bog, as the workmen had wished. Simeon observed it, from a neighbouring
field, and gave directions that the oxen and chains should be
immediately conveyed to his assistance. The men laughed, shook their
heads, and said it was good enough for the old hornet. They, however,
cheerfully proceeded to do as their employer had requested. “You are in
a bad situation, neighbour,” said Simeon, as he came alongside of the
foundered team. “But my men are coming with two yoke of oxen, and I
think we shall soon manage to help you out.”
“You may take your oxen back again,” replied Reuben; “I don’t want any
of your help.”
In a very friendly tone Simeon answered, “I cannot consent to do that;
for evening is coming on, and you have very little time to lose. It is a
bad job any time, but it will be still worse in the dark.”
“Light or dark, I don’t ask _your_ help,” replied Reuben, emphatically.
“I would’nt help you out of the bog, the other day, when you asked
_me_.”
“The trouble I had in relieving my poor oxen teaches me to sympathize
with others in the same situation,” answered Simeon. “Don’t let us waste
words about it, neighbour. It is impossible for me to go home and leave
you here in the bog, and night coming on.”
The team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and his men went away, without
waiting for thanks. When Reuben went home that night, he was unusually
silent and thoughtful. After smoking a while, in deep contemplation, he
gently knocked the ashes from his pipe, and said, with a sigh, “Peg,
Simeon Green _has_ killed me!”
“What do you mean?” said his wife, dropping her knitting with a look of
surprise.
“You know when he first came into this neighbourhood, he _said_ he’d
kill me,” replied Reuben; “and he has done it. The other day, he asked
me to help draw his team out of the bog, and I told him I had enough to
do to attend to my own business. To-day, my team stuck fast in the same
bog, and he came with two yoke of oxen to draw it out. I felt sort of
ashamed to have _him_ lend me a hand, so I told him I didn’t want any of
his help; but he answered, just as pleasant as if nothing contrary had
ever happened, that night was coming on, and he was not willing to leave
me there in the mud.”
“It was very good of him,” replied Peggy. “He is a pleasant-spoken man,
and always has a pretty word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a
nice neighbourly body, too.”
Reuben made no answer; but after meditating a while, he remarked, “Peg,
you know that big ripe melon down at the bottom of the garden? you may
as well carry it over there, in the morning.” His wife said she would,
without asking him to explain where “over there” was.
But when the morning came, Reuben walked back and forth, and round and
round, with that sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, and
by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and don’t know what to run
after. At length, the cause of his uncertain movements was explained, by
his saying, in the form of a question, “I guess I may as well carry the
melon myself, and thank him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in the
marsh, I did’nt think to say I was obliged to him.”
He marched off toward the garden, and his wife stood at the door, with
one hand on her hip, and the other shading the sun from her eyes, to see
if he really would carry the melon into Simeon Green’s house. It was the
most remarkable incident that had happened since her marriage. She could
hardly believe her own eyes. He walked quick, as if afraid he should not
be able to carry the unusual impulse into action if he stopped to
reconsider the question. When he found himself in Mr. Green’s house, he
felt extremely awkward, and hastened to say, “Mrs. Green, here is a
melon my wife sent you, and we reckon it’s a ripe one.” Without
manifesting any surprise at such unexpected courtesy, the friendly
matron thanked him, and invited him to sit down. But he stood playing
with the latch of the door, and without raising his eyes said, “May be
Mr. Green ain’t in, this morning?”
“He is at the pump, and will be in directly,” she replied; and before
her words were spoken, the honest man walked in, with a face as fresh
and bright as a June morning. He stepped right up to Reuben, shook his
hand cordially, and said, “I am glad to see you, neighbour. Take a
chair. Take a chair.”
“Thank you, I can’t stop,” replied Reuben. He pushed his hat on one
side, rubbed his head, looked out of the window, and then said suddenly,
as if by a desperate effort, “The fact is, Mr. Green, I didn’t behave
right about the oxen.”
“Never mind, never mind,” replied Mr. Green. “Perhaps I shall get into
the bog again, some of these rainy days. If I do, I shall know whom to
call upon.”
“Why you see,” said Reuben, still very much confused, and avoiding
Simeon’s mild clear eye, “you see the neighbors about here are very
ugly. If I had always lived by such neighbours as you are, I shouldn’t
be just as I am.”
“Ah, well, we must try to be to others what we want them to be to us,”
rejoined Simeon. “You know the good book says so. I have learned by
experience that if we speak kind words, we hear kind echoes. If we try
to make others happy, it fills them with a wish to make us happy.
Perhaps you and I can bring the neighbourhood round, in time. Who knows?
Let us try, Mr. Black! Let us try! But come and look at my orchard. I
want to show you a tree, which I have grafted with very choice apples.
If you like I will procure you some scions from the same stock.”
They went into the orchard together, and friendly chat soon put Reuben
at his ease. When he returned home, he made no remarks about his visit;
for he could not, as yet, summon sufficient greatness of soul to tell
his wife that he had confessed himself in the wrong. A gun stood behind
the kitchen door, in readiness to shoot Mr. Green’s dog for having
barked at his horse. He now fired the contents into the air, and put the
gun away in the barn. From that day, henceforth, he never sought for any
pretext to quarrel with either the dog or his master. A short time
after, Joe Smith, to his utter astonishment, saw him pat Towzer on the
head, and heard him say, “Good fellow!”
Simeon Green was far too magnanimous to repeat to any one that his
quarrelsome neighbour had confessed himself to blame. He merely smiled
as he said to his wife, “I thought we should kill him, after a while.”
Joe Smith did not believe in such doctrines. When he heard of the
adventures in the marsh, he said, “Sim Green’s a fool. When he first
came here he talked very big about killing folks, if they didn’t mind
their Ps and Qs. But he don’t appear to have as much spirit as a worm;
for a worm will turn when its trod upon.”
Poor Joe had grown more intemperate and more quarrelsome, till at last
nobody would employ him. About a year after the memorable incident of
the water-melon, some one stole several valuable hides from Mr. Green.
He did not mention the circumstance to any one but his wife; and they
both had reasons for suspecting that Joe was the thief. The next week,
the following anonymous advertisement appeared in the newspaper of the
county:
“Whoever stole a lot of hides on Friday night, the 5th of the present
month, is hereby informed that the owner has a sincere wish to be his
friend. If poverty tempted him to this false step, the owner will keep
the whole transaction a secret, and will gladly put him in the way of
obtaining money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind.”[A]
[A] This advertisement is a literal copy of one actually published, and
it produced the effects here related.
This singular advertisement of course excited a good deal of remark.
There was much debate whether or not the thief would avail himself of
the friendly offer. Some said he would be a greenhorn if he did; for it
was manifestly a trap to catch him. But he who had committed the
dishonest deed alone knew whence the benevolent offer came; and he knew
that Simeon Green was not a man to set traps for his fellow creatures.
A few nights afterward a timid knock was heard at Simeon’s door, just as
the family were retiring to rest. When the door was opened, Joe Smith
was seen on the steps, with a load of hides on his shoulder. Without
raising his eyes, he said in a low, humble tone, “I have brought these
back, Mr. Green. Where shall I put them?”
“Wait a moment, till I can get a lantern, and I will go to the barn with
you,” he replied. “Then you will come in, and tell me how it happened.
We will see what can be done for you.”
Mrs. Green knew that Joe often went hungry, and had become accustomed to
the stimulus of rum. She therefore hastened to make hot coffee, and
brought from the closet some cold meat and a pie.
When they returned from the barn, she said, “I thought you might feel
the better for a little warm supper, neighbour Smith.” Joe turned his
back toward her, and did not speak. He leaned his head against the
chimney, and after a moment’s silence, he said in a choked voice, “It
was the first time I ever stole any thing; and I have felt very bad
about it. I don’t know how it is. I didn’t think once I should ever come
to be what I am. But I took to quarrelling, and then to drinking. Since
I began to go down hill, everybody gives me a kick. You are the first
man that has offered me a helping hand. My wife is feeble, and my
children starving. You have sent them many a meal, God bless you! and
yet I stole the hides from you, meaning to sell them the first chance I
could get. But I tell you the truth, Mr. Green, it is the first time I
ever deserved the name of thief.”
“Let it be the last, my friend,” said Simeon, pressing his hand kindly.
“The secret shall remain between ourselves. You are young, and can make
up for lost time. Come, now, give me a promise that you will not drink
one drop of intoxicating liquor for a year, and I will employ you
to-morrow, at good wages. Mary will go to see your family early in the
morning, and perhaps we may find some employment for them also. The
little boy can at least pick up stones. But eat a bit now, and drink
some hot coffee. It will keep you from wanting to drink any thing
stronger to-night. You will find it hard to abstain, at first, Joseph;
but keep up a brave heart, for the sake of your wife and children, and
it will soon become easy. When you feel the need of coffee, tell my
Mary, and she will always give it to you.”
Joe tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed to choke him. He was
nervous and excited. After an ineffectual effort to compose himself, he
laid his head on the table and wept like a child.
After a while, Simeon persuaded him to bathe his head in cold water, and
he ate and drank with a good appetite. When he went away, the
kind-hearted host said, “Try to do well, Joseph, and you shall always
find a friend in me.”
The poor fellow pressed his hand and replied,--“I understand now how it
is you kill bad neighbours.”
He entered in Mr. Green’s service the next day, and remained in it many
years, an honest and faithful man.
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS.
“The whole subject of the brute creation is to me one of such
painful mystery, that I dare not approach it.”--DR. ARNOLD.
“If we deny them _soul_, we must admit that they have _some spirit
direct from God_, what we call unerring instinct, which holds the
place of it.”--SIR ISAAC NEWTON.
Any reflecting person who has lived much in the country, and been
observant of animals, must have had thoughts similar to those expressed
in the above mottoes. Even the smallest and most common animals
sometimes give indications of thought, feeling, and memory, almost as
remarkable as those related of the “half-reasoning elephant.” If we
could penetrate into the mysteries of their domestic arrangements, and
learn of the humming-bird why she makes her little thimble of a nest so
exactly the color of the tree on which it is placed, and of the
mason-bee why he makes his small mortared cell to resemble so closely
the stones of the wall where he inserts it, we should probably be still
more puzzled to define the boundary between instinct and reason.
Several times in my life my attention has been arrested, and my mind
excited to activity, by singular manifestations of intelligence in
animals that came under my observation. A few summers ago, when I was
living at an old farm-house in New York, I chanced to go into the garret
late in the afternoon. The sun was setting in a blaze of glory, and I
knelt at the western window, looking out long and lovingly upon the
broad expanse of field and meadow, on which he was throwing a shower of
gold as he passed away. After a while, my attention was diverted from
this beautiful scene by the motions of a wasp, that emerged from a
crevice in the old window, and began to nibble off thin, soft slivers of
the decaying wood, to be used in constructing her nest. I bent very near
to her, trying to ascertain by what process she cut up the materials so
dexterously. Suddenly, she stopped working, drew back a little, and
appeared to watch _me_ as closely as I watched _her_. At first, I
thought this was a delusion of my imagination; for I supposed her eyes
were too small to see me. So I continued gazing at her, waiting to
observe what she would do. She remained motionless, in an attitude that
expressed surprise and consternation as plainly as an insect _could_
express them. Presently, another wasp came up from the same crevice, and
began to nibble at the rotten wood. The first wasp immediately put out
one of her antennæ, and pulled the antenna of her neighbour, as I would
jog the elbow of a companion, if I wished to call her attention to
something extraordinary. The second wasp drew back instantly, in the
same attitude, and, without stirring, appeared to gaze at me fixedly. A
third wasp came. One of her antennæ was cautiously pulled by the second
comer; and she did precisely as they had done. It may seem absurd to say
I was troubled by the fixed stare of three wasps; but there was
something so _human_ about their proceedings, that I _was_ troubled. I
was in the presence of a mystery. I asked myself, What _am_ I to them?
Do I appear like a vision of some superior being from another world?
From this thought, I came down to the recollection that the sun was
gleaming brightly on my eyes, and that, perhaps, their attention had
been arrested merely by two great orbs of glittering light. What were
they thinking of? Would they finally conclude to attack my eyes? I
turned away suddenly, deeming it imprudent to stay any longer to
ascertain that point. I was so much impressed by this little incident,
that I frequently related it to my friends; and for years afterward, I
frequently found myself conjecturing what those wasps thought of the
apparition by which they were so obviously startled.
At the same farm-house there were two cats. Tom, who was old, heavy, and
cross; and Mouser, who was remarkably active and nimble. Her hunting
qualities were famous throughout the neighbourhood. She kept the
premises clear of rats and mice, and visited all the barns and fields in
the vicinity for the same purpose. While I was there, she had three
kittens, which seemed to be the especial objects of Tom’s ill nature.
When they began to open their eyes and stagger about, they sometimes
stumbled over him; for which they were sure to receive a smart box on
the ear. More than once, I saw his heavy paw knock the little blundering
things topsy-turvy when they came near him. He even kept up a
threatening growl if they seemed to be approaching from a distance.
Things were in this state, when Mouser came into the kitchen one day,
writhing and moaning, and giving every indication of great pain. Her
body soon began to swell, and her manifestations of suffering grew more
and more violent. The family were remarkably kind to animals, and Mouser
was such a valuable creature, that they were very desirous to save her
life. They knew not whether she had been poisoned, or kicked by the
horse, during her frequent visits to the barn; and of course, they were
doubtful what remedies to apply. They put her in a warm bath, and tried
to pour catnip tea down her throat; but their efforts were unavailing.
In an hour or two, poor pussy was dead.
While she was in this agonizing extremity, Tom seemed to rouse from his
usual state of drowsy indifference. He lay with his head between his
paws, watching her earnestly for awhile; then he rose up and walked
round her, evidently much disquieted. When he saw her lying stiff and
cold on the floor, he made no whining noise; but his proceedings seemed
to indicate that he knew what had happened. The kittens were nestled
together on the platform of the old Dutch “stoop.” He went out to them,
and began to lick their fur in the most affectionate manner. After that,
he was never seen to knock them about, and never heard to growl at them.
Their own mother could not have treated them with more tenderness, or
submitted to their gambols with more patience. Apparently, they mistook
the gruff old fellow for their mother; for they went to him for
nourishment, and he made no resistance. Again and again, I saw him
stretched on the floor of the “stoop,” while the kittens appeared to be
sucking with all diligence, moving their little paws, as if satisfied
and happy. This circumstance, of course, excited surprise in the family.
One asked another whether it was possible that they obtained milk, or
whether they drew blood for their sustenance. Tom never gave any
indications of suffering inconvenience from this singular imitation of
the maternal office. He must have nourished them in _some_ way; for they
did not learn to lap milk for several days; yet they lived, and seemed
comfortable and thriving. After Tom took upon himself the care of the
orphans, he seemed to become really fond of them, and to enjoy the
frolics that had formerly made him so angry. The voluntary exercise of
benevolence improved his temper wonderfully for the time being, and
evidently made him a much happier cat.
An intimate friend has often mentioned to me incidents that occurred on
his farm, illustrative of brute sagacity. He owned a noble great ox,
uncommonly strong, docile, and intelligent. One day, when he and another
ox were ploughing swampy land, they sank very deep into a quagmire.
Having made vigorous exertions to extricate himself, and finding the
utmost exertion of his strength was ineffectual, he quietly waited for
human aid. But his companion had an impatient and irritable disposition,
to which the lessons of experience could teach no wisdom. He continued
to struggle violently, at intervals, and every motion wrenched the neck
of his suffering yoke-fellow. The gentle creature bore it patiently for
a while; but at last it became insupportable. His owner was standing
completely behind him, leaning on the plough, until more help could be
brought to draw them out of the “slough of despond,” into which they had
fallen. The much-enduring animal turned his long neck slowly round, and
fixed his large patient eyes upon the man, with such an earnest,
imploring gaze, so _human_ in its expression, that it could never be
forgotten. It said, as plainly as a look _could_ say it, “Can you not
contrive some way to relieve me from this tormenting companion?” His
owner understood the silent appeal, and immediately divorced the unhappy
couple, by removing the yoke from the restless one; thus leaving him
free to waste his own strength, without injuring his more philosophic
companion. This happened fifteen years ago; but I was reminded of it
yesterday, by hearing my friend utter his often-repeated exclamation:
“If I live to be a hundred years old, I shall never forget how that ox
looked at me.”
The same person often speaks of the sagacity manifested by another ox on
his farm. It was late in the evening, and all the animals were safely
lodged in the barn, when his attention was arrested by loud knocks in
that direction. They continued to be repeated, at intervals of ten or
fifteen minutes, for an hour or more; and the idea that some vagrant
might be in the barn doing mischief, at last induced him to go out with
a lantern to examine the premises. Finding nothing unusual, he gave up
the search and retired to rest. But the heavy, measured sound continued,
and excited curiosity to such a degree, that it was impossible to sleep.
Another examination of the barn was made with the same result as before;
but this time, my friend ensconced himself in a corner, and waited for a
recurrence of the mysterious noise. In a few minutes, he saw an ox raise
one of his hind hoofs, and strike the floor heavily three times.
Supposing the animal must have some cause for dissatisfaction, he
examined his stable, and found that the man had forgotten to furnish the
usual supply of fresh straw for him to lie down upon. His demand for
clean sheets was complied with, and no more knockings were heard from
him.
Another agricultural friend owned a colt endowed with uncommon beauty
and intelligence. He was about a year and a half old when he first saw a
string of bells suspended round his mother’s neck when she was harnessed
for a drive. The novel sound immediately arrested his attention, and
seemed to enliven him greatly. He stood with uplifted ears, watching and
listening, till the sleigh had passed out of sight and hearing; then,
giving a snort and a rear, he capered round the barn-yard, in a state of
unusual excitement. When the mare returned, the sound of the bells
attracted him from afar, and he appeared to observe them closely when
they were taken off and laid in the sleigh with the harness. As soon as
the man had left them, the playful creature seized them between his
teeth and trotted up and down the road, shaking them with prodigious
satisfaction. This manner of playing old horse was evidently as
entertaining to him, as it is to a boy to imitate the trainers with his
feathered cap and drum.
The natural dispositions of animals differ, as do those of mankind; but
the intelligence and docility of brutes, as well as of human beings, is
wonderfully increased when they are judiciously reared, and treated with
habitual kindness. It is not easy to tell how far the superiority of
Arabian horses may be attributed to the affectionate companionship that
exists between them and their masters. The whip is a detestable
instrument. The evil it produces is immensely disproportioned to the
temporary convenience it promotes. It compels submission for the time
being; but it stupefies the intellect, and infuses malignity into the
disposition, whether tried on children, slaves, or animals. The common
practice of whipping a horse, to cure him of being frightened by some
particular object, usually has the effect of giving him two causes of
fear, instead of one. I remember reading of a much more judicious
method, in Mrs. Hamilton’s Essays on Education, published in England
about thirty years ago. A horse of an excellent disposition had been
frightened by a drum, when he was a colt, and nothing could overcome his
excessive terror of that instrument. The whippings he received, when he
reared and plunged at the sound, rendered his associations with it so
exceedingly painful, that his whole nervous system was excited to
violent agitation, the instant he heard it approaching. He was finally
purchased by a gentleman, who believed more in the efficacy of kindness,
than he did in coercion. He kept him without food till he was hungry,
and then spread oats on a drum-head. As soon as he began to eat, the
groom began to drum. The frightened animal ran away, and could not be
lured back again by the tempting display of provender. He was deprived
of food for a still longer time, and the experiment was again tried
with similar result. But the third time, hunger proved stronger than
fear, and he devoured his oats with the hated noise sounding louder and
louder in his ears. After being thus rationally convinced that a drum
would do him no harm, he ceased to be troublesome, and voluntarily
walked toward the sound which had become so pleasantly associated in his
memory.
If men would educate animals in a sensible and patient manner, and treat
them with habitual gentleness, it would produce intelligence and
docility apparently miraculous, and realize on earth the prophecies of
the millenium.
THE WORLD THAT I AM PASSING THROUGH.
Few, in the days of early youth,
Trusted like me in love and truth.
I’ve learned sad lessons from the years;
But slowly, and with many tears;
For God made me to kindly view
The world that I was passing through.