dispossess us of the affection of one whom we love, or the suspicion
that he has already done so, is termed jealousy. There are two forms
of this passion, one connected with the love of some other being,
and the other dependent on the love of self. But it is the former,
whose definition begins the present paragraph, with which we shall
exclusively deal. It is evident from the meaning of jealousy, as given
above, that the power of reasoning is implied, and that any creature
by which it is manifested must be able to deduce a conclusion from
premises. No matter if the conclusion drawn by the animal be wrong,
the process, however incorrect it may be, is, it cannot be denied,
still one of reasoning. All who have possessed pet animals must be
familiar with the exceeding jealousy displayed by most of them. Most
strongly is this feeling manifested when an animal has been the only
pet and another is introduced into the house. Where there are two or
more dogs in the same family, one is often amused at the boundless
jealousy displayed toward each other while engaged in the service of
the master, although at other times they were on the most excellent
terms. Bus is the name of a favorite dog belonging to a friend. No more
affectionate dog ever lived. Beagle was his companion. When they were
by themselves, life was a round of frolics and rambles. No matter how
rough and exciting their plays were, they never got cross, but endured
everything with patience and forgiveness of spirit. Beagle was a clever
animal, and very fond of the chase. Many a ground-hog would he dislodge
from its burrow and fight to the death, while Bus would look on with
wonder and admiration. But let the slightest attention be shown by the
master to Beagle, and Bus’s jealousy and anger became unbounded. He
would fly at his friend in the most infuriated manner, rending him with
tooth and claw, while Beagle would quietly slip around the corner of
the house to get out of the reach of his companion’s temper. Beagle,
being a large and powerful dog, had in him the ability to give Bus a
very sound whipping, but he was too noble and magnanimous a creature
to take advantage of one younger and smaller than himself. He would
always allow Bus to have his own way, knowing that the passion which
was lacerating the bosom of his young companion and playmate would
soon spend itself, and the latter, ashamed and abashed, would be soon
seeking forgiveness and reconciliation.
Even in such rarely tamed animals as the common mouse the feeling of
jealousy has been known to be so intense as to lead to murder. A young
lady, one of Rev. J. G. Wood’s correspondents, had succeeded in taming
a common brown mouse so completely that it would eat out of her hand
and suffer itself to be taken off the floor. She had also a tame white
mouse in a cage. One morning when she went to feed the white mouse,
as was her usual custom, she found it lying dead on the bottom of
the cage, and beside it was its murderer, the brown mouse. The cage
being opened, the latter made its escape, as though fearful of the
consequences that might ensue, but how it had managed to gain admission
was always a mystery.
Instances are on record where the jealousy of a rival has been
restrained for long years through fear, and has ultimately broken out
when the cause of the fear has been removed. A case of the kind came
under our notice some few years ago. There were two cocks, belonging to
different breeds, whom fate had placed as denizens of the same family.
One was a magnificent dunghill cock, and the other a Malay, a cowardly
caitiff, that was kept in fear and subjection by the former. In the
course of events the dunghill cock suddenly died. His rival, coming
by chance on his dead body, and perceiving that the time had come to
wreak out the mixture of hatred and revenge that had lain smouldering
in his bosom for years, instantly sprang upon it, kicked, spurred and
trampled upon the lifeless bird, and, standing upon the corpse, flapped
his wings in triumph, as it were, and crowed himself hoarse with the
most disgusting energy. He immediately took possession of the harem,
but he was far from being the noble, generous and unselfish creature
that his predecessor had been. Again, comparing man with beast, it is
at once apparent that the bird in this instance acted exactly as a
savage does when his enemy has fallen, for the savage not only exults
over the dead body of an enemy, especially if the latter has been very
formidable in life, but also mutilates in futile and silly revenge the
form which he feared when alive.
Tyranny, or the oppression of the weak by the strong, is another of
the many traits of character common to man and the lower animals.
But whether or not that strength belongs to the body or the mind, it
is tyranny all the same. Taken in its most obvious form, it not only
manifests itself in many of the animals in the oppression of the weak
by the strong, but also in the killing and the eating of the same, even
though they be of the same species. Human cannibals act in just the
same manner, eating their enemies after they have killed them. There is
hardly an animal in which the milder forms of tyranny may not be found.
Insects, especially, manifest it in a light manner when they drive
away their fellows from some morsel of food which they desire to keep
to themselves. Among gregarious animals, the herd or flock is always
under the command of an individual who has fought his way to the front,
and who will rule with imperious sway until he has become old and in
turn has been supplanted by a younger and more vigorous rival. In the
poultry-yards the same form of tyranny is manifest, one cock invariably
assuming the leadership, no matter how many may be the number of birds.
There is a curious analogy between these birds and human beings,
especially those of the East, whether at the present day or in more
ancient times. Many petty chieftains are found in Eastern countries,
but there is always to be met with one among them who is more mighty
than the rest, and who holds his place by superior force, either
of intellect or military power. Challenged by one of the inferior
chiefs and victorious, he retains his post, but if vanquished, his
conqueror takes his place, his property and his wives. But curious
to relate, with men as with birds, the members of the harem seem to
trouble themselves very little, if any, about the change of master.
The Scriptures are full of allusions to the invariable custom that
the conqueror takes the possession of the harem belonging to the
vanquished. David did so with regard to the women of Saul’s household,
and when Nabal died, who had defied the authority of David, so the
latter, as a matter of course, took possession of his wife, together
with the rest of his property. And when Absalom rebelled against David,
he publicly took possession of his father’s harem, which was a sign
that he had assumed the kingdom.
Where a number of creatures are confined in the same place, a very
curious sort of tyranny is sometimes manifested. Mandarin ducks,
according to Mr. Bennett, when confined to an aviary, show a very
querulous disposition at feeding-time. The males of one and the same
kind of a different species endeavor to grasp all the nourishment
for themselves, unmindful of the wants of others, and will not even
permit their companions to perform their ablutions without molestation,
although they may themselves have completed what they required. Often
the mandarin ducks have been observed to excite the drakes to assail
other males or females of the same species, and other kinds of birds
in the aviary, against whom the ladies, from some cause or other, have
taken a dislike. One pair of these ducks are always to be noticed that
exercise a tyranny over the others, not allowing them to wash, eat or
drink, unless at their pleasure and approval.
But, of all tyrants, none can be compared to a spoiled dog, who is
even worse than a spoiled child. Obedience is a stranger to his
nature. Does his master want him to go out for a walk, and he prefers
to stay at home, he stays at home, and his master is compelled to go
out without him. But if he wants to go for a walk, he makes his master
go with him, and even to take the direction he prefers. Duchie is the
name of a Skye terrier whose history is given in a work on the latter
breed of dogs by Dr. J. Brown. So completely had this little animal
domineered over her mistress, that the latter could not even choose her
own dinner, but was obliged to have whatever the dog preferred. It is
related that for a half of a winter’s night she was kept out of bed,
because Duchie had got into the middle and refused to move. Certainly,
no better example of tyranny could be adduced.
That so-called brutes possess, in common with ourselves, a Conscience,
that is, a sense of Moral Responsibility, and a capability of
distinguishing between right and wrong, may seem a very strange
assertion to be made, especially to those who have never studied the
ways of the lower animals. Animals which are placed under the rule of
man, and those, like the dog, which belong to his household and are
made his companions more particularly, would naturally be expected to
show the strongest development of the principle. Conscience, in their
dealings with man, constitutes their religion, and they often exercise
it in a way which would put many a human being to the blush. This
feeling it is that induces the dog to make himself the guardian of his
master’s property, and often to defend that property at the risk of his
life. However hungry may be the dog that is placed in charge of his
master’s dinner, nothing would, as a rule, tempt him to touch a morsel
of the food, for he would rather die of starvation than eat the food
which belongs to his master. Often have we seen field-laborers at work
at one end of a large field, while their coats and their dinner were at
the other end, guarded by a dog. Not the least uneasiness did they seem
to manifest about the safety of their property, for well they knew
that the faithful animal would never allow any one to touch either the
clothes or the provisions.
There could hardly be a stronger instance of moral responsibility than
the one which I shall now relate, which is substantially the same as
appears in Wood’s “Man and Beasts Here and Hereafter.” Living in an
unprotected part of Scotland was a poor woman, who unexpectedly became
possessed of a large sum of money. She would have taken it to the bank,
could she have left the house, but lack of bodily health prevented
her from so doing. At last she asked the advice of a butcher of her
acquaintance, telling him that she was afraid to live in the house
with so much money about her. “Never fear,” said the butcher, “I will
leave my dog with you, and I’ll warrant you that no one will dare to
enter your house.” Towards the close of the day the dog was brought,
and chained up close to the place where the money was deposited. That
very night a robber made his way into the house and was proceeding
to carry off the money, when he was seized by the dog, who held him
a prisoner until assistance arrived. The thief turned out to be the
butcher himself, who thought he had made sure of the money, but he had
not considered that his dog was a better moralist than himself, for who
would, rather than betray a defenceless woman, take her part against
his own master. Kindly pardoned by the woman, the intending robber made
his way home, and it is to be hoped that for the future he learned a
lesson from his own dog and amended the evil of his ways.
Not only does the dog guard the property which is intrusted to its
charge, but frequently goes a little further and assumes a charge on
its own account. When the writer was a boy living in the country, where
much of the spring and summer of the year was spent in working upon a
farm, he became on very excellent terms with a little bull-terrier,
named Tip, that belonged to a certain farmer by whom he was employed.
Upon my first introduction to Tip, I felt a sort of aversion towards
him. This grew out of the mysterious actions of the animal. He was
always around when I was busy at work and seemed to be eying me in a
suspicious sort of manner, which at times made me feel very unpleasant.
After the lapse of a few days I discovered that I was not so closely
watched as before, and that I was treated by him as he was accustomed
to treat the other members of the family. Upon inquiry I learned
that he always acted in this way toward people whom he did not know
intimately, and that, after a time, he had confidence in their honesty
and left them alone. While in many instances Tip was entirely wrong
in his surmises, yet cases are recalled where the dog was right and
acted in a manner that would have been creditable to a human being.
One of the men employed upon the place, presuming upon the friendship
of the dog, sought to carry away under cover of darkness something
belonging to the farmer, but he was immediately beset by the animal,
who was an eye-witness of the proceeding, and compelled to desist
from the intended theft. From that time the man was under the closest
surveillance by the dog. Unable to effect a reconciliation, and chafing
under the look of suspicion with which he was always greeted, the man
soon took his departure, much to the delight and satisfaction of the
faithful canine, and was never afterwards seen.
Quite a common form of conscience among the lower animals is that
which may be defined as a recognition of having done wrong, and
acknowledgment that punishment is deserved. Animals have in their way
very pronounced ideas as to right and wrong. When they have committed
an act which they know will offend their master, they display as keen
a conscience as any human being self-convicted of sin could exhibit.
In many instances, the offence in not merely acknowledged, but the
creature remains miserable until forgiveness has been granted. This
condition of mind, if manifested by man, is called Penitence, and,
assuredly, it cannot be known by any other name when manifested by
animals that are lower down in the scale of life. My little dog
Frisky, about whom mention has already been made, affords a very fine
illustration of this phase of conscience. Whenever he did wrong, the
severest punishment that could be meted out to him was to ignore his
presence and decline his offered paw. For hours the poor fellow would
moan and cry, and even refuse food, when he thought I was angry with
him. But a word or a look of forgiveness was sufficient to change his
sadness into joy. A shaking of hands, so to speak, would then follow,
and master and dog would be good friends again. No love could be more
intense than his, and this was especially shown when I would return
from a short absence, when the little fellow would almost overwhelm me
by his affectionate caresses.
No loftier characteristic adorns humanity than Love. But how far it
is shared by the lower animals it is now our purpose to inquire. That
there are many phases of development cannot be doubted. Sympathy, or
that capacity of feeling for the sufferings of another, is the first
phase. Many, and perhaps all, living creatures possess the capacity
of sympathy. In the majority of cases it is not restricted to their
own species, but is extended to those beings which appear to have
very little in common with each other. Ordinarily, however, it is
exhibited between animals of the same species, and it is often seen in
the dog, as, for example, where a dog, having been cured of an injury,
has been observed to take a fellow-sufferer to his benefactor. Such
sympathy, it need hardly be remarked, could not be carried out unless
the animals possessed a language adequately defined to enable them
to transmit ideas from one to the other. Cats are often kind to each
other, sympathizing under difficulties, and helping their friends who
require assistance. A cat, belonging to a friend, has been known, when
oppressed with the cares of a family, to employ a half-grown kitten
to take charge of the young while she went for a ramble. Between the
cat and the dog an enmity exists that is hereditary, and yet, when in
good hands, they are sure to become very loving friends, and even to
show considerable sympathy towards each other. Such an exhibition of
good feeling was observed by the writer a few years ago. The dog, a
large black Newfoundland, had contracted a warm and devoted friendship
for a gray cat that was an inmate of the same family. When the cat was
assailed by one of her kind, or by a strange dog, the Newfoundland
would pick her up in his mouth and carry her to the house out of reach
of danger, the cat maintaining all the while the most perfect serenity
of composure, knowing that she was in the care of one who meant her no
ill. When the same cat would become sick, the Newfoundland would lie
down by her side, caress her with his tongue, and show in every way
possible that he was sorry that she was sick.
Many examples are recorded of birds feeling sympathy with the lost or
deserted young of other species, and that have taken upon themselves
the task of feeding the starving children. A pair of robins had
constructed a nest near to the writer’s home in the country, where in
due season a family of four children was raised. Disaster soon came to
the little ones, for both parents were slain by some wicked boys of the
neighborhood. There dwelt in the same locality a pair of bluebirds,
but between the two families there had never been apparent the least
interchange of friendship. Each family kept to itself, and attended to
its own business. But when the cry of the young robins in their piteous
demands for food rent the air, the bluebirds came over to their home
to discover what the trouble was. They were not slow to perceive the
sad state of things. Their sympathies were at once aroused, and their
energies soon bent in the direction of relieving the sufferings of the
little orphaned robins. For the next two weeks they had all they could
do in providing meat for their own and the robins’ young.
[Illustration: FOUR ORPHANED ROBINS.
Kind-Hearted Bluebirds Assuming the Role of Parents.]
While capable of showing sympathy for near as well as distant kin,
the lower animals have also the capacity to sympathize with human
beings in distress. Cats occasionally manifest a sympathy for suffering
humanity. As for sympathy displayed by dogs, there is no need to cite
examples. No human being, I am safe in saying, was ever free from
troubles of some kind, and I am equally sure that no one who had a
companionable dog felt that he was without sympathy. Full well does
the dog know when his master is suffering pain or sorrow, and his nose
pushed into his master’s hand, or laid affectionately upon his knee,
is a sign of sympathy worth possessing, even though it exists only in
the heart of a dog. From that moment there has been established a bond
between the soul of the master and the dog, and certainly no one can
believe that the bond can ever be severed by the death of the material
body, whether of the man or the animal.
That Friendship, which is another branch of love, exists among animals,
is a well-known fact. But it is among the domesticated animals that it
most frequently exhibits itself. Horses, as every one knows, which have
been accustomed to draw the same carriage are usually sure to be great
friends, and if one be exchanged the other becomes quite miserable for
want of his companion and seems unable to throw any spirit into his
work. Dogs, too, are very apt to strike up friendships with each other.
Among animals it is not confined to one species, but is occasionally
found to exhibit itself in those which might be supposed to be
peculiarly incongruous in their nature. That cows and sheep live, as a
rule, on good terms with each other in the same pasture is a familiar
experience, though sometimes the former are a little prone to domineer
over the latter. But a very strong affection sometimes exists between
animals so different, and when once they have accustomed themselves to
each other’s society neither can be happy without the other. The goat
and the horse frequently become friends, and a peculiarly vicious horse
has been known to allow a goat to take undue liberties with him without
the least manifestation of resentment. In many places the stable-cat
is quite an institution. Its usual place of repose is upon the back of
the horse, and the latter has been known to grow very uneasy if left
for any length of time without the companionship of his little friend.
A very singular instance of friendship occurred at the rural home of a
near relative. He had a fine mastiff which had taken a fancy to a brood
of young chickens, and which acted as their protector. They were not
at all unwilling to accept him in this capacity, as they followed him
about just as though he had been their mother. Quite an interesting
sight it was to watch the dog and the chickens as they would take
their _siesta_. The dog used to lie on his side, and the chickens would
nestle all about him, though one chicken in particular would invariably
scramble upon the dog’s head, and another just over his eye, but both
parties appeared equally satisfied with this remarkable arrangement.
Already have we referred to the intense yearning which is felt by many
of the lower animals for human society. This yearning is indeed but the
aspiration of the lower spirit developed by contact with the higher in
domesticated animals or those which are in perpetual contact with man.
This feeling is a matter of no great surprise. But that it should be
exhibited in feral animals and birds, and even in insects, is a fact
well worth considering, as it furnishes a clew to some of the many
problems of life which are as yet unsolved. That power of attraction
exercised by the spirit of man upon that of the lower creation is well
exemplified in many wild animals, who are known to forsake the society
of their own kind for the companionship of the being whom they feel to
be higher than themselves.
Perhaps one of the wariest of wild animals is the squirrel. He is
horribly afraid of human beings, and if a man, woman or child come to
the windward of him, the little animal is sure to scamper off at his
fleetest pace, scuttle up the nearest tree, and conceal himself behind
some branch. Yet, wild as he may be, he is peculiarly susceptible to
the influence of the human spirit, and for the sake of human society
will utterly abandon that of his own kind. I once knew a pet gray
squirrel by the name of Charley. He had been taken from the nest when
very young. His home for awhile was one of those whirl-about cages.
Charley did not like his cage, but preferred to be outside in the
unrestrained enjoyment of the dictates of his own free will. So it was
difficult to keep him behind the bars. When awake he loved to follow
his own devices; but when tired he usually slept on a soft cushion on
the sofa, or found his way into some bed-room where he would nestle
under a pillow. Nothing was more to his satisfaction and pleasure than
a share of the bed of his mistress, but he was always a troublesome
nest-fellow. Charley had, as must be obvious, perfect freedom. He was
allowed to go as he pleased. There was no coercion in his case. Had he
wished to escape, there was nothing to prevent, and nothing bound him
to his mistress but an “ever-lengthening chain” of love and aspirations
which none but a human being could satisfy. The sparrow, one of the
most independent and self-reliant of birds, has been known to abandon
its kind for the sake of human beings. Wood cites a case of a bird of
this species that had been rescued from some boys who had been robbing
the nest. The bird was brought home, but was never confined in a cage,
but was permitted to fly freely about the house. As there was a cat
about the house, she had to be closely watched lest she might do the
bird some injury. On Sundays, when the family went to church and no one
remained to keep an eye on the cat, the sparrow was turned into the
garden, where it flew about until the family’s return. The opening of
the dining-room window by its mistress, and the display of her ungloved
hands, was the signal for its entry. But if the mistress stood by the
window with her gloves on, then the bird showed not the slightest
disposition to enter.
Such is the intensity of the love which the lower animals sometimes
entertain toward man that they have been known to grieve themselves to
death on account of his loss. A dog by the name of Prince, who lived
in the family where the writer spent a few weeks of a summer, is a
case in point. He had a good master, and one to whom he was strongly
attached. The year before the master sickened and died, and Prince
felt the loss so keenly that he refused to take any food, and even to
notice the surviving members of the family. He was pitiable to behold.
Life had lost all attractions to him, and he showed that he was slowly
but surely grieving his life away. Some few weeks after the writer’s
departure, the poor animal breathed his last, and his spirit, it is
to be hoped, went to join that of his master, while his ashes became
mingled with the dust of the earth as his master’s had been.