Some twenty years ago it was not unusual in the south of Ireland to
see boys assembled about a fire of straw, loudly exulting over a
flame-surrounded victim, whose attempts to escape, rendered nugatory
by a timid retraction as it were into himself, served but to call
forth louder shouts of triumph from his persecutors, who thought they
justified their savage deed by proclaiming its hapless object as a
witch, a robber of orchards, and a sucker of cows. Leaving to our
antiquarian friends to discover whether the cruel act in question was
not a holocaust originating in the mystic rites of Pagan times, it is
for us to vindicate the wronged, and show the absurdity of the charges
by which wrong has been maintained, and at the same time to indicate
such matter as may serve to direct kindness to that innocent victim of
ignorance, the inoffensive Hedgehog. That it is not a witch according to
the old law, may be proved in a court of justice spite of the popular
opinion and in defiance of the authority of Shakspeare, whose witches
in Macbeth are warned that the proper time had come to commence their
infernal incantations by “thrice and once the hedge-pig whined.” We have
no witness that a hedgehog ever rode a broomstick or vomited knives,
skewers, coals of fire, or any such like legal proofs of witchcraft;
neither, perhaps you exclaim, is the writer of so much nonsense a
witch. True it is that the creature so named has its place nowhere in
the classification of a zoologist, yet still an undefined idea of its
existence floats in the imagination of the most ignorant, and it is not
_extraordinary_ that an opinion once universal should still linger in
unenlightened minds. In no way do we consider superstitious prejudices
can better be extinguished than by inducing accuracy of observation of
natural phenomena, which shows that nothing supernatural exists. The
second charge, that the hedgehog is a robber of orchards, is a very old
one. Pliny, as translated by Holland, states--“Hedgehogs make their
provision beforehand of meat for winter in this wise: they wallow and
roll themselves upon apples and such fruit lying under foot, and so catch
them up with their prickles, and one more besides they take in their
mouth, and so carry them into hollow trees.”
Now, this has no foundation in fact. True it is that the hedgehog is
very often found in the neighbourhood of orchards; but then this may be
accounted for by the fact that the fences of such places are usually of
exactly the thick and unfrequented kind the animal best likes to inhabit.
Our repeated experience has never enabled us to discover that a hedgehog
will eat apples; on the contrary, in early youth, when imbued with the
general belief that this fruit was their diet, we have in more than
one or two instances (most cruelly as we now believe) starved to death
unfortunate specimens, which we shut up in a box with an ample supply
of apples, not one of which they ever ate. That a magpie will steal and
hide silver spoons, or a raven silk stockings, we know, and may use it
as an argument that animals steal what they do not want; but that a
hedgehog steals apples in the way stated, experiment will at once prove
to be untrue, for, from the varied position of the points of the spines
when fixed, it is impossible to fasten an apple upon them; and when they
are not fixed, they yield at once to the pressure made in the attempt.
Though domesticated hedgehogs can easily be brought to feed on bread
and milk or dressed vegetables, yet all our observation goes to prove
that in a state of nature, or when permitted to stray in a garden, they
never eat any but animal food. This is at variance with the generally
received opinion, which is supported by the authority of White, who, in
his admirable History of Selborne, complains that hedgehogs injured his
garden by boring with their long snouts under the plantain that grew
in his grass walks, eating off the root upwards, leaving the tufts of
leaves untouched, and defacing his grounds by making unsightly holes.
He then immediately goes on to prove that these identical animals used
beetles as no inconsiderable portion of their food. Now, it strikes us
that his previous observation was not made with his usual accuracy, and
that the hedgehogs did not eat the roots of plantain, but dug up where
they had been to catch the larvæ of beetles that had just devoured
them. Thus rooks have been charged with wantonly plucking up grass,
while the truth is, that they only pull up plants attacked at the root
by the larvæ of the cockchaffer or some other of the _Phytophagous
coleoptera_ (as vegetable-eating beetles are called), catch in the fact
the destructive insect, and so stop its ravages; thus rendering important
services to those who, for lack of accurate observation, falsely accuse
and mischievously shoot them. Trusting we have satisfied you that the
hedgehog does not steal apples, we come to the next charge, that he
sucks cows. To refute this we have the best possible evidence in the
animal’s mouth, the structure of which is completely unsuited to the
accomplishment of such an object. That he will drink milk with avidity
when domesticated, is certain, but this is only a taste he acquires in
common with hundreds of other animals: there is scarcely one that may
not be induced to relish such diet. Having thus cleared our hero (a name
he fully deserves, as he wins battles by passive resistance) from the
charges brought against him, we proceed to give some anecdotes of our
personal knowledge, and shall finish with a few interesting facts in
his history, for the information of those who take pleasure in accurate
acquaintance with nature’s works.
We have before mentioned our starving of hedgehogs by endeavouring
to make them eat apples. In one of these cases we suffered no small
retribution. We were at school in these days, and a practice existed
amongst us called “slating.” It was an innocent imitation of the
murderous attacks made in Dublin by short-sighted combinators on such of
their fellow tradesmen as refused obedience to their mischievous laws.
With us it consisted in waylaying each other in the dark passages, and
striking with the open palms the hats or caps of the surprised over the
eyes. Having been thus treated many times, we bethought ourselves of
turning our starved hedgehog to account, and proceeded to skin him with
the intent of making a cap; so that when again “slated,” the attacking
party would find reason to call out in the words of Chaucer,
“Like sharpe urchins his hair was growe.”
Accordingly, having hanged the animal up against a tree, we were
essaying, by pulling, to effect a solution of continuity, as a surgeon
would call it, between his body and skin, when the nail gave way, and
he came down with considerable force on our forehead, accupuncturating
us most awfully. The pain at the time was very great, and considerable
soreness continued for several days, so much so that we were induced
to suspect that some poisonous virus existed. We introduce this story
for the purpose of calling attention to the effects of the spines when
brought into action. Though experience induces us to believe that their
punctures are more painful than those of pins and needles, we have not
been able to ascertain why they should be so. Disabled in our attempt, we
abandoned the skin, and it became common property. It was for some time
used as one of the instruments for initiating the Johnny Newcomes into
the mysteries of school life. Not a few will recollect how, when chilled
by a previous salting or seasoning, as we called it, of snow crammed
into the mouth, eyes, nose, and down the back, their sense of vitality
was aroused, when escaping to bed they threw themselves on its thorny
pre-occupant. Many, doubtless, then heartily wished themselves again
within the zone of mamma’s apron-string; but the affair usually ended by
storing up vengeance for, and the implement for executing it on, the next
comer. A few years afterwards we procured another hedgehog, and provided
him with earthworms, which he munged with great gusto. We mixed a few of
them with bread and milk, and thus initiated him into this new diet. We
tried him with frogs, mice, sparrows, and various other animal matters,
of all of which he partook freely, and he soon became quite domesticated.
We provided him a bed made in an old footstool in the kitchen; in this he
remained during daylight rolled up in a ball of hay, from which it was
quite a troublesome matter to extricate him; he could not be disentangled
from it at all, without picking it carefully from his spines. Yet when
he pleased himself to move, he came forth quite free, and did not drag
a single filament out with him. He soon acquired a habit of making his
appearance when tea was being served; the hissing of the water in the urn
seemed to be his signal that his only meal was ready, for he regularly
followed the servant who bore it into the tea-room, where he was indulged
with a saucer of bread and milk on the rug before the fire. Having eaten
as much as he desired, he commenced trotting about the room, taking
precisely the same course round the legs of chairs and tables each time;
and so he continued without a moment’s cessation to the latest hour
the household remained up. Like the Guinea-pig, he seemed to have the
greatest dislike to running across the room. In the morning he was always
found snug in his bed. At length he disappeared, but previously did good
service by devouring the cockroaches and beetles which infested the
house. The desire of the hedgehog to pursue a beaten track was further
evidenced by one we kept in a garden, which continued for months the
course he first took, though a portion of it consisted in climbing with
difficulty over some tiles, which a few inches on either side would have
avoided. We often put things in his path, and watched his proceedings: he
shrunk at first on finding the obstruction, and then tumbled over it in
the best way he could.
Again we got another, and having heard that he may be at once tamed
by indulging him in whisky, we mixed some in a saucer with sugar, and
dipping his nose into it, he licked his chops, then ventured to make a
lap at the enticing material, and, “startled at the sound himself had
made,” he shrunk in, but came out again presently and lapped away most
eagerly. The spirit soon showed its power, and like other beasts that
indulge in it, he was any thing but himself; and his lacklustre leaden
eye was rendered still less pleasing by its inane drunken expression.
He staggered towards us in a ridiculously get-out-of-my-way sort of
manner; however, he had not gone far before his potation produced all its
effects; he tottered, then fell on his side; he was drunk in the full
sense of the word; he could not even hold by the ground. We could then
pull him about by the feet, open his mouth, twitch his whiskers, &c.:
he was unresisting. There was a strange expression in his face of that
self-confidence which we see in cowards when inspired by drinking. We put
him away, and some twelve hours afterwards found him running about, and,
as was predicted, quite tame, his spines lying so smoothly and regularly
that he could be stroked down the back, and handled freely. We turned him
into the kitchen to kill the cockroaches, and know nothing further of
him.
Having given you so much of his manners, let us turn to his structural
peculiarities. He is a small animal, not much larger than a rat when
stripped of his spines and the muscular apparatus connected with them.
It is this that enables him to roll himself up so as to present a
_chevaux-de-frize_-like defence, impregnable to all ordinary enemies;
and as there is much singularity in it, we will endeavour to describe
it. On the back of the animal, between the skin and ribs, there is a
large oval muscle with thickened edges, partially attached to the skin
and spines. From this spring certain muscular bands, which are fixed
firmly at the other ends to the head, tail, breast, and other parts of
the body. The whole may be likened to a sort of elastic mantle, kept on
the back by straps. When the owner wishes to roll up, he bends his body,
then tightening the straps, he pulls the edge of the elastic mantle
over, which contracting, draws it in as if it were a running string in
a bag; at the same time the spines are fixed rigidly for defence by
the straining of the muscles. There are many other interesting points
in his anatomy. He possesses, as we do, well developed clavicles or
collar-bones, which only exist in a rudimentary form in many quadrupeds.
The peculiarities of his structure have exposed him to much, we will
not say wanton cruelty, as its object was the increase of knowledge;
it therefore should not be heavily censured, while so many unmeaning
barbarities exist under the name of sports. It is stated as a proof of
his endurance, that he has died without a groan under the slow process of
zootomy inflicted upon him while nailed to a table. Such practices are
seldom if ever engaged in at the present time.
The hedgehog is certainly a very apathetic creature, and at a low
temperature becomes torpid; when in this condition he is doubtless
devoid of feeling. Torpidity in many animals seems to stand in the place
of migration in others, as a necessary condition when provision of
food depends on season: in this case the fact seems to argue in favour
of our position--that the hedgehog is in a state of nature strictly
insectivorous; were it not so, torpidity would not seem necessary, as
roots of vegetables could be had with facility as well at one season as
the other. The hedgehog while torpid loses weight rather rapidly, so that
the power of its remaining in this state is limited perhaps to a very few
months.
The French academicians maintained long since that there were two species
of hedgehog in their country. In reference to this, Ray, with his usual
sagacity, after describing the common species, expresses a disbelief of
there being another in Europe; a doubt since fully confirmed: for the
dog and hog urchin, as the supposed species were called, have no more
existence than the dog and hog badgers of our sportsmen have as distinct
animals. Old authors notice several species under the name of hedgehog;
but it appears by more accurate observation that but two of the animals
mentioned by them are entitled to this name, viz. the one in question and
the long-eared urchin of Siberia.
Since 1832, at least three other species have been enrolled in the
records of science. It is said that when hedgehogs are born, their ears
as well as their eyes are closed, and the former circumstance is noticed
as a unique fact; however, another instance of imperforate ears occurred
to us, in the case of a black bear cubbed at the gardens of the Royal
Zoological Society of Ireland: it lived but a few hours. The ear of the
hedgehog, in the structure of its bony parts, presents some peculiarities
strikingly different from most other quadrupeds.
The hedgehog is said to feed occasionally on cantharides; a single beetle
of which would occasion death or serious injury to most animals. If this
be true, it is only another example of what often occurs in nature,
illustrating the old proverb “what is one’s meat is another’s poison.”
In addition to the use of the hedgehog as the destroyer of cockroaches,
his skin was an important monopoly in the time of the Romans, being used
both as a clothes-brush and an instrument for hackling hemp. His calcined
eyes formed part of an ointment which the ancients tell us had such a
wonderful efficacy as to enable persons using it to see in the dark. His
gall was used to take off hair, his fat to put it on, &c.
He is still eaten in the south of Europe; but, judging from his food and
appearance, we would not recommend the practice here. The hedgehog, or
urchin, as he is sometimes called, belongs to the order of Insectivora,
and possesses much of the character and habits of shrews. His scientific
name is Erinaceus Europæus; but we have headed this article with his
Irish appellation, which is perhaps the only one not inserted in our
popular authors.