{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_4029/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_4029","id":"gutenberg_4029","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4029","summary":null,"tags":["Animals -- Folklore","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Nature/Gardening/Animals"],"text":"Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTRUE STORIES ABOUT DOGS AND CATS\n\n\nBY\n\nMRS. FOLLEN\n\n\n\nWith Illustrations by Billings\n\n\n\n\n\nTRUE STORIES ABOUT DOGS AND CATS.\n\nIn a pretty, quiet village in New England lived Mary Chilton. She\nwas a widow. She had two sons; and it was the occupation and the\nhappiness of her life to do all she could to make her boys good and\nhappy. I should say to help and teach them to be good and happy; for\nboys and girls must make themselves good; and then, of course, they\nwill be happy; and no one can be made good or happy against his\nwill.\n\nI hear some boy or girl who reads this say, \"How old were they, and\nwhat were their names?\" No boy can get along with another boy till\nhe knows his name and age, and so, that you may be sure that they\nwere real, live boys, I will tell you these important facts. The\neldest was called Frank, and was nine years old. His brother was\ncalled Harry, and was seven. They were very much like other boys,\nsomewhat disposed to have their own way in every thing, and a little\nvexed when they could not do as they pleased; sometimes really\nwishing to do right, and be obedient, and make their mother happy.\n\nThe little fellows were fond of saying to their mother that when\nthey grew bigger they should take care of her; and the idea that she\ndepended upon them for her happiness often made them stop and think\nwhen they were disposed to do a wrong thing.\n\nWhen Harry said to Frank, \"Mother will be so sorry if we do it,\"\nFrank would stop and think, and that was enough.\n\nStop and think. Grand words, and worth attending to. I believe that,\nif boys and girls would only keep these words well in mind, there\nwould be only a small number of really naughty children.\n\nIt was a custom with this good and faithful mother to have a little\ntalk with her boys, every night before their bed time, of what had\npassed during the day. Sometimes she told them stories, sometimes\nthey repeated poetry.\n\nThe hours they passed in this way were the happiest in the whole\nday. Some of their twilight talks and stories Mrs. Chilton wrote\ndown, thinking they might amuse some little cousins, who lived at a\ndistance. Perhaps some other little boys and girls may like to hear\nthem too.\n\nOne evening, early in November, when tea was over, and the tea\nthings were removed; when the nice hearth was swept clean, and the\ngreat wood fire was blazing brightly, and sending forth its cheering\nlight and heat through the whole room, Frank and Harry had taken\ntheir accustomed places, one on each side of their mother who was\nsitting on the old-fashioned sofa. Each one appropriated a hand to\nhimself, when they both, almost in the same breath, said to her,\n\"You promised us, Mother, if we were good boys, to tell us a story\nthis evening. Now, have we not been good boys all day?\"\n\n\"Yes, you have,\" she replied; \"you have not quarrelled, and you have\ngot your lessons well; and I will gladly perform my promise. But I\nhardly know whether I can remember or make up any story to tell you.\nHowever, I will do my best. What sort of a story will you have?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Frank, \"should like a real good true story about a dog, or\nany other animal.\"\n\n\"And I like a made-up story best,\" said Harry.\n\n\"I have an anecdote of a dog for you, Frank, which a friend related\nto me the other day, and which I determined to remember to tell you,\nas I recollected your love for dogs. The lady who told me the story\nis an English woman. She was in the place where the thing happened,\nat the very time, and knew the dog and his master.\n\nAn English gentleman had a small dog, I think a terrier; he took it\nwith him across the English Channel to Calais which, you know, is in\nFrance. He had business there, and remained some time. One day his\npoor little dog was severely treated by a French dog, much larger\nthan himself.\n\nThe little terrier knew that he could not punish the big French dog.\nFor some days you might see him with his head hanging down as well\nas his tail, and a most melancholy expression in his face. At last,\nhe disappeared. His master, who was very fond of him, made every\ninquiry after him. In vain--his little four-footed friend was\nnowhere to be found.\n\nOne day, not long after, in walked the terrier, bringing with him a\ndog much larger than himself. He and his big friend looked very busy\nand important, as if they had on hand some weighty affair to\ntransact. They showed how seriously they were cogitating, by curling\nup their tails even more than common.\n\nThe terrier, after receiving gratefully his master's caresses, and\ntaking care that his great friend should receive his full share of\nthe food which was given them, led the way, through the court yard,\nto the front of the house. There they took their place, and sat for\na long time, looking as solemn as two judges hearing a cause, or two\ndeacons at church watching some troublesome boys.\n\nIt seems the little terrier had been to England, and told of the bad\ntreatment he had received from the large French dog, and had brought\nover a great dog friend to avenge the insult.\n\nPatiently they sat for some time, looking up street.\n\nAt length, the terrier began to prick up his ears, and, in dog\nlanguage, he told his big friend that the enemy was approaching.\nThey waited quietly till he was near them, and then they both sprang\nupon the cowardly fellow, gave him a good drubbing, and sent him off\nwith his tail between his legs.\n\nAfter this, the big English dog, without looking round to see what\nthey did, and said, and how they looked in France, wagging his tail\nwith great satisfaction, and perhaps saying to the little dog that\nhe could not understand French, and pitied him for having a master\nwho could endure living in a foreign land, especially France, his\ndogship walked aboard a packet, and, with a solemn face and\nself-satisfied, triumphant air, without paying his passage, and with his\ntail turned towards France and the ship's company, placed himself in\nthe forward part of the vessel, and so returned to his native land.\"\n\n\"Hurrah for dogs!\" cried Harry, clapping his hands. \"I say they are\nas good as men any day. They say, Mother, that the Indians believe\ntheir dogs will go to heaven with them. Will they, Mother?\"\n\n\"We know nothing of the future state of animals, Harry. We only know\nthat they are more gentle and intelligent the more kind we are to\nthem. The most savage animals are tamed by constant kindness. Who\ndoes not remember Sir Walter Scott's pet pig? The reason why the pig\nwas so fond of his master was that Sir Walter had not treated him\npiggishly, but humanely.\n\nYou have been told of Baron Trenck's spider. Men have had pet lions\nand tigers. When I see a fine, gentle horse, or an intelligent,\nloving dog, I find myself repeating Miss Barrett's beautiful words,--\n\n    \"Be my benediction said\n     With my hand upon thy head,\n     Gentle fellow-creature.\"\n\nNow I have a funny story for you of a dog and a hen which a friend\ntold me that she knew to be true.\n\nA small dog had a litter of puppies in a barn close by a hen who was\nsitting on her eggs, waiting patiently, as hens do, for the time\nwhen her chickens should pop their pretty heads out of their shells\ninto this pleasant world.\n\nThe puppies, however, came first, and, as soon as they were born,\nshe left her nest, and insisted upon brooding them.\n\nThe little dog, no doubt, thought her very impertinent, and barked\nat her, and tried to drive her away; but she would not go. They had\nalways been good friends, and the dog was unwilling to hurt her; and\nso Mrs. Dog, after showing, in every way, her desire to get rid of\nher troublesome acquaintance, and finding that Madame Hen would not\nbudge one inch, let her alone.\n\nFrom that time, the hen brooded the puppies. She let their mother\nsuckle them, but the rest of the time took charge of them. The poor\ndog mother felt cheated, but she went off and amused herself as well\nas she could.\n\nThe poor chickens never showed their heads outside of their little\noval prison, for they missed the gentle warmth of their unnatural\nmother's wings.\"\n\n\"She was a real funny hen,\" said Frank; \"but she could not have had\nmuch brains, not even so much as common hens, and that's little\nenough; but, as for the dog, she must be as lazy as Dick Doolittle,\nto be willing to have such a stupid nursery woman as a hen take care\nof her own puppies. Dick lets Tom Jones do all his sums for him, but\nthen he never hides it, so we only laugh at him. He says, What's the\nuse of being named Doolittle and yet have to do much?\n\nBut, Mother, it is not bed time yet. Have you not some more stories\nof animals?\"\n\n\"Yes, Frank; but Harry wants his story now. It is his turn to\nchoose.\"\n\n\"I can wait till to-morrow evening,\" said Harry; \"and I like the dog\nand hen stories very much.\"\n\n\"Harry shall have his turn, then, to-morrow,\" said Mrs. Chilton;\n\"and I will tell you some more stories of dogs, for I now remember\nsome more that are perfectly true.\n\nYou never know how intelligent an animal is till you treat it with\nkindness. All animals are easily frightened by human beings, and\nfear makes them stupid. Children naturally love animals, but\nsometimes a foolish boy loves to show his power over them, and so\nlearns to be cruel.\n\nA little boy of my acquaintance, when he was told that he might ask\nsome friends to pass his birthday with him, and was asked who should\nbe invited, named over all the dogs in the neighborhood, and was\nmuch grieved when his choice was greeted with laughter.\n\nI have seen a little fellow of three years of age with his hand in\nthe mouth of a large, hungry dog, trying to get a piece of bread out\nof it, and the dog not resenting the liberty at all, but merely\ntrying to retain his share of the bread, and allowing the child to\ntake a part.\n\nWe all know that dogs have chosen to die upon the graves of their\nmasters, refusing food even when it was brought to them. We look at\nsuch animals as if we saw in them an angel in prison. We feel as if\nsuch a nature could not die.\n\nThere is no doubt that dogs understand language. My friend, Mr. S.\nP. Miles, who was remarkable for his tender love for animals, as\nwell as for many other noble and lovely qualities, told me some\nremarkable facts which came under his own personal observation, and\nwhich I am, therefore, sure are true, showing that intelligent dogs\nunderstand language.\n\nHe said that in his father's house was an old dog, to whom they were\nmuch attached, who however became liable to fits. The dog was very\nfond of hunting, and the moment he saw any one take the gun, to go\ninto the woods, he would show his ecstasy by leaping about.\n\nMr. Miles's mother one day, when caressing the dog and lamenting\nthat he was subject to these fits, told her son that he had better\nshoot him the next time that he went out hunting with him. A few\ndays after, Mr. Miles went hunting; but the moment he reached up for\nhis gun, which was laid up on hooks in the wall, the dog, instead of\nshowing joy by jumping about, ran directly to the good lady who had\ncondemned him to death, got under the table at which she was\nsitting, looked up in her face, and would not move from that place.\nNever after could the poor fellow be induced to go out with any one\nwho had a gun in his hand.\n\nThe same friend told me of a still more remarkable instance of\nintelligence in a dog, though I confess it does not prove that this\ndog had much conscience.\n\nMr. Miles said that he knew the man who owned the dog, and knew the\ntruth of the whole story. He said that a neighbor had an uncommonly\nfine dog, well trained, and, as it seemed, perfect in all things.\n\nOne day, a man came and complained that the dog killed his sheep.\nThe owner said he was sure that it was impossible. Hero was so well\ntrained, he was always in his kennel at the right hour, and he knew\nthat he must not kill sheep. After a while, the neighbor came again\nwith the accusation. The dog was then tied in the barn. The man came\nagain with the same charge against the dog.\n\nHero's master now told the accuser that the dog was tied in the barn\non the very night when the sheep were killed. He now made much of\nhis dumb favorite from the feeling that he was unjustly suspected.\n\nHe was, however, much surprised when the owner of the sheep came\nagain and declared that he had seen his dog kill a sheep that very\nnight; that he knew the dog, and was sure of the fact. He, of\ncourse, thought he must be mistaken; but said he would watch the\ndog. He did so.\n\nAt a certain hour of the night, when the dog supposed no one saw\nhim, the cunning fellow put up his two fore paws, pushed off the\ncollar to which a chain was attached, darted through the open window\nclose by, and made for the sheep pasture. He returned in good\nseason, put his nose into his collar, pushed it down into its place\nwith his paws, and lay down to sleep.\n\nThe master returned to his bed with the painful conviction that he\nmust kill his intelligent but unprincipled four-footed friend. It is\nsaid nothing will cure a dog of the habit of sheep killing.\n\nIn the morning the sorrowful master went to the stable. As he\napproached, he said, \"O, Hero, how could you do so wrong? I must\nhave you killed.\" Quick as thought, the dog pushed his collar over\nhis ears, darted through the window, and flew like lightning away.\nNo one in that town ever saw him again.\n\nMr. Miles told me also that he knew a dog that would carry letters\nto persons when told their names; and that no one dared touch the\nletter but the person to whom it was directed. No bribe, no coaxing\nwould induce him to stop when going on these errands. If other dogs\nannoyed him, he would not notice them, but run the faster, and take\ncare to chastise them at another time.\n\nCreatures that show such intelligence, who can understand our\nlanguage, and are capable of what is best in our nature, that is, of\nself-forgetting love, should be treated with the greatest\ntenderness. We know not what they may be capable of till we have\ntried the influence of constant justice and kindness. It is\nquestionable whether poor Hero could have been cured of his fault.\nBut I would give all a chance.\"\n\n\"I should like to have Hero for my dog,\" said Frank, \"and live with\nhim in a place where there were no sheep; and then, after many\nyears, he might forget his bad tricks.\"\n\n\"I must say something in favor of the much-abused cat. Doubtless she\nwould be a much better member of society, if she were better\ntreated, if she had a better example set before her.\n\nSportsmen are very angry because she catches birds, and because she\nis sly. They will themselves lie down in the grass so that the birds\nmay not see them, and be as sly as the very slyest old puss, and yet\nthey cannot forgive her for watching noiselessly for birds. Has not\nshe as good a right as any sportsman to a little game? She takes\nonly what she wants to eat. She does not kill them in order to boast\nto another cat of how many she has bagged.\n\nThey say she must be bad, for she kills singing birds. Do not\nsportsmen kill larks and thrushes? Were you once to see a lark\nrising up into the blue sky higher and higher, and hear him singing\nas he rises louder and louder, as if he saw heaven opening, and\nwanted to tell you how beautiful it was, and call you up there; and\nthen to think of killing and eating him, you would say, What cat can\nbe so unfeeling as a man? Who, with any music in his soul, could do\nso? Yet men do eat larks for dinner, and then scold at the poor cat\nwho treats herself with only one perhaps. Why should she not be a\nlittle dainty? Men, women, and hoys and girls are often cruel and\nunreasonable, not merely cats. The cat is as good as she knows how\nto be.\"\n\n\"So you are, pussy,\" said Harry, taking up his pet cat in his lap,\nand stroking her. \"You never do any harm, but catch the mice in our\nmother's barn. But you are a little sly, and, if you should catch\nbirds, right or wrong, I'm afraid I should box your ears. You must\nlearn to do without birds for your dinner.\"\n\n\"When I was in England,\" said Mrs. Chilton, \"I saw, exhibited in a\ncage about five feet square, rats, mice, cats and dogs, a hawk, a\nguinea pig, a rabbit, some pigeons, an owl and some little birds,\nall together, as amiable and merry as possible. Miss Puss sat in the\nmidst, purring. The others ran over her, or flew upon her head. She\nhad no thought of hurting them, and they were not afraid of her.\n\nI found, on inquiring, that the way the keeper establishes such\npeace and harmony is by systematic and constant gentleness, and by\nkeeping the animals all well fed. They are called the happy family.\n\nThe cage was always surrounded by a crowd of people curious to see\nsuch natural enemies so happy together. Nothing but the law of\nkindness could make all those creatures so civil and well behaved to\neach other. But I must not forget my anecdotes of that respectable\nanimal, the cat.\n\nYou need not smile; I mean to make you respect, as well as love\ncats. There are some men, and many boys who say they are domestic\ntigers, that they are sly, that they steal, that you cannot trust\nthem; that the cat heart is bad, and that there is no harm in boys'\nteasing them, since it is no more than cats deserve; that they were\nmade for us to plague; and that the only good thing they do is to\ncatch rats and mice.\n\nNow, if this were true, and they were really ever so bad, they ought\nnever to be treated cruelly, never teased and tormented. None but\nthe meanest boy will ever torment any animal.\n\nHe who created us created also the little fly that crawls upon the\nwindow pane. I am not now thinking of those boys who do not\nremember, or have never learned this truth, but of those who have a\ncruel prejudice against cats, of those who are kind to dogs and\nhorses, but unkind to cats. I shall speak to you of the poor cat\nwith almost as much respect and seriousness as if I were talking\nabout any of my fellow- creatures who were injured and ill treated.\n\nWe take it for granted that cats have no love in them, and so we\nnever act towards them as if they had any; now I believe they have,\non the whole, pretty good hearts, and, if they were treated with\njustice and kindness, would be far more respectable members of\nsociety than they are. To show this I will mention some facts of\nwhich I have heard, and, some which I have witnessed.\n\nIn the first place, the cat is accused of never caring for the\ninhabitants of a house, but only for the house itself. Now I knew an\naffectionate cat who manifested much disturbance when the family\nwere making preparations for moving; at last, all was gone from the\nhouse except herself and the cook. The cook, in order to make sure\nthat the cat should not escape from the carriage on the way, put her\ninto a cage and fastened her in.\n\nWhen they arrived, the cat walked quietly out of her cage, looked at\nher old friend the cook, went into another room where she met\nanother friend, and began forthwith to purr her satisfaction.\n\nTwo years afterwards, this family moved again. As soon as the cat\nsaw the preparations making for moving, she showed great uneasiness,\nand went down into the cellar, where she remained during all the\nconfusion.\n\nWhen all else was gone, the cook went to the cellar stairs, and\ncalled her. The cat came up directly. The cook stroked her, and\nshowed her a basket just big enough to hold her, and said, \"Get in,\nget in, pussy, and take a pretty ride!\" The cat got in, and, without\nthe least resistance, allowed herself to be shut into the basket by\na cloth tied over it. As soon as she saw the different members of\nthe family in the new house, she manifested her contentment.\n\nIn six months the family moved again. The cat again submitted\nherself, and showed her preference to her friends over their house.\n\nA cat has been known to nurse and bring up a rat with her own\nkittens. I once took a little rabbit who was starving to death from\nthe neglect of its own mother, and placed it before the same cat who\npreferred the people to the house. She had just come from nursing\nher kittens, and when she saw the little trembling rabbit before\nher, her first thought was, evidently to make a good meal of it. I\ntook up the little thing and caressed it, and then put it down\nagain. She now approached it in a motherly way, and looked at it;\nits ears seemed evidently to puzzle her. After a while, she tried to\ntake it up as she did her kittens, but saw she could not safely;\nthen she went to her nest and mewed, and then came to me and rubbed\nherself against me; and then went to the rabbit and licked it\ntenderly; I now ventured to put the rabbit in with her kittens, and\nshe nursed, and took the best care of it.\n\nA friend of mine who killed a squirrel not knowing that she had\nyoung ones, took all the little squirrels, brought them into the\nhouse, and put them before his pet cat who had lost all her kittens\nbut one. Pussy looked at them for a while; probably her cattish\nnature thought a little of eating them; but her better nature soon\nprevailed, for she took them, one after another, and carried them\nall to her nest, and proved a faithful nursing mother to them, and\nere long there was no part of the house in which the old cat and her\nroguish adopted children were not to be found.\n\nWhat will not cats submit to from a loving child? I have seen a\nchild lie down with a cat for its pillow, and the cat merely move\nherself a little, so as to bear the weight as easily as possible.\n\nA cat can be taught to stand and walk on her hind legs, which seems\nat first very disagreeable to her.\n\nI remember, when I was a child, seeing a Maltese cat come in every\nmorning and wait till my father had finished his breakfast, then, at\na certain signal, rise up on her hind legs, and beg for her\nbreakfast, and take just what was given her with the utmost\npropriety, asking for nothing more.\n\nI will tell you a well-authenticated anecdote which I read the other\nday. A cat had been brought up in close friendship with a bird. Now\nbirds, you know, are the favorite food of cats. One day she was seen\nsuddenly to seize and hold in her claws her feathered companion who\nhappened to be out of the cage.\n\nThe first thought of those who saw her was that, at last, her tiger\nnature had come out, and that she was going to make a meal of her\nlittle trusting friend; but all the cat did was to hold the\ntrembling bird still, and, on looking around the room, it was\ndiscovered that another cat had come in, and that catching the bird\nwas only the means the friendly cat used to keep it safe till the\nintruder should leave the room. As soon as the other cat was gone,\nshe let go the bird, who it was found was not in the least hurt.\n\nA cat who had been petted and always kindly treated by a family of\nchildren, was present one day when the mother thought it necessary\nto strike one of them for some bad action; the cat flew violently at\nthe mother and tried to scratch her, and from that time she never\ncould strike one of the children with impunity in the presence of\ntheir faithful, loving friend.\n\nA friend related to me that they had a cat in her father's family\nwho was a great favorite, and who was particularly fond of the baby;\nthat one day this child was very fretful, and sat for a long time on\nthe floor crying, and that nothing would pacify her.\n\nThe cat was by her side on the floor, and finding herself not\nnoticed, and perhaps wearied at the noise, she suddenly stood up on\nher hind legs and boxed the child's ears in exactly the same way in\nwhich she was in the habit of boxing her kitten's.\n\nIt seems that this cat was not so amiable as the other, and did not\nobject to giving a box on the ear to a naughty child.\n\nI have another story from a good authority which is still more in\nfavor of poor pussy, and puts her upon a par with the most faithful\ndog.\n\nDuring a hard snow storm last winter, a kitten with a broken leg and\nalmost frozen hopped into the hall door of a gentleman's house in\nBrooklyn, New York, and set up a most piteous mewing.\n\nThe master of the house ordered the servants to throw the kitten\ninto the street, when his little daughter, a child eight years of\nage, caught up the poor little creature, and begged to be allowed to\nkeep and nurse it. The father, at first, refused. The child,\nhowever, begged so earnestly that he at last allowed her to keep the\nkitten.\n\nThe little girl, whom we will call Emma, nursed her pet until it got\nquite well. The kitten returned, in full measure, all the love of\nher gentle nurse, and was never quite happy away from little Emma.\n\nSome time afterwards, the loving child was taken severely ill, and\nwas confined to her bed. Kitty had grown into a cat. It was found\nimpossible to keep her away from the bed of her suffering friend.\nThe cat would watch at the door when turned out of the room, dart in\nagain, and mew, and jump upon the bed where little Emma lay. There\nKitty was quiet.\n\nAs the child grew more ill, it was impossible to get the cat out of\nthe room; until, at last, when little Emma was dying, pussy\nstretched herself out near the bed, and seemed to be dying too.\n\nThe cat was taken into the next room, and put gently upon a rug.\n\n\"Take care of my poor kitten!\" said the kind little Emma, as she saw\nthem take it away; and her loving spirit went to the land of loving\nspirits.\n\nWhen the sorrowing friends went into the adjoining room, the life of\nher \"poor kitten\" had departed too.\n\nDoes not the fact that love and kindness can make such an irritable\nanimal as the cat so loving and grateful, teach us all their\nheavenly power? Ought we not to do all which we can to bring out\nthis better nature?\n\nWe have made cats our slaves. We have taken them from the woods,\nthat we may have them to catch our rats and mice. We make them do\njust as we please, and ought we not to make them as comfortable and\nhappy as we can?\n\nCan we not be patient with their bad or disagreeable qualities, and\nencourage all their good dispositions? We never know the true\ncharacter of any living being till we treat that creature with\nentire justice and kindness. I therefore am the friend of the poor,\ndespised, abused, neglected, suspected, calumniated cat. I confess\nshe is sometimes a little disposed to thieving, that there are\nstrong reasons for supposing that she is somewhat addicted to\nselfishness, that she may justly be suspected of occasional\nhypocrisy, and that she is to blame for too readily using her claws.\n\nThese are, all of them, human as well as cattish faults; but, if\npussy has in her the capacity for something better, for self-forgetting\nand devoted affection, we must treat her with such patient, enduring\nkindness and perfect justice as may cherish all that is good in her\nnature. In short, can we not overcome her evil by our good? Let\nus try, boys!\n\nOne thing I have not yet told you in relation to cats, and that is\nwhat pets they are made in France. No drawing room seems complete\nwithout a beautiful cat. The cats are well trained and are very\ngentle.\n\nThe Angora cat is most prized. She is fed with the greatest care,\nand, in all respects, is treated like a respected member of the\nfamily; and noticed, of course, by visitors. I have seen a beautiful\ncat go from one guest to another to be caressed like a little child.\n\nThese pet cats are playthings. They are not expected to catch rats\nand mice, but are idle creatures, and only amuse themselves and\nothers. It is considered a special attention for any gentleman or\nlady to make a present of a pet cat.\"\n\n\"What's the use of cats who can't catch rats and mice?\" said Frank.\n\"Do the French pet the mice, too? I wonder what comes of the bread\nand cheese?\"\n\n\"O, the people have another set of cats, whom they call gutter cats,\nwho catch rats and mice. The gutter cats never come into the drawing\nroom; but they are treated well in the kitchen, and made as happy as\npossible.\n\nI was told that these working cats were far more intelligent than\nthe pets of the drawing room.\n\nI knew a French seamstress who had a gutter cat, of which she was\nvery fond. One day the cat fell from the roof of the house. She\nseemed dead, but her faithful friend put her upon a soft bed, gave\nher homoeopathic medicine, and watched all night by her to put a\ndrop of something into her mouth if she moved. At last the cat gave\nsigns of life, and by good nursing her life was saved.\n\nI saw once in Paris a man carrying about a splendid large mouse-colored\ncat, dressed up with ribbons.\n\nThe creature was twice the common size, and gentle as a lamb. He was\nfor sale; the price, sixty francs, which is twelve dollars. Every\nbody who was not too busy, stopped to stroke Master Puss.\"\n\n\"He would have done to wear boots,\" cried Harry. \"I should like him\nright well. Such a big cat would be worth having.\"\n\n\"The French are very humane to animals, and never inflict\nunnecessary pain upon the meanest. In the street in which I lived in\nParis, there was a hospital for cats and dogs.\"\n\n\"Is not a hospital a place where sick folks go to be cured, Mother;\nand do they like to have dogs and cats there?\"\n\n\"This was a hospital devoted to sick cats and dogs.\"\n\n\"Do they have cats and dogs for nurses?\" said Harry, giggling as he\nspoke.\n\n\"I never heard they did, you little goose. But I could not help\nbeing pleased with such an evidence of the kind-heartedness of a\npeople in their treatment of animals.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Frank, \"where did dogs and cats come from? Have men\nalways had them living with them? Did Adam and Eve have a dog and\ncat, do you suppose? Was there an Adam and Eve cat and dog?\"\n\n\"It would take more knowledge than I can boast of, Frank, to answer\nthese questions. I will tell you all I have been able to learn. It\nis supposed by some persons that the domestic dog is the descendant,\nthat is, the great great great grandchild of a wolf.\"\n\nA man who wanted to see if a wolf could be gentle, and faithful, and\nloving as a dog, took a baby wolf, treated him with the greatest\nkindness, and fed him on food that would not make him savage.\n\nThe wolf was always gentle, and much attached to his master. If the\nsons and sons' sons of the wolf were always treated in the same\nmanner, you may suppose it possible that, in time, they would be as\nloving and good as our dogs.\n\nThere seems, however, to be more reason to think that our domestic\ndog is descended from a wild dog; as there are wild dogs in various\nparts of the world; in Africa, Australia, and in India. The dog of\nthe Esquimaux was a wolf. There is a distinct kind of dog for almost\nevery part of the world, each sort differing in some things from the\nwolf.\n\nThe earliest history of man speaks of his faithful companion, the\ndog. Every schoolboy has read of the dog of Ulysses; and how, when\nUlysses returned, after a very long absence, so changed as not to be\nrecognized in his own house, his dog knew him immediately.\n\nCuvier, the great French naturalist, says that the \"dog is the most\ncomplete, the most remarkable, and the most useful conquest ever\nmade by man.\"\n\n\"Every species has become our property. Each individual is\naltogether devoted to his master, assumes his manners, knows and\ndefends his goods, and remains attached to him until death; and all\nthis proceeds neither from want nor constraint, but solely from true\ngratitude and real friendship.\"\n\n\"The swiftness, the strength, and the scent of the dog have enabled\nhim to conquer other animals; and, without the dog, man perhaps\ncould not have formed a society. The dog is the only animal which\nhas followed man into every part of the earth.\"\n\n\"The Exquimaux employ their dogs as we do horses. The dogs are made\nslaves; but are docile and faithful, particularly to the women, who\nmanage them by kindness and gentleness. In Germany you often see\ndogs drawing carts; and in London dogs are harnessed into little\ncarts to carry round meat for the cats.\"\n\nHere Harry expressed his opinion that this was abusing the dogs.\n\n\"I am told,\" continued Mrs. Chilton, \"that when the driver of these\ndog carts cries 'Cats' Meat,' all the cats look out from their holes\nand hiding-places for their accustomed piece.\"\n\n\"We,\" said Harry, \"give pussy something out of our plates all cooked\nand nice, and so I suppose she is a better cat, and less cattish.\"\n\nI dare say you know that there are a great variety of dogs. The\nNewfoundland dog not only drags carts and sledges, but has a sort of\nweb foot that makes him a particularly good swimmer. He often saves\nthe lives of his human friends.\n\nThe Lapland dog looks after the reindeer, and drives them with the\ngreatest gentleness to their homes or away from any danger.\n\nThe shepherd's dog does the same for the flock. He runs after any\nstray sheep, and just says, with a very amiable little bark, \"Friend\nsheep,\" or \"My little lamb, that's not the way.\"\n\nThen there is the terrier to catch our rats; the mastiff and spaniel\nto guard our houses; the lapdog for ladies to play with; the poodles\nto laugh at; and once there was the turnspit to roast our meat for\nus.\n\nBesides these and many I have not mentioned there are all the\ndifferent hunting dogs; the pointers and setters for birds; the\nhounds for hares, rabbits, foxes, and deer.\n\nWhen I was in England, I saw the start for a deer hunt. The hunters,\nwith their red jackets, were assembled on horses longing to start.\nThe dogs were all fastened together and held still by the keepers. A\nlarge open heath was before us.\n\nPresently a covered cart was driven up. One end was opened, and a\nstag leaped out.\n\nHe stood still, and looked up and all around him, as much as to say,\n\"What are we all about?\" He had, apparently, no thought of running\nany where.\n\nAt last, they sent a little dog to bark at him, and soon away he\nscampered over fences and through fields; like the wind, he flew.\n\nWhen he was out of sight, the keeper let his dogs loose. They did\nnot run at first, but smelt all around, one dog leading the others.\nAt last, he pricked up his ears, and they all set up a race after\nhim, like a streak of lightning, as our Jem would say.\n\nNow the huntsmen started, and they followed as near as they could.\nThe dogs leaped over a hedge, a pretty high one. Away went the\nhuntsmen after them.\n\nI saw one man thrown as he tried to leap the hedge, and away went\nhis horse and left him.\n\nI saw two, three, four go over as if they were flying. O, how\nbeautiful it was to see them!\n\nThen I saw a rider and his horse both fall into a ditch they were\ntrying to leap. Then came another, and over he went, all clear, as a\ncat might jump.\n\nThe hunter in the ditch scrambled out, but his horse was hurt and\ncould not move.\n\nSome men from the farm house, before which I was sitting, looking at\nthe hunt, took ropes and went to help the maimed horse.\n\nBy this time, we heard but faintly the huntsmen's horn and merry\nshouts; and soon they were all out of sight, save the four or five\nmen who were aiding the poor horse to get out of the ditch.\n\nI returned home, thinking that, after all, hunting tame deer was a\npoor amusement. But I am an American lady; and were I an English\ngentleman, I might feel very differently.\n\n\"I think I should like hunting right well. It would be real good\nfun,\" said Harry.\n\n\"And so should I,\" said Frank.\n\nThe dog of the St. Bernard, who is called the Alpine spaniel, you\nhave heard and read of; and you have that pretty picture of one of\nthose dogs with a boy on his back.\n\nI have, as you know, been among the Swiss mountains; and the thought\nof the good monks living in those awful solitudes through the storms\nof winter, with the avalanches for their music, and only an\noccasional traveller for society, and with these gentle, loving dogs\nfor companions, gave me a new love for these excellent animals.\n\nI thought, too, of the poor traveller who had lost his way, and\nfound his strength failing. I imagined his joy at the sight of one\nof these dogs with a cloak on his back, and a bottle of cordial tied\nto his neck.\n\nI saw, in my mind, the good \"fellow-creature\" showing the way to the\nshelter which his truly Christian masters are so glad to afford.\n\nThese monks, it is said, keep a bell ringing during storms. It seems\nto me I can see one of the old monks sitting over his fire, putting\non more wood, and making his tight chalet as warm as he can, in case\na traveller should come.\n\nPresently he hears a cheerful bark from one of the dogs. He opens\nhis door; the poor, frozen, half-starved traveller enters.\n\nThe monk takes off the wet garments; he rubs the stiff, cold hands;\nhe speaks kind words to the stranger, and gives him something warm\nto drink.\n\nMeanwhile, the good dog lies down on the floor, looking with his\nbig, kind eyes at the wayfarer, and seems to say, \"I'm glad I found\nyou and brought you here to my master. Eat and drink, and be\ncomfortable; don't be shy; there's enough here always for a poor\ntraveller.\"\n\nIt is a sad thing to turn from this pleasant picture to the history\nof the bloodhounds in the West Indies. Who would believe that the\ngood and great Columbus employed bloodhounds to destroy the Indians\nwho made war against the Spaniards?\n\n\"When the Indians were conquered, the bloodhounds were turned into\nthe woods and became wild, so that there are now many of these wild\ndogs on the islands. I grieve to say that, here in this civilized\nland, bloodhounds are sometimes used to catch runaway slaves.\"\n\n\"Runaway slaves, Mother? Do you mean men, like Anthony Burns,\" asked\nFrank. \"He was a slave, was he not?\"\n\n\"Yes, Frank, men like Anthony Burns, when they try to get their\nfreedom, if they are known to be hiding in a wood, are often hunted\nwith dogs.\"\n\n\"O, it is very wicked, Mother!\"\n\n\"So I think, Frank; let us hope that the time will come when every\nman and woman and child in our land will think so, and then there\nwill be no more slaves.\"\n\n\"And now, let us turn away from the history of bloodhounds to some\npleasant thoughts before we finish our twilight talk.\"\n\n\"The poet Cowper was a great friend to animals. Many of his most\nbeautiful letters to his friends have very pleasant passages about\nhis pretty tortoise shell kitten, and his distress that she would\ngrow up into a cat, do what he would.\"\n\n\"He was a lover of tame rabbits and hares, and speaks of all these\nanimals as if they were his friends and fellow-creatures. In one of\nhis little poems he tells a pretty story of his spaniel Beau. I was\nso pleased with it that I learned it by heart unconsciously, from\nreading it over so often.\"\n\n\"Do repeat it, Mother,\" cried both the boys.\n\nMrs. Chilton then repeated the poem; and, as some of my young\nreaders may not be familiar with it, they shall have a copy, too.\n\n\"This, also, boys, is a true story,\" said their mother.\n\n\n\nTHE DOG AND THE WATER LILY.\n\nNO FABLE.\n\n     The noon was shady, and soft airs\n       Swept Ouse's silent tide,\n     When, 'scaped from literary cares,\n       I wandered on his side.\n\n     My spaniel--prettiest of his race,\n       And high in pedigree--\n     (Two nymphs adorned with every grace,\n       That spaniel found for me--)\n\n     Now wantoned, lost in flowery reeds,\n       Now, starting into sight,\n     Pursued the swallow o'er the meads,\n       With scarce a slower flight.\n\n     It was the time when Ouse displayed\n       His lilies newly blown.\n     Their beauties I intent surveyed,\n       And one I wished my own.\n\n     With cane extended far, I sought\n       To steer it close to land;\n     But still the prize, though nearly caught,\n       Escaped my eager hand.\n\n     Beau marked my unsuccessful pains,\n       With fixed, considerate face;\n     And, puzzling, set his puppy brains\n       To comprehend the case.\n\n     But, with a chirrup clear and strong\n       Dispersing all his dream,\n     I thence withdrew, and followed long\n       The windings of the stream.\n\n     My ramble finished, I returned;\n       Beau, trotting far before,\n     The floating wreath again discerned,\n       And, plunging, left the shore.\n\n     I saw him with that lily cropped\n       Impatient swim to meet\n     My quick approach; and soon he dropped\n       The treasure at my feet.\n\n     Charmed with the sight, \"The world,\" I cried,\n       \"Shall hear of this thy deed.\n     My dog shall mortify the pride\n       Of man's superior breed.\"\n\n     But, chief, myself I will enjoin,\n       Awake at duty's call,\n     To show a love as prompt as thine\n       To Him who gives me all.\n\n\n\"I think that's a right pretty story, Mother,\" said Frank, when his\nmother had finished reciting it; \"but will you tell me what 'high in\npedigree' means; for I'm sure I don't know. I never heard the word\nbefore; and who are nymphs, who found the spaniel for Cowper?\"\n\n\"'High in pedigree,' Frank, means nothing but that he had a very\nrespectable grandfather and mother.\"\n\n\"Then, Mother, we are high in pedigree; for I'm sure that\ngrandfather and grandmother--, at the farm, are the very best and\nmost respectable people in the world, and send us the best butter\nand cheese. But what are nymphs?\"\n\n\"There was, in olden times, Frank, before the birth of Christ, and\namong many people since there is a belief in a sort of fairies, or\nfanciful existences. They thought that in each stream, and wood, and\ngrotto lived a beautiful young woman, invisible to common eyes, and\nthese lovely fairies were called nymphs. So it became common to call\nany beautiful young woman a nymph.\"\n\n\"The best line in it,\" said Harry, \"is, 'And, puzzling, set his\npuppy brains.' That I can quite understand.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said Mrs. Chilton, \"it is time to light the candles, and for\nlittle boys to go to bed.\"\n\n\"I have still a little more to say to you about animals,\" said Mrs.\nChilton, one evening, to her two boys, \"as you seemed pleased with\nwhat I told you, some time ago, about dogs and cats.\"\n\nA friend told me, the other day, that, when she was at Hopkinton,\nwhere she went for the benefit of the baths, the mistress of the\nhotel told her that their cat understood language; for that a\ngentleman, who was there and was going fishing, told the cat to go\nand catch him a frog. The cat disappeared, and, a little while\nafter, brought in a frog. She added, that the next day he told the\ncat again to go and catch him a frog. The cat again set off on the\nsame errand, and brought in two frogs; but she had bitten off the\nhead of one of them, as if to pay for her labor.\"\n\n\"Do you believe that story, Puss?\" said Harry. \"See, Puss shakes her\nhead. Do you believe it, Mother?\"\n\nThe authority was very good. I could not easily disbelieve it. The\nmore we notice animals the more we shall be astonished at them, and\ninterested in their history; the more we shall see in them evidences\nof the wisdom and the goodness of the Power that created them.\n\nI knew a good, great man who would never tread upon the meanest\nflower he met in his walks; who would not wantonly destroy a shell\nupon the sea shore.\n\nWhen I was very young, I was walking in a garden with one of the\ntrue lovers of God in His works: suddenly he bent his head very low,\nand bade me bend mine also. \"See,\" he said, \"that beautiful web: do\nnot break it; the little creature who made it has worked very hard;\nlet us not destroy it.\"\n\nThis lesson was given many years ago. I have forgotten many things\nsince then; but this will last me through life, let it be ever so\nlong.\n\nWho does not love good Uncle Toby who, when a troublesome fly\ntormented and tickled his nose and sipped his wine, put him tenderly\nout of the window, saying to him, \"Go: there is room enough in this\nworld for thee and me\"? But to my stories. One is a sad one, but it\nis true, as are also all the others.\n\nA gentleman was once travelling in France, on horseback, followed by\nhis dog; presently the dog began to show great uneasiness, and run\nand jump up at him and bark violently. The man saw no one near, and\ncould not understand what was the matter.\n\nThe dog persisted in barking. At last, the man scolded him. This did\nno good. The dog still barked and jumped up trying to get hold of\nhis master's legs; the man scolded the animal repeatedly, but all in\nvain. The dog barked louder and louder. At last, the man struck him\nwith the butt-end of the whip harder than he intended; for he only\nwished to silence the dog.\n\nThe thoughtless man went on satisfied. After a while, he found that\nhe had lost his purse. He went back some miles, till, at last, he\nsaw his dog lying dead in the road with one paw over a purse.\n\nThe poor creature had staggered back to the place where he had seen\nit fall, and, faithful to the last in spite of his master's cruelty,\neven in death, guarded his property.\n\nA knowledge of character, comprehension of language, or some other\nfaculty, beyond what we can explain, is often discovered in dogs.\n\nThere was a family who had given leave to two poor men to come and\nsaw wood, do chores, &c. One of these was very honest; the other\noften took what did not belong to him.\n\nThe family dog took no especial notice of the honest man, and\ntreated him in a friendly way, but the thief he watched all the\ntime, to guard the property of the family.\n\nAnother dog was on board a vessel bound to some place in Europe. The\nvessel was driven in a storm against a rocky coast, and struck under\na steep, perpendicular cliff perfectly inaccessible. It was evident\nthat if relief was not soon given, the vessel must go to pieces, and\nthe men all perish.\n\nThe dog leaped into the angry sea, and with some difficulty swam\nashore. He ran on till he came to the dwelling of a poor man, and\nthen barked loudly, till the owner was roused and came out.\n\nThe dog showed great joy at seeing him, ran towards the shore and\nthen back to him, and leaped upon him and licked his hands; this he\ndid repeatedly till the man followed him.\n\nIt was some distance to the shore; and, after a while, the man was\ntired, thought it was foolish to go after the dog, and turned to go\nhome. The dog immediately showed great distress, and tried the same\narts to entice him on; but the man seemed resolved to go home.\n\nAt last, the dog stood upon his hind legs, put his paws upon the\nman's shoulders and looked him in the face, with such a human\nmeaning, such a piteous expression, that the man determined to\nfollow him.\n\nThe dog led him, not to the cliff under which the vessel was lying,\nas there she could not be seen, but to a distant place on a point\nwhere she was visible.\n\nRopes were immediately obtained, the crew were all hoisted up, and\nevery life saved; and this was by the intelligent love of this\nfaithful fellow-creature--we cannot call him a brute.\n\nThese true stories were told me by Mr. W. R. of New Bedford, who\ngave the name of the captain of the wrecked vessel, and said he was\nsure they were true.\n\nA fact of this kind fell once under my own observation. One night,\nour dog Caesar made a barking at the door, till, at last, he brought\nsome one out. The dog then ran towards the road, and when he found\nhe was not followed, came back and barked, and then ran to the road\nand back again, and so on till we understood he wanted to be\nfollowed, and some one went with him.\n\nCaesar immediately led the way to a ditch over which there was a\nbridge without any guard. There a horse and wagon had been upset.\nThe wagon had fallen upon the driver in such a way that he could not\nmove. The men came immediately to the aid of the poor man, took him\nout, put him in his wagon and new harnessed his horse, and set him\noff comfortably on his way again. The dog sat by and saw it all. Who\nshall say how much of the compassionate love of the good Samaritan\nwas in his canine heart? Who shall exactly measure and justly\nestimate the joy of the other faithful, intelligent animal who saved\nthe crew of the wrecked vessel?\n\nOne more story of a dog I remember which is too good to be\nforgotten; as it shows, not only the sagacity, but the love and\nself-denial of one of these faithful creatures.\n\nA shepherd, whose flocks were in the high pastures on the Grampian\nHills, took with him one day his little boy who was about three\nyears of age. They had gone some distance, when he found it\nnecessary, for some reason or other, to ascend the summit of one of\nthe hills. He thought it would be too fatiguing for the child to go\nup; so he left him below with the dog, telling the little fellow to\nstay there till he returned, and charging the good and faithful dog\nto watch over the boy.\n\nScarcely had the shepherd reached the summit, before there came up\none of those very thick fogs which are common among these mountains.\nThese heavy mists often come up so suddenly and so thick that it is\nlike a dark night--you can see absolutely nothing.\n\nThe unhappy father hurried down the mountain to his little boy; but,\nfrom fright and from the utter darkness, lost the way.\n\nThe poor shepherd for many hours sought his child among the\ntreacherous swamps, the roaring cataracts and the steep precipices.\n\nNo little boy, no faithful dog could he see or hear. At length,\nnight came on, and the wretched father had to return to his cottage,\nand to the mother of his child, and say the sad words, \"He is lost.\nMy faithful dog is gone too, or he might help me find the boy.\"\n\nThat was a sad night for the poor cottagers. At break of day, the\nshepherd, with his wife and his neighbors, set out to look for the\nchild. They searched all day long, in every place where it seemed\npossible that lie could be, but all in vain. No little boy could\nthey find. The night came on, and again the poor shepherd and his\nwife came home without their child.\n\nOn their return home, they found that the dog had been there; and,\non receiving a piece of oatmeal cake, had instantly gone off with\nit. The next day and the day after, the shepherd renewed the search\nfor his child. On each day when they returned, they heard that the\ndog had been to the house, taken his piece of cake, and immediately\ndisappeared. The shepherd determined to stay at home the next day\nand watch his dog. He had a hope in his heart that the dog would\nlead him to his child.\n\nThe dog came the next day, at the same hour, took his piece of cake,\nand ran off. The shepherd followed him. He led the way to a cataract\nat some distance from the place where the father had left the child.\n\nThe bank of the cataract was steep and high, and the abyss down\nwhich the water rushed was terrific. Down the rugged and almost\nperpendicular descent, the dog, without any hesitation, began to\nmake his way. At last, he disappeared into a cave, the mouth of\nwhich was almost on a level with the cataract.\n\nThe shepherd, with great difficulty, followed. What were his\nemotions, who can tell his joy, when he beheld his little boy\neating, with much satisfaction, the piece of cake which the faithful\nanimal had just brought? The dog stood by, eying his young charge\nwith the utmost complacence.\n\nThe child had doubtless wandered from the place where he was left by\nhis father; had fallen over the precipice; had been caught by the\nbushes near the cave, and scrambled into it. The dog had either\nfollowed or found him by the scent, and had since prevented him from\nstarving by giving to him every day his own food.\n\nThe faithful, loving creature had never left the child day or night,\nexcept to get the piece of oaten cake; and then the dog went at full\nspeed, neither stopping by the way, or apparently reserving any of\nthe cake for himself.\n\nShall we not, all of us, learn love, fidelity and self-forgetfulness\nfrom such an affectionate and faithful creature?\n\n\"I don't believe I could be as good as that dog,\" said Frank.\n\n\"I know I could not,\" said Harry. \"How the shepherd and his wife\nmust have loved him! If I had been in their place, I should have\ntreated him like the little boy's brother, and kept him always in\nthe parlor.\"\n\n\"I dare say they did,\" said Mrs. Chilton.\n\nThere is an anecdote I have lately read, which shows that dogs have\ncompassion for other dogs, and will help a fellow in distress.\n\nWhen the ice suddenly melted on a river in Germany, a little dog was\nseen on a small piece of ice in the middle of the river. It was not\nknown how he got into that situation. He set up the most piteous\ncries. A large dog who saw him dashed into the river, soon reached\nthe poor spaniel, seized him by the neck, and brought him safe to\nshore, amidst the shouts and praises of the spectators.\n\nAnimals, when treated kindly, attach themselves to human beings.\nBirds build their nests near the habitations of men. In the wild,\ndistant woods all is still. One hears no song of birds. In England,\nwhere the robin is courted and made much of, he comes into the house\nand takes his food from the table.\n\nIn many parts of Europe storks build their nests on the roofs.\nSwallows, martins, sparrows and wrens often make their nests under\nour roofs. They confide in us, and trust in our friendship and care.\nLet us never, my boys, betray or abuse their confidence.\n\nThere is a kind of birds who travel all over the United States. They\ngo from South to North, from North to South. They have not, like the\nmartins, the bob-o'-links, and some others, regular times for going\nand coming; but travel more to obtain food than to escape the\nwinter, and, when once settled in a place with enough suitable food\nand water, remain there till it is exhausted, and then take flight\nto some other place.\n\n\"Are you telling us a made-up story, Mother?\" said Harry.\n\n\"No, Harry, it is really and truly the wild pigeon of America of\nwhich I am speaking. Indeed, if it were not for their great power of\nflight, they must, many of them, starve to death. A proof of their\nswiftness is the fact that a pigeon has been killed in the\nneighborhood of New York, with rice in his crop that he must have\nswallowed in the fields of Georgia or Carolina.\"\n\n\"How could any one know that?\" asked Harry.\n\n\"By remembering the fact that in one of those states is the nearest\nspot at which the bird could have found rice growing. It is a well\nascertained fact that their power of digestion is so great, that\ntheir food is in the course of twelve hours so entirely changed,\nthat one cannot know what it was. Now the distance of the rice\nfields from New York--that is, the number of miles travelled in\ntwelve hours--is such that the pigeon must have flown at the rate of\nabout a mile in a minute; so that if he pleased he might go to\nEngland in two days; but, Frank, if you will give me that pamphlet\nthat lies on the table, I will read the account of the wild pigeon\nof America from the book itself.\"\n\n\"It was written by the celebrated Audubon, who resided a great many\nyears in America, and who most faithfully watched the birds he\ndescribed.\"\n\nAfter giving an account of the speed of the pigeon, he goes on to\nsay, \"This great power of flight is seconded by as great a power of\nvision, which enables them, as they travel at that great rate, to\nview objects below, and so discover their food with facility. This I\nhave proved to be the case by observing the pigeons, as they were\npassing over a barren part of the country, keep high in the air, and\npresent such an extensive front as to enable them to observe\nhundreds of acres at once.\"\n\n\"If, on the contrary, the land is richly covered with food, or the\ntrees with mast, (the fruit of the oak and beech trees,) the birds\nfly low, in order to discover the portion of woods most plentifully\nsupplied, and there they alight. The form of body of these swift\ntravellers is an elongated (lengthened) oval steered by a long,\nwell-plumed tail,\"--just as you know, Harry, you steer your boat by\nthe rudder in the great tub of water; \"they are furnished with\nextremely well set muscular wings. If a single bird is seen gliding\nthrough the woods and close by, it passes apparently like a thought,\nand the eye, on trying to see it again, searches in vain--the bird\nis gone.\"\n\nThe multitudes of pigeons in our woods are astonishing; and, indeed,\nafter having for years viewed them so often, under so many\ncircumstances, and I may add in many different climates, I even now\nfeel inclined to pause and assure myself that what I am going to\nrelate is fact.\n\nIn the autumn of 1813, I left my house in Henderson, on the banks of\nthe Ohio, on my way to Louisville. Having met the pigeons flying\nfrom north-east to south-west in the barrens or natural wastes, a\nfew miles beyond Hardensburgh, in greater apparent numbers than I\nhad ever seen them before, I felt an inclination to count the flocks\nthat would pass within the reach of my eye in one hour. I\ndismounted, and, seating myself on a little eminence, took my pencil\nto mark down what I saw going by and over me; and I made a dot for\nevery flock which passed. Finding, however, that this was next to\nimpossible, and feeling unable to record the flocks as they\nmultiplied constantly, I arose, and counting the dots already put\ndown, discovered that one hundred and sixty-three had been made in\ntwenty-one minutes.\n\nI travelled on, and still met more flocks the farther I went. The\nair was literally filled with pigeons. The light of noonday became\ndim as during an eclipse. The continued buzz of wings over me had a\ntendency to incline my senses to repose.\n\nWhilst waiting for my dinner at Young's Inn, at the confluence of\nSalt River with the Ohio, I saw, at my leisure, immense legions\nstill going by, with a front reaching far beyond the Ohio on the\nwest, and the beech wood forest directly on the east of me. Yet not\na single bird would alight, for not a nut or acorn was that year to\nbe seen in the neighborhood.\n\nThe pigeons flew so high that different trials to reach them with a\ncapital rifle proved ineffectual, and not even the report disturbed\nthem in the least. A black hawk now appeared in their rear. At once\nlike a torrent, and with a thunder-like noise, they formed\nthemselves into almost a solid, compact mass, all pressing towards\nthe centre.\n\nIn such a solid body, they zigzagged to escape the murderous falcon,\nnow down close over the earth sweeping with inconceivable velocity,\nthen ascending perpendicularly like a vast monument, and, when high\nup, wheeling and twisting within their continuous lines, resembling\nthe coils of a gigantic serpent.\n\nBefore sunset, I reached Louisville, fifty-five miles distant from\nHardensburgh. The pigeons were still passing, and continued for\nthree days. The banks of the river were crowded with men and\nchildren, for here the pigeons flew rather low passing the Ohio.\n\nThe whole atmosphere, during the time, was full of the smell\nbelonging to the pigeon species. It is extremely curious to see\nflocks after flocks follow exactly the same evolutions when they\narrive at the same place. If a hawk, for instance, has chanced to\ncharge a portion of the army at a certain spot, no matter what the\nzigzags, curved lines, or undulations might have been during the\naffray, all the following birds keep the same track; so that if a\ntraveller happens to see one of these attacks, and feels a wish to\nhave it repeated, he may do so by waiting a short time.\n\nIt may not perhaps be out of place to attempt an estimate of the\nnumber of pigeons contained in one flock, and of the quantity of\nfood they daily consume.\n\nWe shall take, for example, a column, one mile in breadth, which is\nfar below the average size, and suppose the birds to pass over us,\nwithout interruption, for three hours, at the rate we have\nmentioned, of one mile in a minute. This will give us a line one\nhundred and eighty miles long by one broad, and covering one hundred\nand eighty square miles. Now, allowing two pigeons to the square\nyard, we have one billion, one hundred and fifteen million, one\nhundred and thirty-six thousand pigeons in one flock. As every\npigeon consumes fully half a pint of food a day, the quantity\nrequired to feed such a flock for one day must be eight million,\nseven hundred and twelve thousand bushels.\n\nAs soon as these birds discover a sufficiency of food to entice them\nto alight, they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below,\nand, at this time, exhibit all the beauty of their plumage. Now they\ndisplay a large glistening sheet of bright azure, by exposing their\nback to view. Suddenly turning, they exhibit a mass of rich, deep\npurple.\n\nNow they pass lower over the forest and are lost among the foliage,\nfor a moment, but reappear as suddenly above. Now they alight, and\nthen, as if affrighted, the whole again take to wing with a roar\nequal to loud thunder, and wander swiftly through the forest as if\nto see if danger is near.\n\nHunger, however, soon brings them all to the ground, and then they\nare seen industriously throwing up the fallen leaves to seek for\nevery beech nut or acorn. The last ranks continually pass over and\nalight in front, in such quick succession that the whole still has\nthe appearance of being on the wing. The quantity of ground thus\nharvested (moissonee) is astonishing, and so clean is the work that\nno gleaners think it worth while to follow where the pigeons have\nbeen.\n\nDuring the middle of the day, after the repast is finished, the\nwhole settle on the trees to enjoy rest, and digest the food; but,\nas the sun sinks, the army departs in a body for the roosting place,\nnot unfrequently hundreds of miles off. This has been ascertained by\npersons keeping account of the arrival at, and departure from the\ncurious roosting places, to which I must now conduct the reader.\n\nTo one of these general nightly rendezvous, not far from the banks\nof the Green River, in Kentucky, I paid repeated visits. The place\nchosen was in a portion of the forest where the trees were of great\nheight with little under-wood. I rode over the ground lengthwise\nupwards of forty miles, and crossed it in different parts,\nascertaining its average width to be a little more than three miles.\n\nMy first view of this spot was about a fortnight after the birds had\nchosen it. I arrived there nearly two hours before sunset. Few\npigeons were then to be seen, but a great number of persons with\nhorses and wagons, guns and ammunition, had already established\ndifferent camps on the borders.\n\nMany trees two feet in diameter I observed were broken at no great\ndistance from the ground, and the branches of many of the largest\nand tallest so much so that the desolation already exhibited\nequalled that of a furious tornado. The sun was lost to our view,\nyet not a pigeon had arrived. All on a sudden, I heard a general cry\nof, \"Here they come!\"\n\nThe noise which they made, though distant, reminded me of a hard\ngale at sea passing through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As\nthe birds arrived and passed over me, I felt a current of air that\nsurprised me. The stream of birds still kept increasing. Fires were\nlighted, and many people had torches, and a most magnificent, as\nwell as wonderful and terrifying sight was before me.\n\nThe pigeons, coming in by millions, alighted every where, one on the\ntop of another, until masses of them, resembling hanging swarms of\nbees as large as hogsheads were formed on every tree. These heavy\nclusters were seen to give way as the supporting branches, breaking\ndown with a crash, came to the ground, killing hundreds of birds\nbeneath, forcing down other equally large and heavy groups, and\nrendering the whole a scene of uproar and distressing confusion.\n\nI found it quite useless to speak, or even to shout to those persons\nnearest me. Even the reports of the guns were seldom heard, and I\nknew only of their going off by seeing their owners reload them. It\nwas past midnight before I perceived a decrease in the numbers\narriving.\n\nThe uproar continued, however, the whole night; and, as I was\nanxious to know to what distance the sound reached, I sent off a\nman, who told me afterwards, that at three miles he heard the sound\ndistinctly. Towards the approach of day, the noise rather subsided;\nbut long ere objects were at all distinguishable, the pigeons began\nto move off in a direction quite different from that from which they\nhad arrived the day before.\n\nThe place they choose for building their nests, is very unlike the\nscene of confusion the roosting place presents. There you see the\ntenderest affection. The birds find some forest where the trees are\nvery high and large, and at a convenient distance from the water. To\nthis place myriads of pigeons fly. There, in harmony and love, they\nbuild their nests with parental care. Fifty or a hundred nests, made\nof a few dried sticks, crossed in different ways, and supported by\nsuitable forks in the branches, may be seen on the same tree. The\ntwo birds take turns to sit on the eggs; but the mother sits the\nlongest. The male feeds her from his bill with the greatest\ntenderness, takes care of her, and does every thing he can to please\nher.\n\nNow it is bed-time, so good night!\"","title":"True Stories about Dogs and Cats","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":12066}