Chapter 2

I have now a story of a roguish dog that I think we could not praise so much for his goodness as for his cunning. A gentleman in Paris was in the habit of crossing every day one of the bridges over the Seine, on his way to his place of business. One day, a very dirty poodle dog rubbed himself so against his boots as to make it necessary to get a man, who sat at one end of the bridge with blacking, to clean them. The next day the same thing occurred, and again and again, till, at last, the gentleman suspected that the bootblack had taught the dog this trick, in order by that means to get customers. He watched, and saw, when he approached the bridge, Master Poodle go and roll himself in a mud puddle, and then come and rub himself against his boots. The gentleman accused the bootblack of the trick. After a while the man laughed, and confessed his roguery."

"That poodle was a brick," said Harry.

"One more story of dogs. A surgeon of Leeds, in England, found a little spaniel who had been lamed. The surgeon carried the poor animal home, bandaged up his leg, and after two or three days turned him out. The dog returned to the surgeon's house every morning till his leg was perfectly well.

At the end of several months, the spaniel again presented himself, bringing another dog who had also been lamed, and intimating, as plainly as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he desired the same kind assistance to be rendered to his friend as had been bestowed upon himself.

But I am forgetting poor puss.

Mr. W., a friend of mine, whose word might be taken for any thing, told me an extraordinary anecdote of a cat, which he said he knew to be true.

A friend of his was setting out on a voyage to some place, I forget where. Every thing was carried on board, and the two friends were in the cabin about taking leave of each other. "I asked my friend before parting," said Mr. W., "whether he had every thing that he wanted; if there was nothing more that he could think of to make him more comfortable or happy on his voyage." "One thing," he replied, "would add to my pleasure very much, if you would bring it to me. In the counting room of my store is a small white cat; I am very fond of the poor thing, and she will miss me I know; I should like to take her with me." I immediately went ashore and found his little cat looking very sorrowful in his lonely room; I carried her to him. They seemed mutually pleased at meeting."

When the vessel returned, Mr. W. received this account from the officers of the ship. They said that his friend made a great pet of the cat, and fed her always at his own meal times. He taught her to stand on her hind legs and ask for her food; he made her jump over a stick for his amusement; in short, he taught her to perform a great many amusing tricks. The officers and men were all very fond of poor little puss.

At length, the young man became very ill. The cat would not leave him night or day. At last, one day, she left the cabin and began to run about the ship, making the most terrible mewing. The sailors offered her food; she refused it. She would not be comforted. Finally, her cries turned into a complete howl. She manifested the greatest suffering, and, at last, she ran off to the end of the bowsprit and leaped into the sea. Just at the moment that the poor little faithful, loving cat was swallowed up by the waves, her human friend breathed his last, and they both entered the invisible land together.

Such an extraordinary event, and the gloom which a death at sea always casts over a ship's company, both together made the sailors even more than usually superstitious. They all declared that, every night at that same hour when the sick man died, a white cat was seen leaping into the ocean. The white crests of the breaking waves might easily thus appear to an ignorant person who lives, as a sailor does, in the midst of the wonders and sublime scenes which the ocean presents, in the awful terrors of its storms, or the serene glory of its quiet hours. But the love of the poor dumb animal for its master--that was a beautiful reality.

I have a story now for you, Frank, about a horse, as I know you are particularly fond of horses. An Arab chief with his tribe had attacked in the night a caravan, and had plundered it; when loaded with their spoil, however, the robbers were overtaken on their return by some horsemen of the Pacha of Acre, who killed several, and bound the remainder with cords. The horsemen brought one of the prisoners, named Abou el Mavek, to Acre, and laid him, bound hand and foot, wounded as he was, at the entrance to their tent. As they slept during the night, the Arab, kept awake by the pain of his wounds, heard his horse's neigh at a distance, and being desirous to stroke, for the last time, the companion of his life, he dragged himself, bound as he was, to the horse which was picketed at a little distance.

"Poor friend," said he; "what will you do among the Turks? You will be shut up under the roof of a khan, with the horses of a pacha or an aga; no longer will the women and children of the tent bring you barley, camel's milk, or dourra, in the hollow of their hands. No longer will you gallop, free as the wind of Egypt, in the desert. No longer will you cleave with your bosom the water of the Jordan which cools your sides, as pure as the foam of your lips. If I am to be a slave, at least may you go free. Go, return to our tent which you know so well; tell my wife that Abou el Marek will return no more; but put your head still into the folds of the tent, lick the hands of my beloved children."

With these words, he untied with his teeth the fetters, and set the courser at liberty. But the noble animal, on recovering its freedom, instead of bounding away alone, bent its head over its master, and, seeing him in fetters, took his clothes gently in its teeth, lifted him up, set off at full speed, and, without ever resting, made straight for the distant but well-known tent in the mountains.

The horse arrived in safety, laid his master down at the feet of his wife and children, and immediately dropped down dead with fatigue. The whole tribe mourned him, the poets celebrated his fidelity, and his name is still constantly in the mouths of the Arabs of Jericho.

And now, boys, let us talk about the elephant a little. I have been reading something of his history, and I am disposed to think that, of all animals, he is, on the whole, the most intelligent."

"More intelligent than the dog, Mother?"

"Yes, it seems so to me. He is not so disinterested, so loving, but he reasons more than any other animal. He is also capable of very strong attachment, but he will not bear ill treatment. The elephant seems revengeful. The dog still loves the master who is unkind to him.

The elephant will learn to assist his master in his work. An elephant who belonged to the Duke of Devonshire would come out of her house when her keeper called her, take up a broom, and stand ready to sweep the paths and grass when he told her to do so. She would take up a pail or a watering pot, and follow him round the place, ready to do his bidding. Her keeper usually rode on her neck, like the elephant drivers in India, and he always spread over her a large, strong cloth for alighting, which the elephant, by kneeling, allowed him to do. He desired her to take off the cloth. This she contrived to do by drawing herself up in such a way that the shrinking of her loose skin moved the cloth, and it gradually wriggled on one side, till, at last, it would fall by its own weight. The cloth, of course, fell all in a heap; but the elephant would spread it carefully on the grass, and then fold it up, as you fold your napkin, till it was small enough for her purpose; then she held it up with her trunk for a moment, and, at last, with one jerk, threw it up over her head to the centre of her back, where it remained for use, out of the way, ready for next time, and as nicely placed as if human hands had put it there.

A few years ago, an elephant in London was taught to take part in a play. She came in and marched very properly in a procession. At the waving of her keeper's hand, she would kneel down and salute any individual, or put a crown on the head of the true prince. She would eat and drink with great propriety of manner, and make her reverence to the audience. But all this is nothing to what the elephants were taught by the Romans. The keepers, by treating their elephants with the utmost kindness, taking care of them as to health, and doing every thing to make them happy, acquired over them the greatest power. The elephants learned to love music. They were at first frightened by the loud instruments; but, after a while, became very fond of all, particularly of the gentle flute, at which they would show their delight by beating time with their great feet. The keepers accustomed them to the sight of great multitudes of people. At one time, when a particular exhibition of the docility of elephants was required, twelve of the most sagacious and well trained were made to march into the theatre with a regular step. At the voice of their keeper, they moved in harmonious measure, sometimes in a circle, and sometimes divided into parties, scattering flowers around them. In the intervals of the dance, they would beat time to the music, and were careful to keep in proper order. After this display, the elephants were feasted, as the Romans were in the habit of feasting themselves, in grand style. Splendid couches were placed, ornamented with paintings and covered with tapestry. Before the couches, upon tables of ebony and cedar, was spread the banquet, in vessels of gold and silver. When the feast was prepared, the twelve elephants marched in; six gentleman elephants dressed in the robes of men, and six lady elephants attired in women's clothes. They lay down in order upon the couches; and then, at a certain signal, extended their trunks, and eat their suppers with the most praiseworthy moderation and propriety. "Not one of them," says the historian of the elephant, "appeared the least voracious, or manifested the least desire for more than his share of the food, or an undue proportion of the delicacies. They were as moderate also in their drink, and received the cups that were presented to them with the greatest decorum and temperance."

The elephants were taught to hurl javelins, and catch them with their trunks, and to pretend to fight with each other, for the amusement of their warlike masters, and were taught also to perform a dance. Finally, these wonderful animals would do what you would think was utterly impossible. You remember, when the circus riders were here seeing a man walk and dance on a rope."

"Yes, Mother," said Frank; "but an elephant could not do that, I'm sure."

"Historians of Rome, supposed to give true accounts, say that the elephants were taught to walk along a rope forward and then backward. One elephant is described as walking up a slanting rope to the roof of the theatre with a man on his back."

"I should not have liked to be the man on his back," said Harry.

"It is as astonishing, perhaps more so, that a horse has been taught to do similar things. When I was in Paris, I saw some horses dance a quadrille very respectably, and keep excellent time. One of the Roman historians relates, "An elephant, having been punished for stupidity in executing some feat which he was required to learn, was observed, at night, endeavoring to practise what he had failed to perform in the daytime." It is mentioned that elephants have been observed practising their lessons by moonlight, without any directions from the keepers. Think what a good example elephants are for school boys. I have only told you a very little about this wonderful animal; yet enough, I hope, to make you want to read some of the many books about him. You have, I think, read of the story of the elephant who was wounded in his proboscis or trunk, and, in his anger, unintentionally killed his keeper, and of what the keeper's wife did."

"No, Mother," said Frank; "we have never read it. What did she do?"

"In her despair, not knowing what she did, she held out her son, and said to the raging animal, "Take him too." The angry elephant became quiet. He seemed to understand the agony of the poor woman. He gently lifted and placed upon his back the little child, and ever after obeyed him for a master."

"You know the story in Evenings at Home, Mother, of the Elephant and the Cobbler, how the fellow pricked the elephant's trunk, and how the elephant punished him by squirting muddy water all over him."

"Yes. The elephant's trunk is so susceptible that nothing enrages him so much as any wound on it. He cannot bear patiently the slightest scratch.

Now I will tell you a story of a lion. An English gentleman, who was living in India, had a fancy to see what effect extreme gentleness, and kindness, and very simple diet would have upon the character of the lion. The gentleman had the good fortune to get a baby lion for the experiment. He made a real pet of him. He fed him with bread and milk and rice, and such things, and took care always to satisfy him with food. The young lion loved his master, who was always very kind to him, and who was really very fond of his lionship. This man lived, as in India a gentleman often does, in a house by himself, and could easily have his friend lion with him, without annoying any one. The baby grew bigger and bigger, and became a good-sized, full-grown lion. He was gentle and happy, full of play, and rather a pleasant companion to his two-legged friend. Whether the lion ever roared for his master's amusement, the friend who told me this story did not say.

At last, this gentleman wished to return to England to see his old mother. He was too much attached to his lion to leave him, and so took him in the place of a dog. The lion was very good all the voyage. No one had a word to say against him. His conduct and manners were faultless. He played with the sailors, he obeyed his master, and, in short, was a very quiet, well-behaved, human lion. When the gentleman arrived in England, as soon as he could leave the ship, he called for a carriage to take him to his mother. When he got into the carriage, the lion jumped in after him. "Your honor," said the driver, "I'm afraid of that beast." "O, never mind," said the gentleman; "he'll not hurt you." "But, your honor, I never in my born days took a lion in my carriage. It's not a place for such brutes." "There's always a first time," said the gentleman. "Here's a crown for my lion; and now get on; I can't wait." The cabman, thinking it wise to make the best of things, and not quarrel with a man who had a lion for a friend, stepped up on his box, and drove away rattlety-bang to Regent's Park, some three or four miles' drive. The lion was much astonished, and sat bolt upright on his hind legs, looking out of the window. He did not appreciate the BEAUTIES of London; he was disgusted with the noise, and growled a little. The driver heard him, and drove all the faster. Poor Lord Lion, his temper was tried; but he bore it better than most lions would. At last, the cab stopped at the house of the gentleman's mother. He sprang out, and rang the bell: "Does Mrs. B. live here?" "Yes, sir." "Is she well?" The footman turned pale as ashes, and scampered off as if he thought the lion would devour him. The gentleman ran up stairs, and the lion after him. In another moment, the arms of the son were around his mother. Presently, the lady saw the lion. She had heard of her son's pet, and saw she was in no danger. She begged her son, however, to put him down in the yard and keep him chained, or she should not have a servant in the house. The lion was not happy chained. The gentleman, finding, moreover, that he could not go into the streets with his friend without being followed by a mob, at last placed him in the Tower, where there were other lions, and gave many charges that the pet lion should be well treated. Many years afterwards, the gentleman returned from another voyage to India; and, after seeing his mother, went to the Tower to see his friend. When he came to the large cage in which the lion was confined, the keeper said, "This is our finest and our fiercest lion." "Open the door," said the gentleman. The keeper, not knowing him, objected. The gentleman insisted, and entered. The lion was lying down, and, seeing a man in his cage, for a moment looked angry; in another moment he rose on his hind legs, put his paws around his old master, and showed the greatest delight at seeing him."

"Why, he was almost as good as a dog," said Frank. "But now, Mother, please tell us the story about a bear which you said you heard on your journey last summer."

"I ought rather," said Mrs. Chilton, "to call it the story of a cow, for she was the heroine of the tale. I was travelling with a small party among the White Hills. When we stopped to dine, we saw a number of people assembled around the door of the hotel, and found that they were looking at a black bear that had been just shot. This bear had inspired the neighborhood with some fear, for he was a large one. They had tried a number of times to shoot him; but all in vain. Master Bruin was never off his guard. At last, the poor fellow foolishly left the deep wild wood, where he could easily hide himself, for a little grove. When the villagers saw his mistake, they immediately took steps to surround the grove. The number of the inhabitants was small; so they summoned all the women and children, as well as the men, and so got an unbroken line all around the little wood. As soon as the bear sought any part, in order to escape, he was saluted by the most frightful screams, as well as a shower of stones. He fled to the opposite side, but there met with the same reception. This went on for some time. At last, some one succeeded in shooting him. He measured a little over six feet from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, and his teeth were very formidable.

A gentleman who had assisted in the capture of the bear, told me the story I promised to tell you of the cow and the bear. A little girl, about twelve or thirteen years of age, was sent by her mother, one afternoon, to bring home the cows from a neighboring wood, where they were at pasture. There were many fallen trees, as is often the case in our wild woods; and the child amused herself by climbing over the trunks.

Now, one of the black-looking logs was a large bear that was lying asleep, and the little girl jumped right upon his growling majesty. The bear arose, evidently not quite pleased at being made a stepping stone, took the little girl in his great shaggy paws, and gave her an ugly hug, such as only a bear can give. Mr. Bear would have squeezed the breath out of the body of the poor little girl, had not the good old cow seen the danger. The courageous creature, instead of running away, turned back immediately, and began goring the bear with her horns in such a way as to force old Bruin, if he valued a whole hide, to turn round and defend himself. So he let go his hold on the little girl, who, though sadly frightened and bruised, was still strong enough to run towards home. Presently the bear followed her. Immediately the cow attacked him again with her horns, and drove him off. This continued till they got out of the wood, when the bear ran back to his own home. The gentleman who told us this story said he had seen the little girl, and that she had never quite recovered from the effect of the horrid squeeze of the grim old bear, but still suffered in her chest. Still she was thankful that her life was saved, and always considered the good old cow her preserver."

"Why, Mother," said Frank, "I did not think that a cow could be good for any thing but to give milk."

"In Germany, they use cows for draught, and make them work pretty hard. There you see cows every day doing the same work that our oxen do, and giving the poor man his supper at the end of the day besides; and it is said that the labor does not hurt them. The Germans feed the cows well, treat them gently and kindly, but make them, as well as the dogs, work for a living."

"Now I will tell you a story about a pike. We are apt to think fishes very stupid; that they have no feeling. A gentleman in England, a surgeon and a naturalist, told me of what he had himself seen. A pike had struck its head against a tenter hook on a post in the pond where he was swimming. His agony was so great that he darted backward and forward with the greatest rapidity, then buried his head in the mud, then whirled his tail round and round, and threw himself up into the air to the height of two or three feet, and, at last, he threw himself out of the pond upon the grass. Dr. Warwick placed his hand on the fish, examined the injury, and observed that the hook had entered the skull, wrenching up one side of the bone and depressing the other, and that a small part of the brain had escaped. With a toothpick the doctor restored the bones to their proper places. The patient remained perfectly still during the operation, and after-ward was returned to his native element. He seemed restless for a little while, and then lay quiet. Dr. Warwick then made a sort of cradle in which he placed the poor sufferer, who seemed disposed to lie still on one side."

"The next day, very early, Dr. Warwick went to the pond. To his astonishment, he found that the pike knew and remembered him. The fish came to the edge of the pond, placed his jaw upon the toe of the doctor's boot, let himself be taken hold of and caressed, and allowed the wound to be examined. It was much better. When the doctor walked along the side of the pond, the fish followed him. When the doctor returned from his walk, he found his patient watching for him. The pike then swam backward and forward while the doctor remained there. The fish had lost one eye in consequence of the wound from the hook, and, when his blind side was towards the doctor, was always very restless. The poor fellow seemed anxious to keep his surgical friend in sight. The doctor would often whistle when he went to the pond; and the pike always came at the call, and showed pleasure at seeing him. Dr. Warwick introduced his family to his friend and patient, the pike. The grateful fish allowed them to give him food, and put aside much of his native shyness. In truth, he received their attentions very civilly, but he always showed a decided preference for his medical friend. Dr. Warwick was the father of my friend, Mrs. A., in Liverpool. He related all these facts to me himself, and they are all to be perfectly relied upon."

Now I will read you a German story called Caliph Stork.

One pleasant afternoon, the Caliph of Bagdad was sitting comfortably on his sofa: he had slept a little, (for it was a hot day,) and looked quite bright after his nap. He was smoking a long rose-wood pipe, and sipping coffee, which was poured out for him by a slave; and occasionally he stroked his beard with great satisfaction. In short, it was evident that he felt quite pleasantly.

This was the best time of day for speaking with him; for at this hour he was always very good-natured and affable; and, on this account, the Grand Vizier Mansor always visited him at this hour. He came also this afternoon, but looking very thoughtful, quite against his wont. The caliph took the pipe partly away from his mouth, and said, "What makes you look so thoughtful, Grand Vizier?"

The grand vizier crossed his arms over his breast, bowed to his master, and answered, "Sir! whether I look thoughtful or not is more than I know; but certain it is, that there is a pedler down stairs who has such beautiful things, that it vexes me not to have any money to spare."