1866. [198] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 307. Kölreuter ('Dritte Fortsetszung,' s. 34, 39), however, obtained intermediate tints from similar crosses in the genus Verbascum. With respect to the turnips, _see_ Herbert's 'Amaryllidaceæ,' 1837, p. 370. [199] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 100. [200] Richardson, 'Pigs,' 1847, pp. 37, 42; S. Sidney's edition of 'Youatt on the Pig,' 1860, p. 3. [201] _See_ Mr. W. C. Spooner's excellent paper on Cross-Breeding, 'Journal Royal Agricult. Soc.,' vol. xx., part ii.: _see_ also an equally good article by Mr. Ch. Howard, in 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1860, p. 320. [202] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1857, pp. 649, 652. [203] 'Bulletin de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' 1862, tom. ix. p. 463. _See_ also, for other cases, MM. Moll and Gayot, 'Du Boeuf,' 1860, p. xxxii. [204] 'Poultry Chronicle,' vol. ii., 1854, p. 36. [205] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 58. [206] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1852, p. 765. [207] Spooner, in 'Journal Royal Agricult. Soc.,' vol. xx., part ii. [208] _See_ Colin's 'Traité de Phys. Comp. des Animaux Domestiques,' tom. ii. p. 536, where this subject is well treated. [209] 'Les Pigeons,' p. 37. [210] Vol. i., 1854, p. 101. [211] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1856, p. 110. [212] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 553. [213] Dr. Pigeaux, in 'Bull. Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. iii., July 1866, as quoted in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 1867, vol. xx. p. 75. [214] 'Journal de Physiolog.,' tom. ii., 1859, p. 385. [215] Dec. 1863, p. 484. [216] On the Varieties of Wheat, p. 66. [217] Rengger, 'Säugethiere von Paraguay,' s. 336. [218] _See_ a memoir by MM. Lherbette and De Quatrefages, in 'Bull. Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. viii., July, 1861, p. 312. [219] For the Norfolk sheep, _see_ Marshall's 'Rural Economy of Norfolk,' vol. ii. p. 133. _See_ Rev. L. Landt's 'Description of Faroe,' p. 66. For the ancon sheep, _see_ 'Phil. Transact.,' 1813, p. 90. [220] White's 'Nat. Hist. of Selbourne,' edited by Bennett, p. 39. With respect to the origin of the dark-coloured deer, _see_ 'Some Account of English Deer Parks,' by E. P. Shirley, Esq. [221] 'The Dovecote,' by the Rev. E. S. Dixon, p. 155; Bechstein, 'Naturgesch. Deutschlands,' Band iv., 1795, s. 17. [222] 'Cattle,' p. 202. [223] Mr. J. Wilkinson, in 'Remarks addressed to Sir J. Sebright,' 1820, p. 38. [224] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1858, p. 771. [225] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 87, 169. _See_ also the Table at the end of volume. [226] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 87, 577. [227] 'Kenntniss der Befruchtung,' s. 137; 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 92, 181. On raising the two varieties from seed _see_ s. 307. [228] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 216. [229] The following facts, given by Kölreuter in his 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' s. 34, 39, appear at first sight strongly to confirm Mr. Scott's and Gärtner's statements; and to a certain limited extent they do so. Kölreuter asserts, from innumerable observations, that insects incessantly carry pollen from one species and variety of Verbascum to another; and I can confirm this assertion; yet he found that the white and yellow varieties of _Verbascum lychnitis_ often grew wild mingled together: moreover, he cultivated these two varieties in considerable numbers during four years in his garden, and they kept true by seed; but when he crossed them, they produced flowers of an intermediate tint. Hence it might have thought that both varieties must have a stronger elective affinity for the pollen of their own variety than for that of the other; this elective affinity, I may add, of each species for its own pollen (Kölreuter, 'Dritte Forts.,' s. 39, and Gärtner, 'Bastarderz.,' _passim_) being a perfectly well-ascertained power. But the force of the foregoing facts is much lessened by Gärtner's numerous experiments, for, differently from Kölreuter, he never once got ('Bastarderz.,' s. 307) an intermediate tint when he crossed the yellow and white flowered varieties of Verbascum. So that the fact of the white and yellow varieties keeping true to their colour by seed does not prove that they were not mutually fertilised by the pollen carried by insects from one to the other. [230] 'Amaryllidaceæ,' 1837, p. 366. Gärtner has made a similar observation. [231] Kölreuter first observed this fact. 'Mém. de l'Acad. St. Petersburg,' vol. iii. p. 197. _See_ also C. K. Sprengel, 'Das Entdeckte Geheimniss,' s. 345. [232] Namely, Barbarines, Pastissons, Giraumous: 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' tom. xxx., 1833, pp. 398 and 405. [233] 'Mémoire sur les Cucurbitaceæ,' 1826, pp. 46, 55. [234] 'Annales des Se. Nat.,' 4th series, tom. vi. M. Naudin considers these forms as undoubtedly varieties of _Cucurbita pepo_. [235] 'Mém. Cucurb.,' p. 8. [236] 'Zweite Forts.,' s. 53, namely, Nicotiana major vulgaris; (2) perennis; (3) Transylvanica; (4) a sub-var. of the last; (5) major latifol. fl. alb. [237] Kölreuter was so much struck with this fact that he suspected that a little pollen of _N. glutinosa_ in one of his experiments might have accidentally got mingled with that of _var. perennis_, and thus aided its fertilising power. But we now know conclusively from Gärtner ('Bastarderz.,' s. 34, 431) that two kinds of pollen never act _conjointly_ on a third species; still less will the pollen of a distinct species, mingled with a plant's own pollen, if the latter be present in sufficient quantity, have any effect. The sole effect of mingling two kinds of pollen is to produce in the same capsule seeds which yield plants, some taking after the one and some after the other parent. [238] Mr. Scott has made some observations on the absolute sterility of a purple and white primrose (_Primula vulgaris_) when fertilised by pollen from the primrose ('Journal of Proc. of Linn. Soc.,' vol. viii., 1864, p. 98); but these observations require confirmation. I raised a number of purple-flowered long-styled seedlings from seed kindly sent me by Mr. Scott, and, though they were all some degree sterile, they were much more fertile with pollen taken from the common primrose than with their own pollen. Mr. Scott has likewise described a red equal-styled cowslip (_P. veris_, idem, p. 106), which was found by him to be highly sterile when crossed with the common cowslip; but this was not the case with several equal-styled red seedlings raised by me from his plant. This variety of the cowslip presents the remarkable peculiarity of combining male organs in every respect like those of the short-styled form, with female organs resembling in function and partly in structure those of the long-styled form; so that we have the singular anomaly of the two forms combined in the same flower. Hence it is not surprising that these flowers should be spontaneously self-infertile in a high degree. [239] 'Act. Acad. St. Petersburg,' 1780, part ii., pp. 84, 100. [240] 'Annales des Sc. Nat.,' tom. xxi. (1st series), p. 61. [241] 'Bull. Bot. Soc. de France,' Dec. 27th, 1861, tom. viii. p. 612. [242] Quoted by Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Naturelle Générale,' tom. iii. p. 476. Since this MS. has been sent to press a full discussion on the present subject has appeared in Mr. Herbert Spencer's 'Principles of Biology,' vol. ii. 1867, p. 457 _et seq._ [243] For cats and dogs, &c., _see_ Bellingeri, in 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 2nd series, Zoolog., tom. xii. p. 155. For ferrets, Bechstein, 'Naturgeschichte Deutschlands,' Band i., 1801, s. 786, 795. For rabbits, ditto, s. 1123, 1131; and Bronn's 'Geschichte der Natur,' B. ii. s. 99. For mountain sheep, ditto, s. 102. For the fertility of the wild sow, _see_ Bechstein's 'Naturgesch. Deutschlands,' B. i., 1801, s. 534; for the domestic pig, Sidney's edit. of Youatt on the Pig, 1860, p. 62. With respect to Lapland, _see_ Acerbi's 'Travels to the North Cape,' Eng. translat., vol. ii. p. 222. About the Highland cows, _see_ Hogg on Sheep, p. 263. [244] For the eggs of _Gallus bankiva_, _see_ Blyth, in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist., 2nd series, vol. i., 1848, p. 456. For wild and tame ducks, Macgillivray, 'British Birds,' vol. v. p. 37; and 'Die Enten,' s. 87. For wild geese, L. Lloyd, 'Scandinavian Adventures,' vol. ii. 1854, p. 413; and for tame geese, 'Ornamental Poultry,' by Rev. E. S. Dixon, p. 139. On the breeding of pigeons, Pistor, 'Das Ganze der Taubenzucht,' 1831, s. 46; and Boitard and Corbié, 'Les Pigeons,' p. 158. With respect to peacocks, according to Temminck ('Hist. Nat. Gén. des Pigeons,' &c., 1813, tom. ii. p. 41), the hen lays in India even as many as twenty eggs; but according to Jerdon and another writer (quoted in Tegetmeier's 'Poultry Book,' 1866, pp. 280, 282), she there lays only from four to nine or ten eggs: in England she is said, in the 'Poultry Book,' to lay five or six, but another writer says from eight to twelve eggs. [245] 'The Art of Improving the Breed, &c.,' 1809, p. 16. [246] For Andrew Knight, _see_ A. Walker, on 'Intermarriage,' 1838, p. 227. Sir J. Sebright's Treatise has just been quoted. [247] 'Cattle,' p. 199. [248] Nathusius, 'Ueber Shorthorn Rindvieh,' 1857, s. 71: _see_ also 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1860, p. 270. Many analogous cases are given in a pamphlet recently published by Mr. C. Macknight and Dr. H. Madden, 'On the True Principles of Breeding;' Melbourne, Australia, 1865. [249] Mr. Willoughby Wood, in 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1855, p. 411; and 1860, p. 270. _See_ the very clear tables and pedigrees given in Nathusius' 'Rindvieh,' s. 72-77. [250] Mr. Wright, 'Journal of Royal Agricult. Soc.,' vol. vii., 1846, p. 204. [251] Youatt on Cattle, p. 202. [252] Report British Assoc., Zoolog. Sect., 1838. [253] Azara, 'Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' tom. ii. pp. 354, 368. [254] For the case of the Messrs. Brown, _see_ 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1855, p. 26. For the Foscote flock, 'Gard. Chron.,' 1860, p. 416. For the Naz flock, 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' 1860, p. 477. [255] Nathusius, 'Rindvieh,' s. 65; Youatt on Sheep, p. 495. [256] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1861, p. 631. [257] Lord Somerville, 'Facts on Sheep and Husbandry,' p. 6. Mr. Spooner, in 'Journal of Royal Agricult. Soc. of England,' vol. xx., part ii. _See_ also an excellent paper on the same subject in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1860, p. 321, by Mr. Charles Howard. [258] 'Some Account of English Deer Parks,' by Evelyn P. Shirley, 1867. [259] 'The Art of Improving the Breed,' &c., p. 13. With respect to Scotch deer-hounds, _see_ Scrope's 'Art of Deer Stalking,' pp. 350-353. [260] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1861, p. 327. [261] Sidney's edit. of Youatt on the Pig, 1860, p. 30; p. 33, quotation from Mr. Druce; p. 29, on Lord Western's case. [262] 'Journal, Royal Agricult. Soc. of England,' 1846, vol. vii. p. 205. [263] 'Ueber Rindvieh,' &c., s. 78. [264] Sidney on the Pig, p. 36. _See_ also note, p. 34. Also Richardson on the Pig, 1847, p. 26. [265] Dr. Dally has published an excellent article (translated in the 'Anthropolog. Review,' May, 1864, p. 65), criticising all writers who have maintained that evil follows from consanguineous marriages. No doubt on this side of the question many advocates have injured their cause by inaccuracies: thus it has been stated (Devay, 'Du Danger des Mariages,' &c., 1862, p. 141) that the marriages of cousins have been prohibited by the legislature of Ohio; but I have been assured, in answer to inquiries made in the United States, that this statement is a mere fable. [266] _See_ his most interesting work on the 'Early History of Man,' 1865, chap. x. [267] On Consanguinity in Marriage, in the 'Fortnightly Review,' 1865, p. 710; Hofacker, 'Ueber die Eigenschaften,' &c. [268] Sir G. Grey's 'Journal of Expeditions into Australia,' vol. ii. p. 243; and Dobrizhoffer, 'On the Abipones of South America.' [269] 'The Art of Improving the Breed,' p. 13. [270] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 245. [271] 'Journal Royal Agricult. Soc.' 1846, vol. vii. p. 205; _see_ also Ferguson on the Fowl, pp. 83, 317; _see_ also 'The Poultry Book,' by Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 135, with respect to the extent to which cock-fighters found that they could venture to breed in-and-in, viz., occasionally a hen with her own son; "but they were cautious not to repeat the in-and-in breeding." [272] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 79. [273] 'The Poultry Chronicle,' 1854, vol. i. p. 43. [274] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 79. [275] 'The Poultry Chronicle,' vol. i. p. 89. [276] 'The Poultry Book,' 1866, p. 210. [277] Ibid, 1866, p. 167; and 'Poultry Chronicle,' vol. iii., 1855, p. 15. [278] 'A Treatise on Fancy Pigeons,' by J. M. Eaton, p. 56. [279] 'The Pigeon Book,' p. 46. [280] 'Das Ganze der Taubenzucht,' 1837, s. 18. [281] 'Les Pigeons,' 1824, p. 35. [282] 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc.,' Aug. 6th, 1860, p. 126. [283] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1861, pp. 39, 77, 158; and 1864, p. 206. [284] 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss der Befruchtung,' 1844, s. 366. [285] 'Amaryllidaceæ,' p. 371. [286] 'De la Fécondation,' 2nd edit., 1862, p. 79. [287] 'Mémoire sur les Cucurbitacées,' pp. 36, 28, 30. [288] Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. viii., 1832, p. 52. [289] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. i. p. 25. [290] 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 3rd series, Bot., tom. vi. p. 189. [291] 'Philosophical Transactions,' 1799, p. 200. [292] 'Ueber die Bastarderzeugung,' 1828, s. 32, 33. For Mr. Chaundy's case, _see_ Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. vii., 1831, p. 696. [293] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1846, p. 601. [294] 'Philosoph. Transact.,' 1799, p. 201. [295] Quoted in 'Bull. Bot. Soc. France,' vol. ii., 1855, p. 327. [296] Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 259, 518, 526 _et seq._ [297] 'Fortsetzung,' 1763, s. 29; 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' s. 44, 96; 'Act. Acad. St. Petersburg,' 1782, part ii., p. 251; 'Nova Acta,' 1793, pp. 391, 394; 'Nova Acta,' 1795, pp. 316, 323. [298] 'Die Bastardbefruchtung,' &c., 1865, s. 31, 41, 42. [299] Max Wichura fully accepts this view ('Bastardbefruchtung,' s. 43), as does the Rev. M. J. Berkeley, in 'Journal of Hort. Soc.,' Jan. 1866, p. 70. [300] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 394, 526, 528. [301] Kölreuter,' Nova Acta,' 1795, p. 316. [302] Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 430. [303] 'Botanische Zeitung,' Jan. 1864, s. 3. [304] 'Monatsbericht Akad. Wissen,' Berlin, 1866, s. 372. [305] International Hort. Congress, London, 1866. [306] 'Proc. Bot. Soc. of Edinburgh,' May, 1863: these observations are given in abstract, and others are added, in the 'Journal of Proc. of Linn. Soc.,' vol. viii. Bot., 1864, p. 162. [307] Prof. Lecoq, 'De la Fécondation,' 2nd edit., 1862, p. 76. [308] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 64, 357. [309] Idem, s. 357. [310] 'Zweite Fortsetzung,' s. 10; 'Dritte Fort.,' s. 40. [311] Duvernoy, quoted by Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 334. [312] 'Gardner's Chronicle,' 1846, p. 183. [313] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. vii., 1830, p. 95. [314] Prof. Lecoq, 'De la Fécondation,' 1845, p. 70; Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 64. [315] 'Gardener's Chron.' 1866, p. 1068. [316] 'Journal of Proc. of Linn. Soc.,' vol. viii., 1864, p. 168. [317] 'Amaryllidaceæ,' 1837, p. 371; 'Journal of Hort. Soc.,' vol. ii., 1847, p. 19. [318] Loudon's 'Gardener's Magazine,' vol. xi., 1835, p. 260. [319] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1850, p. 470. [320] 'Journal Hort. Soc., vol. v. p. 135. The seedlings thus raised were given to the Hort. Soc.; but I find, on inquiry, that they unfortunately died the following winter. [321] Mr. D. Beaton, in 'Journal of Hort.,' 1861, p. 453. Lecoq, however ('De la Fécond.,' 1862, p. 369), states that this hybrid is descended from _G. psittacinus_ and _cardinalis_; but this is opposed to Herbert's experience, who found that the former species could not be crossed. [322] This is the conclusion of Prof. Devay, 'Du Danger des Mariages Consang.,' 1862, p. 97. Virchow quotes, in the 'Deutsche Jahrbücher,' 1863, s. 354, some curious evidence on half the cases of a peculiar form of blindness occurring in the offspring from near relations. [323] For England, _see_ below. For Germany, _see_ Metzger, 'Getreidearten,' 1841, s. 63. For France, Loiseleur-Deslongchamps ('Consid. sur les Céreales,' 1843, p. 200) gives numerous references on this subject. For Southern France, _see_ Godron, 'Florula Juvenalis,' 1854, p. 28. [324] 'A general Treatise of Husbandry,' vol. iii. p. 58. [325] 'Gardener's Chronicle and Agricult. Gazette,' 1858, p. 247; and for the second statement, idem, 1850, p. 702. On this same subject, _see_ also Rev. D. Walker's 'Prize Essay of Highland Agricult. Soc.,' vol. ii. p. 200. Also Marshall's 'Minutes of Agriculture,' November, 1775. [326] Oberlin's 'Memoirs,' Eng. translat., p. 73. For Lancashire, _see_ Marshall's 'Review of Reports,' 1808, p. 295. [327] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1856, p. 186. For Mr. Robson's subsequent statements, _see_ 'Journal of Horticulture,' Feb. 18, 1866, p. 121. For Mr. Abbey's remarks on grafting, &c., idem, July 18, 1865, p. 44. [328] 'Mém. de l'Acad. des Sciences,' 1790, p. 209. [329] 'On the Varieties of Wheat,' p. 52. [330] Mr. Spencer has fully and ably discussed this whole subject in his 'Principles of Biology,' 1864, vol. ii. ch. x. In the first edition of my 'Origin of Species,' 1859, p. 267, I spoke of the good effects from slight changes in the conditions of life and from cross-breeding, and of the evil effects from great changes in the conditions and from crossing widely distinct forms, as a series of facts "connected together by some common but unknown bond, which is essentially related to the principle of life." [331] 'Essais de Zoologie Générale,' 1841, p. 256. [332] Du Rut, 'Annales du Muséum,' 1807, tom. ix. p. 120. [333] 'Säugethiere von Paraguay,' 1830, s. 49, 106, 118, 124, 201, 208, 249, 265, 327. [334] 'The Naturalist on the Amazons,' 1863, vol. i. pp. 99, 193; vol. ii. p. 113. [335] 'Embassy to the Court of Ava,' vol. i. p. 534. [336] 'Journal,' vol. i. p. 213. [337] 'Säugethiere,' s. 327. [338] On the Breeding of the larger Felidæ, 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1861, p. 140. [339] Sleeman's 'Rambles in India,' vol. ii. p. 10. [340] Wiegmann's 'Archif für Naturgesch.,' 1837, s. 162. [341] Rengger, 'Säugethiere,' &c., s. 276. On the parentage of the guinea-pig, _see_ also Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.' [342] Although the existence of the _Leporides_, as described by Dr. Broca ('Journal de Phys.,' tom. ii. p. 370), is now positively denied, yet Dr. Pigeaux ('Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. xx., 1867, p. 75) affirms that the hare and rabbit have produced hybrids. [343] 'Quadrupeds of North America,' by Audubon and Bachman, 1846, p. 268. [344] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. ix., 1836, p. 571; Audubon and Bachman's 'Quadrupeds of North America,' p. 221. [345] Flourens, 'De l'Instinct,' &c., 1845, p. 88. [346] _See_ 'Annual Reports Zoolog. Soc.,' 1855, 1858, 1863, 1864; 'Times' newspaper, Aug. 10th, 1847; Flourens, 'De l'Instinct,' p. 85. [347] 'Säugethiere,' &c., s. 34, 49. [348] Art. Brazil, 'Penny Cyclop.,' p. 363. [349] 'The Naturalist on the River Amazon,' vol. i. p. 99. [350] 'Encyclop. of Rural Sports,' p. 691. [351] According to Sir A. Burnes ('Cabool,' &c., p. 51), eight species are used for hawking in Scinde. [352] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. vi., 1833, p. 110. [353] F. Cuvier, 'Annal. du Muséum,' tom. ix. p. 128. [354] 'The Zoologist,' vol. vii.-viii., 1849-50, p. 2648. [355] Knox, 'Ornithological Rambles in Sussex,' p. 91. [356] 'The Zoologist,' vol. vii.-viii., 1849-50, p. 2566; vol. ix.-x., 1851-2, p. 3207. [357] Bechstein, 'Naturgesch. der Stubenvögel,' 1840, s. 20. [358] 'Ornithological Biography,' vol. v. p. 517. [359] A case is recorded in 'The Zoologist,' vol. i.-ii., 1843-45, p. 453. For the siskin breeding, vol. iii.-iv., 1845-46, p. 1075. Bechstein, 'Stubenvögel,' s. 139, speaks of bullfinches making nests, but rarely producing young. [360] Yarrell's 'Hist. British Birds,' 1839, vol. i. p. 412. [361] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. History,' vol. ix., 1836, p. 347. [362] 'Mémoires du Muséum d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. x. p. 314: five cases of parrots breeding in France are here recorded. _See_, also, 'Report Brit. Assoc. Zoolog.,' 1843. [363] 'Stubenvögel,' s. 105, 83. [364] Dr. Hancock remarks ('Charlesworth's Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. ii., 1838, p. 492), "it is singular that, amongst the numerous useful birds that are indigenous to Guiana, none are found to propagate among the Indians; yet the common fowl is reared in abundance throughout the country." [365] 'A Week at Port Royal,' 1855, p. 7. [366] Audubon, 'American Ornithology,' vol. v. pp. 552, 557. [367] Moubray on Poultry, 7th edit., p. 133. [368] Temminck, 'Hist. Nat. Gén. des Pigeons,' &c., 1813, tom. iii. pp. 288, 382; 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. xii., 1843, p. 453. Other species of partridge have occasionally bred; as the red-legged (_P. rubra_), when kept in a large court in France (_see_ 'Journal de Physique,' tom. xxv. p. 294), and in the Zoological Gardens in 1856. [369] Rev. E. S. Dixon, 'The Dovecote,' 1851, pp. 243-252. [370] Temminck, 'Hist. Nat. Gén. des Pigeons,' &c., tom. ii. pp. 456, 458; tom. iii. pp. 2, 13, 47. [371] Bates, 'The Naturalist on the Amazons,' vol. i. p. 193; vol. ii. p. 112. [372] Temminck, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' &c., tom. iii. p. 125. For _Tetrao urogallus_, _see_ L. Lloyd, 'Field Sports of North of Europe,' vol. i. pp. 287, 314; and 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. vii., 1860, p. 600. For _T. Scoticus_, Thompson, 'Nat. Hist. of Ireland,' vol. ii., 1850, p. 49. For _T. cupido_, 'Boston Journal of Nat. Hist.,' vol. iii. p. 199. [373] Marcel de Serres, 'Annales des Sci. Nat.,' 2nd series, Zoolog., tom. xiii. p. 175. [374] Dr. Hancock, in 'Charlesworth's Mag. of Nat. Hist.' vol. ii., 1838, p. 491; R. Hill, 'A Week at Port Royal,' p. 8; 'Guide to the Zoological Gardens,' by P. L. Sclater, 1859, pp. 11, 12; 'The Knowsley Menagerie,' by Dr. Gray, 1846, pl. xiv.; E. Blyth, 'Report Asiatic Soc. of Bengal,' May, 1855. [375] Prof. Newton, in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1860, p. 336. [376] 'The Dovecote and Aviary,' p. 428. [377] 'Ornithological Biography,' vol. iii. p. 9. [378] 'Geograph. Journal,' vol. xiii., 1844, p. 32. [379] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. v., 1832, p. 153. [380] 'Zoologist,' vols. v.-vi., 1847-48, p. 1660. [381] 'Transact. Entomolog. Soc.,' vol. iv., 1845, p. 60. [382] 'Transact. Linn. Soc.,' vol. vii. p. 40. [383] _See_ an interesting paper by Mr. Newman, in the 'Zoologist,' 1857, p. 5764; and Dr. Wallace, in 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc.,' June 4th, 1860, p. 119. [384] Yarrell's 'British Birds,' vol. i. p. 506; Bechstein, 'Stubenvögel,' s. 185; 'Philosoph. Transact.,' 1772, p. 271. Bronn ('Geschichte der Natur,' Band ii. s. 96) has collected a number of cases. For the case of the deer, _see_ 'Penny Cyclop.,' vol. viii. p. 350. [385] 'Journal de Physiologie,' tom. ii. p. 347. [386] For additional evidence on this subject, _see_ F. Cuvier, in 'Annales du Muséum,' tom. xii. p. 119. [387] Numerous instances could be given. Thus Livingstone ('Travels,' p. 217) states that the King of the Barotse, an inland tribe which never had any communication with white men, was extremely fond of taming animals, and every young antelope was brought to him. Mr. Galton informs me that the Damaras are likewise fond of keeping pets. The Indians of South America follow the same habit. Capt. Wilkes states that the Polynesians of the Samoan Islands tamed pigeons; and the New Zealanders, as Mr. Mantell informs me, kept various kinds of birds. [388] For analogous cases with the fowl, _see_ Réaumur, 'Art de faire Eclorre,' &c., 1749, p. 243; and Col. Sykes, in 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1832, &c. With respect to the fowl not breeding in northern regions, _see_ Latham's 'Hist. of Birds,' vol. viii., 1823, p. 169. [389] 'Mém. par divers Savans, Acad. des Sciences,' tom. vi., 1835, p. 347. [390] Youatt on Sheep, p. 181. [391] J. Mills, 'Treatise on Cattle,' 1776, p. 72. [392] Bechstein, 'Stubenvögel,' s. 242. [393] Crawfurd's 'Descriptive Dict. of the Indian Islands,' 1856, p. 145. [394] 'Bull. de la Soc. Acclimat., tom. ix., 1862, pp. 380, 384. [395] For pigeons, _see_ Dr. Chapuis, 'Le Pigeon Voyageur Belge,' 1865, p. 66. [396] 'Swedish Acts,' vol. i., 1739, p. 3. Pallas makes the same remark in his Travels (Eng. translat.), vol. i. p. 292. [397] A. Kerner, 'Die Cultur der Alpenflanzen,' 1864, s. 139; Watson's 'Cybele Britannica,' vol. i. p. 131; Mr. D. Cameron, also, has written on the culture of Alpine plants in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1848, pp. 253, 268, and mentions a few which seed. [398] 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss der Befruchtung,' 1844, s. 333. [399] 'Nova Acta Petrop.,' 1793, p. 391. [400] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1856, pp. 44, 109. [401] Dr. Herbert, 'Amaryllidaceæ,' p. 176. [402] Gärtner, 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss,' &c., s. 560, 564. [403] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1844, p. 215; 1850, p. 470. [404] 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss,' &c., s. 252, 333. [405] 'Journal of Hort. Soc.,' vol. ii. 1847, p. 83. [406] 'Beiträge zur Kenntniss,' &c., s. 117 _et seq._; Kölreuter, 'Zweite Fortsetzung,' s. 10, 121; 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' s. 57. Herbert, 'Amaryllidaceæ,' p. 355. Wiegmann, 'Ueber die Bastarderzeugung,' s. 27. [407] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 356. [408] 'Teoria della Riproduzione,' 1816, p. 84; 'Traité du Citrus,' 1811, p. 67. [409] Mr. C. W. Crocker, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1861, p. 1092. [410] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 80. [411] Verlot, idem, p. 88. [412] Prof. Allman, Brit. Assoc., quoted in the 'Phytologist,' vol. ii. p. 483. Prof. Harvey, on the authority of Mr. Andrews, who discovered the plant, informed me that this monstrosity could be propagated by seed. With respect to the poppy, _see_ Prof. Goeppert, as quoted in 'Journal of Horticulture,' July 1st, 1863, p. 171. [413] 'Comptes Rendus,' Dec. 19th, 1864, p. 1039. [414] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1866, p. 681. [415] 'Theory of Horticulture,' p. 333. [416] Mr. Fairweather, in 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. iii. p. 406; Bosse, quoted by Bronn, 'Geschichte der Natur,' B. ii. s. 77. On the effects of the removal of the anthers, _see_ Mr. Leitner, in Silliman's 'North American Journ. of Science,' vol. xxiii. p. 47; and Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 84. [417] Lindley's 'Theory of Horticulture,' p. 333. [418] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1865, p. 626; 1866, pp. 290, 730; and Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' p. 75. [419] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1843, p. 628. In this article I suggested the following theory on the doubleness of flowers. [420] Quoted by Gärtner, 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 567. [421] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1866, p. 901. [422] Lindley, 'Theory of Horticulture,' p. 175-179; Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. i. p. 106: Pickering, 'Races of Man;' Gallesio, 'Teoria della Riproduzione,' 1816, p. 101-110. Meyen ('Reise um Erde,' Th. ii. s. 214) states that at Manilla one variety of the banana is full of seeds; and Chamisso (Hooker's 'Bot. Misc.,' vol. i. p. 310) describes a variety of the bread-fruit in the Mariana Islands with small fruit, containing seeds which are frequently perfect. Burnes, in his 'Travels in Bokhara,' remarks on the pomegranate seeding in Mazenderan, as a remarkable peculiarity. [423] Ingledew, in 'Transact. of Agricult. and Hort. Soc. of India,' vol. ii. [424] 'De la Fécondation,' 1862, p. 308. [425] Hooker's 'Bot. Misc.,' vol. i. p. 99; Gallesio, 'Teoria della Riproduzione,' p. 110. [426] 'Transact. Linn. Soc.,' vol. xvii. p. 563. [427] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 106; Herbert on Crocus, in 'Journal of Hort. Soc.,' vol. i., 1846, p. 254.--Dr. Wight, from what he has seen in India, believes in this view; 'Madras Journal of Lit. and Science,' vol. iv., 1836, p. 61. [428] Wahlenberg specifies eight species in this state on the Lapland Alps: _see_ Appendix to Linnæus' 'Tour in Lapland,' translated by Sir J. E. Smith, vol. ii. pp. 274-280. [429] 'Travels in North America,' Eng. translat., vol. iii. p. 175. [430] With respect to the ivy and Acorus, _see_ Dr. Bromfield in the 'Phytologist,' vol. iii. p. 376. _See_ also Lindley and Vaucher on the Acorus. [431] 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 3rd series, Zool., tom. iv. p. 280. Prof. Decaisne refers also to analogous cases with mosses and lichens near Paris. [432] Mr. Tuckerman, in Silliman's 'American Journal of Science,' vol. xlv. p. 41. [433] Sir J. E. Smith, 'English Flora,' vol. i. p. 339. [434] G. Planchon, 'Flora de Montpellier,' 1864, p. 20. [435] On the non-production of seeds in England _see_ Mr. Crocker, in 'Gardener's Weekly Magazine,' 1852, p. 70; Vaucher, 'Hist. Phys. Plantes d'Europe,' tom. i. p. 33; Lecoq, 'Géograph. Bot. de l'Europe,' tom. iv. p. 466; Dr. D. Clos, in 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 3rd series, Bot., tom. xvii., 1852, p. 129: this latter author refers to other analogous cases. On the non-production of pollen by this Ranunculus _see_ Chatin, in 'Comptes Rendus,' June 11th, 1866. [436] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 565. Kölreuter ('Dritte Fortsetzung,' s. 73, 87, 119) also shows that when two species, one single and the other double, are crossed, the hybrids are apt to be extremely double. [437] 'Teoria della Riproduzione Veg.,' 1816, p. 73. [438] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 573. [439] Ibid., s. 527. [440] 'Transactions Phil. Soc.,' 1799, p. 202. For Kölreuter, _see_ 'Mém. de l'Acad. de St. Pétersbourg,' tom. iii., 1809 (published 1811), p. 197. In reading C. K. Sprengel's remarkable work, 'Das entdeckte Geheimniss,' &c., 1793, it is curious to observe how often this wonderfully acute observer failed to understand the full meaning of the structure of the flowers which he has so well described, from not always having before his mind the key to the problem, namely, the good derived from the crossing of distinct individual plants. [441] This abstract was published in the fourth edition (1866) of my 'Origin of Species;' but as this edition will be in the hands of but few persons, and as my original observations on this point have not as yet been published in detail, I have ventured here to reprint the abstract. [442] The term _unconscious selection_ has been objected to as a contradiction: but _see_ some excellent observations on this head by Prof. Huxley ('Nat. Hist. Review,' Oct. 1864, p. 578), who remarks that when the wind heaps up sand-dunes it sifts and _unconsciously selects_ from the gravel on the beach grains of sand of equal size. [443] Sheep, 1838, p. 60. [444] Mr. J. Wright on Shorthorn Cattle, in 'Journal of Royal Agricult. Soc.,' vol. vii. pp. 208, 209. [445] H. D. Richardson on Pigs, 1817, p. 44. [446] 'Journal of R. Agricult. Soc.,' vol. i. p. 24. [447] Sheep, pp. 520, 319. [448] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. viii., 1835, p. 618. [449] 'A Treatise on the Art of Breeding the Almond Tumbler,' 1851, p. 9. [450] 'Recreations in Agriculture,' vol. ii. p. 409. [451] Youatt on Cattle, pp. 191, 227. [452] Ferguson, 'Prize Poultry,' 1854, p. 208. [453] Wilson, in 'Transact. Highland Agricult. Soc.,' quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1844, p. 29. [454] Simmonds, quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1855, p. 637. And for the second quotation, _see_ Youatt on Sheep, p. 171. [455] Robinet, 'Vers à Soie,' 1848, p. 271. [456] Quatrefages, 'Les Maladies du Ver à Soie,' 1859, p. 101. [457] M. Simon, in 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. ix., 1862, p. 221. [458] 'The Poultry Chronicle,' vol. i., 1854, p. 607. [459] J. M. Eaton, 'A Treatise on Fancy Pigeons,' 1852, p. xiv., and 'A Treatise on the Almond Tumbler,' 1851, p. 11. [460] 'Journal Royal Agricultural Soc.,' vol. vi. p. 22. [461] 'Poultry Chronicle,' vol. ii., 1855, p. 596. [462] Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' tom. iii. p. 254. [463] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1850, p. 198. [464] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. vi. p. 152. [465] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1862, p. 369. [466] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. iv. p. 381. [467] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. iv. p. 285. [468] Rev. W. Bromehead, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1857, p. 550. [469] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1862, p. 721. [470] Dr. Anderson, in 'The Bee,' vol. vi. p. 96; Mr. Barnes, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1844, p. 476. [471] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' 1859, tom. ii. p. 69; 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1854, p. 258. [472] On Sheep, p. 18. [473] Volz, 'Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte,' 1852, s. 47. [474] Mitford's 'History of Greece,' vol. i. p. 73. [475] Dr. Dally, translated in 'Anthropological Review,' May 1864, p. 101. [476] Volz, 'Beiträge,' &c., 1852, s. 80. [477] 'History of the World,' ch. 45. [478] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1848, p. 323. [479] Reynier, 'De l'Economie des Celtes,' 1818, pp. 487, 503. [480] Le Couteur on Wheat, p. 15. [481] Michel, 'Des Haras,' 1861, p. 84. [482] Sir W. Wilde, an 'Essay on Unmanufactured Animal Remains,' &c., 1860, p. 11. [483] Col. Hamilton Smith, 'Nat. Library,' vol. xii., Horses, pp. 135, 140. [484] Michel, 'Des Haras,' p. 90. [485] Mr. Baker, 'History of the Horse,' Veterinary, vol. xiii. p. 423. [486] M. l'Abbé Carlier, in 'Journal de Physique,' vol. xxiv., 1784, p. 181: this memoir contains much information on the ancient selection of sheep; and is my authority for rams not being killed young in England. [487] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1843, p. 389. [488] Communications to Board of Agriculture, quoted in Dr. Darwin's 'Phytologia,' 1800, p. 451. [489] 'Mémoire sur les Chinois,' 1786, tom. xi. p. 55; tom. v. p. 507. [490] 'Recherches sur l'Agriculture des Chinois,' par L. D'Hervey-Saint-Denys, 1850, p. 229. With respect to Khang-hi, _see_ Huc's 'Chinese Empire,' p. 311. [491] Anderson, in 'Linn. Transact.,' vol. xii. p. 253. [492] 'Mém. de l'Acad.' (divers savans), tom. vi., 1835, p. 333. [493] 'Des Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' 1801, tom. ii. p. 333, 371. [494] 'The Great Sahara,' by the Rev. H. B. Tristram, 1860, p. 238. [495] Pallas, 'Act. Acad. St. Petersburg,' 1777, p. 249; Moorcroft and Trebeck, 'Travels in the Himalayan Provinces,' 1841. [496] Quoted from Raffles, in the 'Indian Field,' 1859, p. 196; for Varro, _see_ Pallas, _ut supra_. [497] Erman's 'Travels in Siberia,' Eng. translat., vol. i. p. 453. [498] _See_ also 'Journal of R. Geograph. Soc.,' vol. xiii. part i. p. 65. [499] Livingstone's 'First Travels,' pp. 191, 439, 565; _see_ also 'Expedition to the Zambesi,' 1865, p. 465, for an analogous case respecting a good breed of goats. [500] Andersson's 'Travels in South Africa,' pp. 232, 318, 319. [501] Dr. Vavasseur, in 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. viii., 1861, p. 136. [502] 'The Natural History of Dee Side,' 1855, p. 476. [503] 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. vii., 1860, p. 457. [504] 'Cattle,' p. 48. [505] Livingstone's Travels, p. 576; Andersson, 'Lake Ngami,' 1856, p. 222. With respect to the sale in Kaffraria, _see_ 'Quarterly Review,' 1860, p. 139. [506] 'Mémoire sur les Chinois' (by the Jesuits), 1786, tom. xi. p. 57. [507] F. Michel, 'Des Haras,' pp. 47, 50. [508] Col. Hamilton Smith, Dogs, in 'Nat. Lib.,' vol. x. p. 103. [509] Azara, 'Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' tom. ii. p. 324. [510] Sidney's edit. of Youatt, 1860, pp. 24, 25. [511] 'Rural Economy of Yorkshire,' vol. ii. p. 182. [512] Moll et Gayot, 'Du Boeuf,' 1860, p. 547. [513] 'The India Sporting Review,' vol. ii. p. 181; 'The Stud Farm,' by Cecil, p. 58. [514] 'The Horse,' p. 22. [515] 'History of England,' vol. i. p. 316. [516] 'Uber Beständigkeit der Arten.' [517] Youatt on Sheep, p. 315. [518] 'Ueber Shorthorn Rindvieh,' 1857, s. 51. [519] Low, 'Domesticated Animals,' 1845, p. 363. [520] 'Quarterly Review,' 1849, p. 392. [521] H. von Nathusius, 'Vorstudien ... Schweineschædel,' 1864, s. 140. [522] _See_ also Dr. Christ, in 'Rütimeyer's Pfahlbauten,' 1861, s. 226. [523] The passage is given 'Bull. Soc. d'Acclimat.,' 1858, p. 11. [524] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1862, p. 394. [525] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1857, p. 85. [526] _See_ Mr. Wildman's address to the Floricult. Soc., in 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1843, p. 86. [527] 'Journal of Horticulture,' Oct. 24th, 1865, p. 239. [528] Prescott's 'Hist. of Mexico,' vol. ii. p. 61. [529] Sageret, 'Pomologie Physiologique,' 1830, p. 47; Gallesio, 'Teoria della Riproduzione,' 1816, p. 88; Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' 1859, tom. ii. pp. 63, 67, 70. In my tenth and eleventh chapters I have given details on the potato; and I can confirm similar remarks with respect to the onion. I have also shown how far Naudin concurs in regard to the varieties of the melon. [530] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 27. [531] 'The Anthropological Treatises of Blumenbach,' 1865, p. 292. [532] Mr. J. J. Murphy in his opening address to the Belfast Nat. Hist. Soc., as given in the Belfast Northern Whig, Nov. 19, 1866. Mr. Murphy here follows the line of argument against my views previously and more cautiously given by the Rev. C. Pritchard, Pres. Royal Astronomical Soc., in his sermon (Appendix, p. 33) preached before the British Association at Nottingham, 1866. [533] On the Vision of Fishes and Amphibia, translated in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. xviii., 1866, p. 469. [534] Fourth edition, 1866, p. 215. [535] Quoted by Youatt on Sheep, p. 325. _See_ also Youatt on Cattle, pp. 62, 69. [536] MM. Lherbette and De Quatrefages, in 'Bull. Soc. Acclimat.,' tom. viii., 1861, p. 311. [537] 'The Poultry Book,' 1866, p. 123. [538] Youatt on Sheep, p. 312. [539] 'Treatise on the Almond Tumbler,' 1851, p. 33. [540] Dr. Heusinger, 'Wochenschrift für die Heilkunde,' Berlin, 1846, s. 279. [541] Youatt on the Dog, p. 232. [542] 'The Fruit-trees of America,' 1845, p. 270: for peaches, p. 466. [543] 'Proc. Royal Soc. of Arts and Sciences of Mauritius,' 1852, p. cxxxv. [544] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1856, p. 379. [545] Quatrefages, 'Maladies Actuelles du Ver à Soie,' 1859, pp. 12, 214. [546] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1851, p. 595. [547] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1862, p. 476. [548] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1852, pp. 435, 691. [549] Bechstein, 'Naturgesch. Deutschlands,' 1801, B. i. s. 310. [550] Prichard, 'Phys. Hist. of Mankind,' 1851, vol. i. p. 224. [551] G. Lewis's 'Journal of Residence in West Indies,' 'Home and Col. Library,' p. 100. [552] Sidney's edit. of Youatt on the Pig, p.24. [553] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1862, pp. 476, 498; 1865, p. 460. With respect to the heartsease, 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1863, p. 628. [554] 'Des Jacinthes, de leur Culture,' 1768, p. 53: on wheat, 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1846, p. 653. [555] W. B. Tegetmeier, 'The Field,' Feb. 25, 1865. With respect to black fowls, _see_ a quotation in Thompson's 'Nat. Hist. of Ireland,' 1849, vol. i. p. 22. [556] 'Bull. de la Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. vii. 1860, p. 359. [557] 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. i. 2nd series, 1835, p. 275. For raspberries, _see_ 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1855, p. 154, and 1863, p. 245. [558] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1843, p. 806. [559] Ibid., 1850, p. 732. [560] Ibid., 1860, p. 956. [561] J. De Jonghe, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1860, p. 120. [562] Downing, 'Fruit-trees of North America,' pp. 266, 501: in regard to the cherry, p. 198. [563] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1849, p. 755. [564] 'Journal of Horticulture,' Sept. 26th, 1865, p. 254; _see_ other references given in chap. x. [565] Mr. Selby, in 'Mag. of Zoology and Botany,' Edinburgh, vol. ii., 1838, p. 393. [566] The Reine Claude de Bavay, 'Journal of Horticulture,' Dec. 27, 1864, p. 511. [567] Mr. Pusey, in 'Journal of R. Agricult. Soc., vol. vi. p. 179. For Swedish turnips, _see_ 'Gard. Chron.,' 1847, p. 91. [568] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 98. [569] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1866, p. 732. [570] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1862, pp. 820, 821. [571] 'On the Varieties of Wheat,' p. 59. [572] Mr. Hewitt and others, in 'Journal of Hort.,' 1862, p. 773. [573] 'Encyclop. of Rural Sports,' p. 405. [574] Col. Le Couteur, 'Journal Roy. Agricult. Soc.,' vol. iv. p. 43. [575] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1845, p. 273. [576] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1862, p. 157. [577] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1860, p. 368. [578] 'A Review of Reports,' 1808, p. 406. [579] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1853, p. 45. [580] Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' tom. iii. p. 49. On the Cochineal Insect, p. 46. [581] Capt. Marryat, quoted by Blyth in 'Journ. Asiatic Soc. of Bengal,' vol. xxviii. p. 229. [582] Mr. Oxley, 'Journal of the Indian Archipelago,' vol. ii., 1848, p. 645. [583] Mr. Abbey, in 'Journal of Horticulture,' Dec. 1, 1863, p. 430. [584] 'On Naval Timber,' 1831, p. 107. [585] Mr. Baily, in 'The Poultry Chronicle,' vol. ii., 1854, p. 150. Also vol. i. p. 342; vol. iii. p. 245. [586] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1855, December, p. 171; 1856, January, pp. 248, 323. [587] 'Ueber Shorthorn Rindvieh,' 1857, s. 51. [588] 'The Veterinary,' vol. xiii. p. 720. For the Glamorganshire cattle, _see_ Youatt on Cattle, p. 51. [589] J. M. Eaton, 'A Treatise on Fancy Pigeons,' p. 82; Ferguson, on 'Rare and Prize Poultry,' p. 162; Mr. Brent, in 'Cottage Gardener,' Oct. 1860. p. 13. [590] 'Die Racen des Schweines,' 1860, s. 48. [591] _See_ some good remarks on this head by M. de Quatrefages, 'Unité de l'Espèce Humaine,' 1861, p. 119. [592] Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 94. [593] Mr. Patrick Sheriff, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1858, p. 771. [594] 'Pomologie Physiolog.,' 1830, p. 106. [595] Youatt on Sheep, p. 521. [596] 'A Treatise on the Almond Tumbler,' p. i. [597] M. J. de Jonghe, in 'Gard. Chron.,' 1858, p. 173. [598] Max. Müller, 'Science of Language,' 1861, p. 223. [599] Youatt on Cattle, pp. 116, 128. [600] 'Domesticated Animals,' p. 188. [601] Volz, 'Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte,' 1852, s. 99 _et passim_. [602] Blaine, 'Encyclop. of Rural Sports,' p. 213. [603] 'Des Jacinthes,' &c., Amsterdam, 1768, p. 43; Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' &c., p. 86. On the reindeer, _see_ Linnæus, 'Tour in Lapland,' translated by Sir J. E. Smith, vol. i. p. 314. The statement in regard to German shepherds is given on the authority of Dr. Weinland. [604] Müller's 'Physiology,' Eng. translation, vol. ii. p. 1662. With respect to the similarity of twins in constitution, Dr. William Ogle has given me the following extract from Professor Trousseau's Lectures ('Clinique Médicale,' tom. i. p. 523), in which a curious case is recorded:--"J'ai donné mes soins à deux frères jumeaux, tous deux si extraordinairement ressemblants qu'il m'était impossible de les reconnaître, à moins de les voir l'un à côté de l'autre. Cette ressemblance physique s'étendait plus loin: ils avaient, permettez-moi l'expression, une similitude pathologique plus remarquable encore. Ainsi l'un d'eux que je voyais aux néothermes à Paris malade d'une ophthalmie rhumatismale me disait, 'En ce moment mon frère doit avoir une ophthalmie comme la mienne;' et comme je m'étais récrié, il me montrait quelques jours après une lettre qu'il venait de recevoir de ce frère alors à Vienne, et qui lui écrivait en effet--'J'ai mon ophthalmie, tu dois avoir la tienne.' Quelque singulier que ceci puisse paraître, le fait non est pas moins exact: on ne me l'a pas raconté, je l'ai vu, et j'en ai vu d'autres analogues dans ma pratique. Ces deux jumeaux étaient aussi tous deux asthmatiques, et asthmatiques à un effroyable degré. Originaires de Marseille, ils n'ont jamais pu demeurer dans cette ville, où leurs intérêts les appelaient souvent, sans être pris de leurs accès; jamais ils n'en éprouvaient à Paris. Bien mieux, il leur suffisait de gagner Toulon pour être guéris de leurs attaques de Marseilles. Voyageant sans cesse et dans tous pays pour leurs affaires, ils avaient remarqué que certaines localités leur étaient funestes, que dans d'autres ils étaient exempts de tout phénomène d'oppression." [605] Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. iii. p. 352; Moquin Tandon, 'Tératologie Végétale,' 1841, p. 115. [606] Metzger, 'Die Getreidearten,' 1841, s. 39. [607] On the date-palm, _see_ Vogel, 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 1854, p. 460. On Indian varieties, Dr. F. Hamilton, 'Transact. Linn. Soc.,' vol. xiv. p. 296. On the varieties cultivated in Tahiti, _see_ Dr. Bennett, in Loudon's 'Mag. of N. Hist.,' vol. v., 1832, p. 484. Also Ellis, 'Polynesian Researches,' vol. i. pp. 375, 370. On twenty varieties of the Pandanus and other trees in the Marianne Island, _see_ 'Hooker's Miscellany,' vol. i. p. 308. On the bamboo in China, _see_ Huc's 'Chinese Empire,' vol. ii. p. 307. [608] 'Treatise on the Culture of the Apple,' &c., p. 3. [609] Gallesio, 'Teoria della Riproduzione Veg.,' p. 125. [610] _See_ Dr. Hooker's Memoir on Arctic Plants in 'Linn. Transact.,' vol. xxiii, part ii. Mr. Woodward, and a higher authority cannot be quoted, speaks of the Arctic mollusca (in his 'Rudimentary Treatise,' 1856, p. 355) as remarkably subject to variation. [611] Bechstein, in his 'Naturgeschichte der Stubenvögel,' 1840, s. 238, has some good remarks on this subject. He states that his canary-birds varied in colour, though kept on uniform food. [612] 'The Plant,' by Schleiden, translated by Henfrey, 1848, p. 169. _See_ also Alex. Braun, in 'Bot. Memoirs,' Ray. Soc., 1853, p. 313. [613] Messrs. Hardy and Son, of Maldon, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1856, p. 458. [614] 'Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' 1801, tom. ii. p. 319. [615] McClelland on Indian Cyprinidæ, 'Asiatic Researches,' vol. xix. part ii., 1839, pp. 266, 268, 313. [616] Quoted by Sageret, 'Pom. Phys.,' 1830, p. 43. [617] 'The Fruits of America,' 1845, p. 5. [618] M. Cardan, in 'Comptes Rendus,' Dec. 1848, quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1849, p. 101. [619] M. Alexis Jordan mentions four excellent pears found in woods in France, and alludes to others ('Mém. Acad. de Lyon,' tom. ii. 1852, p. 159). Poiteau's remark is quoted in 'Gardener's Mag.,' vol. iv., 1828, p. 385. _See_ 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1862, p. 335, for another case of a new variety of the pear found in a hedge in France. Also for another case, _see_ Loudon's 'Encyclop. of Gardening,' p. 901. Mr. Rivers has given me similar information. [620] Duval, 'Hist. du Poirier,' 1849, p. 2. [621] I infer that this is the fact from Van Mons' statement ('Arbres Fruitiers,' 1835, tom. i. p. 446) that he finds in the woods seedlings resembling all the chief cultivated races of both the pear and apple. Van Mons, however, looked at these wild varieties as aboriginal species. [622] Downing, 'Fruit-trees of North America,' p. 422; Foley, in 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. vi. p. 412. [623] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1847, p. 244. [624] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1841, p. 383; 1850, p. 700; 1854, p. 650. [625] 'Die Getreidearten,' 1843, s. 66, 116, 117. [626] Sabine, in 'Hort. Transact.,' vol. iii. p. 225; Bronn, 'Geschichte der Natur,' b. ii. s. 119. [627] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1861, p. 112; on Zinnia, 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1860, p. 852. [628] 'The Chrysanthemum, its History, &c.,' 1865, p. 3. [629] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1855, p. 54; 'Journal of Horticulture,' May 9, 1865, p. 363. [630] Quoted by Verlot, 'Des Variétés,' &c., 1865, p. 28. [631] 'Examination of the Characteristics of Genera and Species:' Charleston, 1855, p. 14. [632] Mr Hewitt, 'Journal of Hort.,' 1863, p. 39. [633] Devay, 'Mariages Consanguins,' pp. 97, 125. In conversation I have found two or three naturalists of the same opinion. [634] Müller has conclusively argued against this belief, 'Elements of Phys.,' Eng. translat., vol. ii., 1842, p. 1405. [635] 'Act. Acad. St. Petersburg,' 1780, part ii. p. 84, &c. [636] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 249, 255, 295. [637] 'Nova Acta, St. Petersburg,' 1794, p. 378; 1795, pp. 307, 313, 316; 1787, p. 407. [638] 'De la Fécondation,' 1862, p. 311. [639] 'Amaryllidaceæ,' 1837, p. 362. [640] Abstracted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1860, p. 1081. [641] This was the opinion of the elder De Candolle, as quoted in 'Dic. Class. d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. viii. p. 405. Puvis, in his work, 'De la Dégénération,' 1837, p. 37, has discussed this same point. [642] 'Comptes Rendus,' Novembre 21, 1864, p. 838. [643] 'Nova Acta, St. Petersburg,' 1794, p. 391. [644] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 507, 516, 572. [645] 'Die Bastardbefruchtung,' &c., 1865, s. 24. [646] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 452, 507. [647] 'Die Bastardbefruchtung,' s. 56. [648] 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 423. [649] 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' &c., 1766, s. 85. [650] 'Die Bastardbefruchtung,' &c., 1865, s. 92; _see_ also the Rev. M. J. Berkeley on the same subject, in 'Journal of Royal Hort. Soc.,' 1866, p. 80. [651] Dr. P. Lucas has given a history of opinion on this subject: 'Héréd. Nat.,' 1847, tom. i. p. 175. [652] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. iii. p. 499. [653] Idem., tom. iii. pp. 392, 502. [654] _See_ his interesting work, 'Métamorphoses de l'Homme,' &c., 1862, p. 129. [655] 'Dritte Fortsetzung,' &c., s. 123; 'Bastarderzeugung,' s. 249. [656] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1853, p. 183. [657] Mr. Wildman, 'Floricultural Soc.,' Feb. 7, 1843, reported in 'Gard. Chron.,' 1843, p. 86. [658] Mr. Robson, in 'Journal of Horticulture,' Feb. 13th, 1866, p. 122. [659] 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1861, p. 24. [660] Ibid., 1862, p. 83. [661] 'Gard. Chron.,' 1845, p. 660. [662] Ibid., 1863, p. 628. [663] 'Journal of Hort.,' 1861, pp. 64, 309. [664] 'Des Variétés,' &c., p. 76. [665] Engel, 'Sur les Prop. Médicales des Plantes,' 1860, pp. 10, 25. On changes in the odours of plants, _see_ Dalibert's Experiments, quoted by Beckman, 'Inventions,' vol. ii. p. 344; and Nees, in Ferussac, 'Bull. des Sc. Nat.,' 1824, tom. i. p. 60. With respect to the rhubarb, &c., _see_ also 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1849, p. 355; 1862, p. 1123. [666] Hooker, 'Flora Indica,' p. 32. [667] Naudin, 'Annales des Sc. Nat.,' 4th series, Bot., tom. xi., 1859, p. 81. 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1859, p. 464. [668] Moorcroft's 'Travels,' &c., vol. ii. p. 143. [669] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1861, p. 1113. [670] Royle, 'Productive Resources of India,' p. 59. [671] 'Personal Narrative,' Eng. translat., vol. v. p. 101. This statement has been confirmed by Karsten ('Beitrag zur Kenntniss der Rhynchoprion:' Moscow, 1864. s. 39), and by others. [672] 'Organic Chemistry,' Eng. translat., 1st edit., p. 369. [673] Prichard, 'Phys. Hist. of Mankind,' 1851, vol. i. p. 155. [674] Darwin, 'Journal of Researches,' 1845, p. 434. [675] These statements on disease are taken from Dr. Boudin's 'Géographie et de Statistique Médicales,' 1857, tom. i. p. xliv. and lii.; tom. ii. p. 315. [676] E. Desor, quoted in the 'Anthrop. Rev.,' 1863, p. 180. For much confirmatory evidence, _see_ Quatrefages, 'Unité de l'Espèce Humaine,' 1861, p. 131. [677] 'Ceylon,' by Sir J. E. Tennent, vol. i., 1859, p. 89. [678] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 52. [679] 'Journal of Horticultural Soc.,' vol. vii., 1852, p. 117. [680] 'Journal of Hort. Soc.,' vol. i. p. 160. [681] _See_ Lecoq on the Villosity of Plants, 'Geograph. Bot.,' tom. iii. pp. 287, 291; Gärtner, 'Bastarderz.,' s. 261; Mr. Musters, on the Opuntia, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1846, p. 444. [682] 'Pom. Phys.,' p. 136. [683] 'Ampelographie,' 1849, p. 19. [684] Gärtner, 'Bastarderz.,' s. 606, has collected nearly all recorded facts. Andrew Knight (in 'Transact. Hort. Soc.,' vol. ii. p. 160) goes so far as to maintain that few varieties are absolutely permanent in character when propagated by buds or grafts. [685] Mr. Blyth, in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. xx., 1847, p. 391. [686] 'Natural History Review,' 1862, p. 113. [687] 'Journal of Roy. Geographical Soc.,' vol. ix., 1839, p. 275. [688] 'Travels in Bokhara,' vol. iii. p. 151. [689] _See_ also, on the influence of marshy pastures on the wool, Godron, 'L'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 22. [690] Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' tom. iii. p. 438. [691] Azara has made some good remarks on this subject, 'Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' tom. ii. p. 337. _See_ an account of a family of naked mice produced in England, 'Proc. Zoolog. Soc.,' 1856, p. 38. [692] 'Die Fauna der Pfahlbauten,' 1861, s. 15. [693] 'Schweinschædel,' 1864, s. 99. [694] 'Travels in Siberia,' Eng. translat., vol. i. p. 228. [695] A. R. Wallace, 'Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro,' p. 294. [696] 'Naturgeschichte der Stubenvögel,' 1840, s. 262, 308. [697] 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' tom. iii. p. 402. [698] 'Bull. de la Soc. Imp. d'Acclimat.,' tom. viii. p. 351. [699] _See_ an account of Mr. Gregson's experiments on the _Abraxus grossulariata_, 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc.,' Jan. 6th, 1862: these experiments have been confirmed by Mr. Greening, in 'Proc. of the Northern Entomolog. Soc.,' July 28th, 1862. For the effects of food on caterpillars, see a curious account by M. Michely, in 'Bull. de la Soc. Imp. d'Acclimat.,' tom. viii. p. 563. For analogous facts from Dahlbom on Hymenoptera, _see_ Westwood's 'Modern Class. of Insects,' vol. ii. p. 98. _See_ also Dr. L. Möller, 'Die Abhängigkeit der Insecten,' 1867, s. 70. [700] 'The Principles of Biology,' vol. ii. 1866. The present chapters were written before I had read Mr. Herbert Spencer's work, so that I have not been able to make so much use of it as I should otherwise probably have done. [701] 'Proc. Acad. Nat. Soc. of Philadelphia,' Jan. 28th, 1862. [702] _See_ Mr. B. D. Walsh's excellent papers in 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc. Philadelphia,' Dec. 1866, p. 284. With respect to the willow, _see_ idem, 1864, p. 546. [703] _See_ his admirable Histoire des Galles, in 'Annal. des Sc. Nat. Bot.,' 3rd series, tom. xix., 1853, p. 273. [704] Kirby and Spence's 'Entomology,' 1818, vol. i. p. 450; Lucaze-Duthiers, idem, p. 284. [705] 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc. Philadelphia,' 1864, p. 558. [706] Mr. B. D. Walsh, idem, p. 633; and Dec. 1866, p. 275. [707] Mr. B. D. Walsh, idem, 1864, p. 545, 411, 495; and Dec. 1866, p. 278. _See_ also Lucaze-Duthiers. [708] Lucaze-Duthiers, idem, pp. 325, 328. [709] 'Linnæa,' vol. xvii., 1843; quoted by Dr. M. T. Masters, Royal Institution, March 16th, 1860. [710] Hewett C. Watson, 'Cybele Britannica,' vol. i., 1847, p. 11. [711] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1857, p. 629. [712] 'Mémoire sur la Production Artificielle des Monstrosités,' 1862, pp. 8-12; 'Recherches sur les Conditions, &c., chez les Monstres,' 1863, p. 6. An abstract is given of Geoffroy's Experiments by his son, in his 'Vie, Travaux, &c.,' 1847, p. 290. [713] Paget, 'Lectures on Surgical Pathology,' 1853, vol. i. p. 483. [714] 'Researches upon the Venom of the Rattle-snake,' Jan. 1861, by Dr. Mitchell, p. 67. [715] Mr. Sedgwick, in 'British and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' July 1863, p. 175. [716] 'An Essay on Generation,' Eng. translat., p. 18; Paget, 'Lectures on Surgical Pathology,' 1853, vol. i. p. 209. [717] 'An Essay on Animal Reproduction,' Eng. translat., 1769, p. 79. [718] Carpenter's 'Principles of Comp. Physiology,' 1854, p. 479. [719] Charlesworth's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. i., 1837, p. 145. [720] Paget, 'Lectures on Surgical Pathology,' vol. i. p. 239. [721] Quoted by Carpenter, 'Comp. Phys.,' p. 479. [722] Paget, 'Lectures,' &c., p. 257. [723] These cases are given by Blumenbach in his 'Essay on Generation,' pp. 52, 54. [724] 'Cellular Pathology,' trans. by Dr. Chance, 1860, pp. 27, 441. [725] Paget, 'Lectures on Pathology,' vol. i., 1853, p. 357. [726] Paget, idem, p. 150. [727] 'The Principles of Biology,' vol. ii., 1866, chap. 3-5. [728] 'Lectures on Pathology,' 1853, vol. i. p. 71. [729] 'Comptes Rendus,' Sept. 26th, 1864, p. 539. [730] 'The Principles of Biology,' vol. ii. p. 243. [731] Idem, vol. ii. p. 269. [732] Idem, vol. ii. p. 273. [733] Paget, 'Lectures on Pathology,' vol. ii. p. 209. [734] Müller's 'Phys.,' Eng. translat., pp. 54, 791. Prof. Reed has given ('Physiological and Anat. Researches,' p. 10) a curious account of the atrophy of the limbs of rabbits after the destruction of the nerve. [735] Quoted by Lecoq, in 'Geograph. Bot.,' tom. i., 1854, p. 182. [736] 'Das Abändern der Vögel,' 1833, s. 74. [737] Nathusius, 'Die Racen des Schweines,' 1860, s. 53, 57; 'Vorstudien ... Schweineschædel,' 1864, s. 103, 130, 133. [738] 'Journal of Agriculture of Highland Soc.,' July, 1860, p. 321. [739] 'Principles of Biology,' vol. ii. p. 263. [740] 'Natural History Review,' vol. iv., Oct. 1864, p. 617. [741] 'Lectures on Surgical Pathology,' 1853, vol. i. p. 27. [742] Andersson, 'Travels in South Africa,' p. 318. For analogous cases in South America, _see_ Aug. St. Hilaire, 'Voyage dans le Province de Goyaz,' tom. i. p. 71. [743] Brickell's 'Nat. Hist. of North Carolina,' 1739, p. 53. [744] Livingstone, quoted by Youatt on Sheep, p. 142. Hodgson, in 'Journal of Asiatic Soc. of Bengal,' vol. xvi., 1847, p. 1006, &c. &c. [745] 'Naturalist Library,' Dogs, vol. ii. 1840, p. 104. [746] 'De l'Espèce,' tom. i., 1859, p. 367. [747] 'Ceylon,' by Sir J. E. Tennent, 1859, vol. ii. p. 531. [748] For the foregoing statements, _see_ Hunter's 'Essays and Observations,' 1861, vol. ii. p. 329; Dr. Edmondston, as quoted in Macgillivray's 'British Birds,' vol. v. p. 550; Menetries, as quoted in Bronn's 'Geschichte der Natur,' B. ii. s. 110. [749] These statements on the intestines are taken from Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. Gén.,' tom. iii. pp. 427, 441. [750] Gilbert White, 'Nat. Hist. Selbourne,' 1825, vol. ii. p. 121. [751] Burdach, 'Traité de Phys.,' tom. ii. p. 267, as quoted by Dr. P. Lucas, 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. i. p. 388. [752] This and several other cases are given by Colin, 'Physiologie Comp. des Animaux Dom.,' 1854, tom. i. p. 426. [753] M. Michely de Cayenne, in 'Bull. Soc. d'Acclimat.,' tom. viii., 1861, p. 563. [754] Quatrefages, 'Unité de l'Espèce Humaine,' 1861, p. 79. [755] 'Flora,' 1835, B. ii. p. 504. [756] Alph. De Candolle, 'Géograph. Bot.,' tom. ii. p. 1078. [757] Royle, 'Illustrations of the Botany of the Himalaya,' p. 19. [758] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1850, pp. 204, 219. [759] Rev. R. Everest, 'Journal As. Soc. of Bengal,' vol. iii. p. 19. [760] Youatt on Sheep, 1838, p. 491. [761] Royle, 'Prod. Resources of India,' p. 153. [762] Tegetmeier, 'Poultry Book,' 1866, p. 102. [763] Dr. R. Paterson, in a paper communicated to Bot. Soc. of Canada, quoted in the 'Reader,' 1863. Nov. 13th. [764] _See_ remarks by Editor in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1848, p. 5. [765] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1860, p. 938. Remarks by Editor and quotation from Decaisne. [766] J. de Jonghe, of Brussels, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1857, p. 612. [767] Ch. Martius, 'Voyage Bot. Côtes Sept. de la Norvège,' p. 26. [768] 'Journal de l'Acad. Hort. de Gand,' quoted in 'Gard. Chron.,' 1859, p. 7. [769] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1851, p. 396. [770] Idem., 1862, p. 235. [771] On the authority of Labat, quoted in 'Gard. Chron.,' 1862, p. 235. [772] MM. Edwards and Colin, 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 2nd series, Bot., tom. v. p. 22. [773] 'Géograph. Bot.,' p. 337. [774] 'Swedish Acts,' Eng. translat., 1739-40, vol. i. Kalm, in his 'Travels,' vol. ii. p. 166, gives an analogous case with cotton-plants raised in New Jersey from Carolina seed. [775] De Candolle, 'Géograph. Bot.,' p. 339. [776] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1862, p. 235. [777] Gallesio, 'Teoria della Riproduzione Veg.,' 1816, p. 125; and 'Traité du Citrus,' 1811, p. 359. [778] 'Essai sur l'Hist. des Orangers,' 1813, p. 20, &c. [779] Alph. De Candolle, 'Géograph. Bot.,' p. 882. [780] 'Ch. Darwin's Lehre von der Entstehung,' &c., 1862, s. 87. [781] Decaisne, quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1865, p. 271. [782] For the magnolia, _see_ Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. xiii., 1837, p. 21. For camellias and roses, _see_ 'Gard. Chron.,' 1860, p. 384. For the yew, 'Journal of Hort.,' March 3rd, 1863, p. 174. For sweet potatoes, _see_ Col. von Siebold, in 'Gard. Chron.,' 1855, p. 822. [783] The Editor, 'Gard. Chron.,' 1861, p. 239. [784] Loudon's 'Gard. Mag.,' vol. xii., 1836, p. 378. [785] 'Gardeners Chron.,' 1865, p. 699. [786] 'Arboretum et Fruticetum,' vol. iii. p. 1376. [787] Mr. Robson, in 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1861, p. 23. [788] Dr. Bonavia, 'Report of the Agri.-Hort. Soc. of Oudh,' 1866. [789] 'Cottage Gardener,' 1860, April, 24th, p. 57. [790] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1841, p. 291. [791] Mr. Beaton, in 'Cottage Gardener,' March 20th, 1860, p. 377. Queen Mab will also stand stove heat, _see_ 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1845, p. 226. [792] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1841, p. 439. [793] Quoted by Asa Gray, in 'Am. Journ. of Sci.,' 2nd series, Jan. 1865, p. 106. [794] For China, _see_ 'Mémoire sur les Chinois,' tom, xi., 1786, p. 60. Columella is quoted by Carlier, in 'Journal de Physique,' tom. xxiv. 1784. [795] Messrs. Hardy and Son, in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1856, p. 589. [796] Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. Nat. des Anomalies,' 1836, tom. ii. pp. 210, 223, 224, 395; 'Philosoph. Transact.,' 1775, p. 313. [797] Pallas, quoted by Youatt on Sheep, p. 25. [798] Youatt on Cattle, 1834, p. 174. [799] 'Encyclop. Méthod.,' 1820, p. 483: _see_ p. 500, on the Indian zebu casting its horns. Similar cases in European cattle were given in the third chapter. [800] Pallas, 'Travels,' Eng. translat., vol. i. p. 243. [801] Mr. Beaton, in 'Journal of Horticulture,' May 21, 1861, p. 133. [802] Lecoq, 'De la Fécondation,' 1862, p. 233. [803] 'Annales du Muséum,' tom. vi. p. 319. [804] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. iii. p. 392. Prof. Huxley applies the same principle in accounting for the remarkable, though normal, differences in the arrangement of the nervous system in the Mollusca, in his great paper on the Morphology of the Cephalous Mollusca, in 'Phil. Transact.,' 1853, p. 56. [805] 'Eléments de Tératologie Veg.,' 1841, p. 113. [806] Prof. J. B. Simonds, on the Age of the Ox, Sheep, &c., quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1854, p. 588. [807] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. i. p. 674. [808] Quoted by Isid. Geoffroy, idem, tom. i. p. 635. [809] 'The Poultry Book,' by W. B. Tegetmeier, 1866, p. 250. [810] A. Walker on Intermarriage, 1838, p. 160. [811] 'The Farrier and Naturalist,' vol. i., 1828, p. 456. [812] Godron, 'Sur l'Espèce,' tom. ii. p. 217. [813] 'Quadrupèdes du Paraguay,' tom. ii. p. 333. [814] On Sheep, p. 142. [815] 'Ueber Racen, Kreuzungen, &c.,' 1825, s. 24. [816] Quoted from Conolly, in 'The Indian Field,' Feb. 1859, vol. ii. p. 266. [817] 'Domesticated Animals of the British Islands,' pp. 307, 368. [818] 'Proceedings Zoolog. Soc.,' 1833, p. 113. [819] Sedgwick, 'Brit. and Foreign Medico-Chirurg. Review,' April 1863, p. 453. [820] 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1849, p. 205. [821] 'Embassy to the Court of Ava,' vol. i. p. 320. [822] 'Narrative of a Mission to the Court of Ava in 1855,' p. 94. [823] Those statements are taken from Mr. Sedgwick, in the 'Medico-Chirurg. Review,' July 1861, p. 198; April 1863, pp. 455 and 458. Liebreich is quoted by Professor Devay, in his 'Mariages Consanguins,' 1862, p. 116. [824] Loudon's 'Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' vol. i., 1829, pp. 66, 178. _See_ also Dr. P. Lucas, 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. i. p. 428, on the inheritance of deafness in cats. [825] 'Annales des Sc. Nat.' Zoolog., 3rd series, 1847, tom. viii. p. 239. [826] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1864, p. 1202. [827] Verlot gives several other instances, 'Des Variétés,' 1865, p. 72. [828] 'Arbres Fruitiers,' 1836, tom. ii. pp. 204, 226. [829] 'Annales du Muséum,' tom. xx. p. 188. [830] 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1843, p. 877. [831] Ibid., 1845, p. 102. [832] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. iii. p. 402. _See_ also M. Camille Dareste, 'Recherches sur les Conditions,' &c., 1863, pp. 16, 48. [833] Rev. E. S. Dixon, 'Ornamental Poultry,' 1848, p. 111; Isidore Geoffroy, 'Hist. Anomalies,' tom. i. p. 211. [834] 'On the Breeding of Domestic Animals,' 1829, p. 6. [835] Youatt on Cattle, 1834, p. 283. [836] Mr. Herbert Spencer ('Principles of Biology,' 1864, vol. i. pp. 452, 468) takes a different view; and in one place remarks: "We have seen reason to think that, as fast as essential faculties multiply, and as fast as the number of organs that co-operate in any given function increases, indirect equilibration through natural selection becomes less and less capable of producing specific adaptations; and remains fully capable only of maintaining the general fitness of constitution to conditions." This view that natural selection can do little in modifying the higher animals surprises me, seeing that man's selection has undoubtedly effected much with our domesticated quadrupeds and birds. [837] Dr. Prosper Lucas apparently disbelieves in any such connexion, 'L'Héréd. Nat.,' tom. ii. pp. 88-94. [838] 'British Medical Journal,' 1862, p. 433. [839] Boudin, 'Geograph. Médicale,' tom. i. p. 406. [840] This fact and the following cases, when not stated to the contrary, are taken from a very curious paper by Prof. Heusinger, in 'Wochenschrift für Heilkunde,' May 1846, s. 277. [841] Mr. Mogford, in the 'Veterinarian,' quoted in 'The Field,' Jan. 22, 1861, p. 545. [842] 'Edinburgh Veterinary Journal,' Oct. 1860, p. 347. [843] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' 1832, tom. i. pp. 22, 537-556; tom. iii. p. 462. [844] 'Comptes Rendus,' 1855, pp. 855, 1029. [845] Carpenter's 'Comp. Phys.,' 1854, p. 480; _see_ also Camille Dareste, 'Comptes Rendus,' March 20th, 1865, p. 562. [846] 'Elements of Physiology,' Eng. translat, vol. i., 1838, p. 412. With respect to Vrolik, _see_ Todd's 'Cyclop. of Anat. and Phys.,' vol. iv., 1849-52, p. 973. [847] 'Tératologie Vég.,' 1841, livre iii. [848] 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. iii. pp. 4, 5, 6. [849] 'Tératologie Vég.,' p. 156. _See_ also my paper on climbing plants in 'Journal of Linn. Soc. Bot.,' vol. ix., 1865, p. 114. [850] 'Mémoires du Muséum,' &c., tom. viii. p. 178. [851] Loudon's 'Encyclop. of Gardening,' p. 829. [852] Prichard, 'Phys. Hist. of Mankind,' 1851, vol. i. p. 324. [853] 'Annales des Sc. Nat.,' 1st series, tom. xix. p. 327. [854] 'Comptes Rendus,' Dec. 1864, p. 1039. [855] Ueber Fötale Rachites, 'Würzburger Medicin. Zeitschrift,' 1860, B. i. s. 265. [856] 'Tératologie Vég.,' p. 192. Dr. M. Masters informs me that he doubts the truth of this conclusion; but the facts to be given seem to be sufficient to establish it. [857] 'Journal of Horticulture,' July 2nd, 1861, p. 253. [858] It would be worth trial to fertilise with the same pollen the central and lateral flowers of the pelargonium, and of some other highly cultivated plants, protecting them of course from insects: then to sow the seed separately, and observe whether the one or the other lot of seedlings varied the most. [859] Quoted in 'Journal of Horticulture,' Feb. 24, 1863, p. 152. [860] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1866, p. 612. For the Phalænopsis, _see_ idem, 1867, p. 211. [861] Mémoires ... des Végétaux,' 1837, tom. ii. p. 170. [862] 'Journal of Horticulture,' July 23, 1861, p. 311. [863] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 137. [864] Hugo von Mohl, 'The Vegetable Cell,' Eng. tr., 1852, p. 76. [865] The Rev. H. H. Dombrain, in 'Journal of Horticulture,' 1861, June 4th, p. 174; and June 25th, p. 234; 1862, April 29th, p. 83. [866] 'Transact. Linn. Soc.,' vol. xxiii., 1861, p. 360. [867] 'Die Getreidearten,' 1843, s. 208, 209. [868] 'Gardener's Chronicle,' 1850, p. 198. [869] Quoted in 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1866, p. 74. [870] 'Ueber den Begriff der Pflanzenart,' 1834, s. 14. [871] 'Domesticated Animals,' 1845, p. 351. [872] Bechstein, 'Naturgeschichte Deutschlands,' Band iv., 1795, s. 31. [873] 'Proc. Entomolog. Soc. of Philadelphia,' Oct. 1863, p. 213. [874] Quoted by Paget, 'Lectures on Pathology,' 1853, p. 159. [875] Dr. Lachmann, also, observes ('Annals and Mag. of Nat. History,' 2nd series, vol. xix., 1857, p. 231) with respect to infusoria, that "fissation and gemmation pass into each other almost imperceptibly." Again, Mr. W. C. Minor ('Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 3rd series, vol. xi. p. 328) shows that with Annelids the distinction that has been made between fission and budding is not a fundamental one. _See_ Bonnet, 'Oeuvres d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. v., 1781, p. 339, for remarks on the budding-out of the amputated limbs of Salamanders. _See_, also, Professor Clark's work 'Mind in Nature,' New York, 1865, pp. 62, 94. [876] Paget, 'Lectures on Pathology,' 1853, p. 158. [877] Idem, pp. 152, 164. [878] On the Asexual Reproduction of Cecydomyide Larvæ, translated in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' March 1866, pp. 167, 171. [879] _See_ some excellent remarks on this head by Quatrefages, in 'Annales des Sc. Nat.,' Zoolog., 3rd series, 1850, p. 138. [880] 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 2nd series, vol. xx., 1857, pp. 153-455. [881] 'Annales des Sc. Nat.,' 3rd series, 1850, tom. xiii. [882] 'Transact. Phil. Soc.,' 1851, pp. 196, 208, 210; 1853, p. 245, 247. [883] 'Beitrage zur Kenntniss,' &c., 1844, s. 345. [884] 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 27. [885] As quoted by Sir J. Lubbock in 'Nat. Hist. Review,' 1862, p. 345. [886] 'Transact. Linn. Soc.,' vol. xxiv., 1863, p. 62. [887] 'Parthenogenesis,' 1849, pp. 25-26. Prof. Huxley has some excellent remarks ('Medical Times,' 1856, p. 637) on this subject, in reference to the development of star-fishes, and shows how curiously metamorphosis graduates into gemmation or zoid-formation, which is in fact the same as metagenesis. [888] Prof. J. Reay Greene, in Günther's 'Record of Zoolog. Lit.,' 1865, p. 625. [889] Fritz Müller's 'Für Darwin,' 1864, s. 65, 71. The highest authority on crustaceans, Prof. Milne Edwards, insists ('Annal. des Sci. Nat.,' 2nd series, Zoolog., tom. iii. p. 322) on their metamorphoses differing even in closely allied genera. [890] Prof. Allman, in 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 3rd series, vol. xiii., 1864, p. 348; Dr. S. Wright, idem, vol. viii., 1861, p. 127. _See_ also p. 358 for analogous statements by Sars. [891] 'Tissus Vivants,' 1866, p. 22. [892] 'Cellular Pathology,' translat. by Dr. Chance, 1860, pp. 14, 18, 83, 460. [893] Paget, 'Surgical Pathology,' vol. i., 1853, pp. 12-14. [894] Idem, p. 19. [895] Mantegazza, quoted in 'Popular Science Review,' July 1865, p. 522. [896] 'De la Production Artificielle des Os,' p. 8. [897] Isidore Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. ii. pp. 549, 560, 562; Virchow, idem, p. 484. [898] For the most recent classification of cells, _see_ Ernst Häckel's 'Generelle Morpholog.,' Band ii., 1866, s. 275. [899] 'The Structure and Growth of Tissues,' 1865, p. 21, &c. [900] Dr. W. Turner, 'The present Aspect of Cellular Pathology,' 'Edinburgh Medical Journal,' April, 1863. [901] This term is used by Dr. E. Montgomery ('On the Formation of so-called Cells in Animal Bodies,' 1867, p. 42), who denies that cells are derived from other cells by a process of growth, but believes that they originate through certain chemical changes. [902] Prof. Huxley has called my attention to the views of Buffon and Bonnet. The former ('Hist. Nat. Gén.,' edit. of 1749, tom. ii. pp. 54, 62, 329, 333, 420, 425) supposes that organic molecules exist in the food consumed by every living creature; and that these molecules are analogous in nature with the various organs by which they are absorbed. When the organs thus become fully developed, the molecules being no longer required collect and form buds or the sexual elements. If Buffon had assumed that his organic molecules had been formed by each separate unit throughout the body, his view and mine would have been closely similar. Bonnet ('Oeuvres d'Hist. Nat.,' tom. v., part i., 1781, 4to edit., p. 334) speaks of the limbs having germs adapted for the reparation of all possible losses; but whether these germs are supposed to be the same with those within the buds and sexual organs is not clear. His famous but now exploded theory of _emboîtement_ implies that perfect germs are included within germs in endless succession, pre-formed and ready for all succeeding generations. According to my view, the germs or gemmules of each separate part were not originally pre-formed, but are continually produced at all ages during each generation, with some handed down from preceding generations. Prof. Owen remarks ('Parthenogenesis,' 1849, pp. 5-8), "Not all the progeny of the primary impregnated germ-cell are required for the formation of the body in all animals: certain of the derivative germ-cells may remain unchanged and become included in that body which has been composed of their metamorphosed and diversely combined or confluent brethren: so included, any derivative germ-cell, or the nucleus of such, may commence and repeat the same processes of growth by imbibition, and of propagation by spontaneous fission, as those to which itself owed its origin;" &c. By the agency of these germ-cells Prof. Owen accounts for parthenogenesis, for propagation by self-division during successive generations, and for the repairs of injuries. His view agrees with mine in the assumed transmission and multiplication of his germ-cells, but differs fundamentally from mine in the belief that the primary germ-cell was formed within the ovarium of the female and was fertilised by the male. My gemmules are supposed to be formed, quite independently of sexual concourse, by each separate cell or unit throughout the body, and to be merely aggregated within the reproductive organs. Lastly, Mr. Herbert Spencer ('Principles of Biology,' vol. i., 1863-4, chaps. iv. and viii.) has discussed at considerable length what he designates as physiological units. These agree with my gemmules in being supposed to multiply and to be transmitted from parent to child; the sexual elements are supposed to serve merely as their vehicles; they are the efficient agents in all the forms of reproduction and in the repairs of injuries; they account for inheritance, but they are not brought to bear on reversion or atavism, and this is unintelligible to me; they are supposed to possess polarity, or, as I call it, affinity; and apparently they are believed to be derived from each separate part of the whole body. But gemmules differ from Mr. Spencer's physiological units, inasmuch as a certain number, or mass of them, are, as we shall see, requisite for the development of each cell or part. Nevertheless I should have concluded that Mr. Spencer's views were fundamentally the same with mine, had it not been for several passages which, as far as I understand them, indicate something quite different. I will quote some of these passages from pp. 254-256. "In the fertilised germ we have two groups of physiological units, slightly different in their structures."... "It is not obvious that change in the form of the part, caused by changed action, involves such change in the physiological units throughout the organism, that these, when groups of them are thrown off in the shape of reproductive centres, will unfold into organisms that have this part similarly changed in form. Indeed, when treating of Adaptation, we saw that an organ modified by increase or decrease of function can but slowly so react on the system at large as to bring about those correlative changes required to produce a new equilibrium; and yet only when such new equilibrium has been established, can we expect it to be _fully_ expressed in the modified physiological units of which the organism is built--only then can we count on a complete transfer of the modification to descendants."... "That the change in the offspring must, other things equal, be in the same direction as the change in the parent, we may dimly see is implied by the fact, that the change propagated throughout the parental system is a change towards a new state of equilibrium--a change tending to bring the actions of all organs, reproductive included, into harmony with these new actions." [903] M. Philipeaux ('Comptes Rendus,' Oct. 1, 1866, p. 576, and June, 1867) has lately shown that when the entire fore-limb, including the scapula, is extirpated, the power of regrowth is lost. From this he concludes that it is necessary for regrowth that a small portion of the limb should be left. But as in the lower animals the whole body may be bisected and both halves be reproduced, this belief does not seem probable. May not the early closing of a deep wound, as in the case of the extirpation of the scapula, prevent the formation or protrusion of the nascent limb? [904] 'Annal. des Sc. Nat.,' 3rd series, Bot., tom. xiv., 1850, p. 244. [905] _See_ some very interesting papers on this subject by Prof. Lionel Beale, in 'Medical Times and Gazette,' Sept. 9th, 1865, pp. 273, 330. [906] Third Report of the R. Comm. on the Cattle Plague, as quoted in 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1866, p. 446. [907] In a cod-fish, weighing 20 lb., Mr. F. Buckland ('Land and Water,' 1867, p. 57) calculated the above number of eggs. In another instance, Harmer ('Phil. Transact.,' 1767, p. 280) found 3,681,760 eggs. For the Ascaris, _see_ Carpenter's 'Comp. Phys.,' 1854, p. 590. Mr. J. Scott, of the Royal Botanic Garden of Edinburgh, calculated, in the same manner as I have done for some British orchids ('Fertilisation of Orchids,' p. 344), the number of seeds in a capsule of an Acropera, and found the number to be 371,250. Now this plant produces several flowers on a raceme and many racemes during a season. In an allied genus, Gongora, Mr. Scott has seen twenty capsules produced on a single raceme: ten such racemes on the Acropera would yield above seventy-four millions of seed. I may add that Fritz Müller informs me that he found in a capsule of a Maxillaria, in South Brazil, that the seed weighed 42½ grains: he then arranged half a grain of seed in a narrow line, and by counting a measured length found the number in the half-grain to be 20,667, so that in the capsule there must have been 1,756,440 seeds! The same plant sometimes produces half-a-dozen capsules. [908] 'Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 3rd series, vol. viii., 1861, p. 490. [909] Paget, 'Lectures on Pathology,' p. 27; Virchow, 'Cellular Pathology,' translat. by Dr. Chance, pp. 123, 126, 294; Claude Bernard, 'Des Tissus Vivants,' pp. 177, 210, 337; Müller's 'Physiology,' Eng. translat., p. 290. [910] Virchow, 'Cellular Pathology,' trans. by Dr. Chance, 1860, pp. 60, 162, 245, 441, 454. [911] Idem, pp. 412-426. [912] _See_ Rev. J. M. Berkeley, in 'Gard. Chron.,' April 28th, 1866, on a bud developed on the petal of the Clarkia. _See_ also H. Schacht, 'Lehrbuch der Anat.,' &c., 1859, Theile ii. s. 12, on adventitious buds. [913] Mr. Herbert Spencer ('Principles of Biology,' vol. ii. p. 430) has fully discussed the antagonism between growth and reproduction. [914] The male salmon is known to breed at a very early age. The Triton and Siredon, whilst retaining their larval branchiæ, according to Filippi and Duméril ('Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 3rd series, 1866, p. 157), are capable of reproduction. Ernst Häckel has recently ('Monatsbericht Akad. Wiss. Berlin,' Feb. 2nd, 1865) observed the surprising case of a medusa, with its reproductive organs active, which produces by budding a widely different form of medusa; and this latter also has the power of sexual reproduction. Krohn has shown ('Annals and Mag. of Nat. Hist.,' 3rd series, vol. xix., 1862, p. 6) that certain other medusæ, whilst sexually mature, propagate by gemmæ. [915] _See_ his excellent discussion on this subject in 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 151. [916] Various physiologists have insisted on this distinction between growth and development. Prof. Marshall ('Phil. Transact.,' 1864, p. 544) gives a good instance in microcephalous idiots, in which the brain continues to grow after having been arrested in its development. [917] 'Compte Rendu,' Nov. 14, 1864, p. 800. [918] As previously remarked by Quatrefages, in his 'Metamorphoses de l'Homme,' &c., 1862, p. 129. [919] Günther's 'Zoological Record,' 1864, p. 279. [920] Sedgwick, in 'Medico-Chirurg. Review,' April 1863, p. 454. [921] Isid. Geoffroy St. Hilaire, 'Hist. des Anomalies,' tom. i., 1832, pp. 435, 657; and tom. ii. p. 560. [922] Virchow, 'Cellular Pathology,' 1860, p. 66. [923] Moquin-Tandon, 'Tératologie Veg.,' 1841, pp. 218, 220, 353. For the case of the pea, _see_ 'Gardener's Chron.,' 1866, p. 897. [924] Müller's 'Physiology,' Eng. translat., vol. i. p. 407. [925] _See_ some remarks to this effect by Sir H. Holland in his 'Medical Notes,' 1839, p. 32. [926] This is the view taken by Prof. Häckel, in his 'Generelle Morphologie' (B. ii. s. 171), who says: "Lediglich die partielle Identität der specifischconstituirten Materie im elterlichen und im kindlichen Organismus, die Theilung dieser Materie bei der Fortpflanzung, ist die Ursache der Erblichkeit." [927] In these remarks I, in fact, follow Naudin, who speaks of the elements or essences of the two species which are crossed. See his excellent memoir in the 'Nouvelles Archives du Muséum,' tom. i. p. 151. [928] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' 1859, tom. ii. p. 44, &c. [929] Journal Proc. Linn. Soc., 1858, vol. iii. p. 60. [930] 'The Quarterly Journal of Science,' Oct. 1867, p. 486. [931] M. Rufz de Lavison, in 'Bull. Soc. Imp. d'Acclimat.,' Dec. 1862, p. 1009. [932] 'Races of Man,' 1850, p. 315. [933] 'Travels in Peru,' Eng. translat., p. 177. [934] Youatt on Cattle, 1834, p 200: on Pigs; _see_ 'Gard. Chronicle,' 1854, p. 410. [935] 'Die Pflanzen der Pfahlbauten,' 1865. [936] Morlot, 'Soc. Vaud. des Scien. Nat,' Mars 1860, p. 298. [937] Rütimeyer, 'Die Fauna der Pfahlbauten,' 1861, s. 30. [938] Godron, 'De l'Espèce,' tom. i., 1859, p. 368. [939] 'Géographie Botan.,' 1855, p. 989. [940] Pickering, 'Races of Man,' 1850, p. 318. [941] 'Journal of a Horticultural Tour,' by a Deputation of the Caledonian Hist. Soc., 1823, p. 293. * * * * * Corrections made to printed original. p. iii. "APPEARANCE WITH ADVANCING AGE": 'ARPEARANCE' in original. p. vi. "SLIGHT CHANGES SUFFICIENT": 'SUFFICENT' in original. p. 61. "bearing in mind what has been said": 'bearnig' in original. p. 78. "not attached to any particular period": 'particuliar' in original. p. 243. "it permits innumerable individuals to be born": 'permitts' in original. p. 294. "liable to complete absorption": 'absortion' in original. p. 297. "found that when the animal was compelled ...": 'found than ...' in original. p. 318. "branches in a rudimentary condition": 'rudimentry' in original. p. 384. "force themselves into a minute orifice": 'into' was printed on next line in original, after 'must'.