Wild Nature Won By Kindness Part 5

THE CALIFORNIAN MOUSE.

A rather strange parcel from California reached me by post some years ago. It was marked "Live animals with care," and consisted of a box, containing several divisions, each having fine wire-work to admit air.

In one I found a spiny creature called a Gecko, in another a beautiful lizard which had not survived the journey, and in the third a very rare species of mouse known as _Perognathus Pencillatus_. It has a soft silky coat of silver grey and fawn colour, and a long tail with a little tuft at the end, very large black eyes and white paws. It was alive, but weak and tired with its journey of ten days and all the jars and shocks it must have had by the way. I gave it warm milk and soaked bread, which it seemed to enjoy, and some hours later it was supplied with wheat grains, the food upon which it lives in its native country.

True to his natural instinct, mousie soon began to fill both his cheek pouches with the corn, and tried to hide it away as a supply for the future. In a few days the little creature was in perfect health, and he has been a great pet now for several years; perfectly tame and gentle, he will run about on the table and amuse himself happily wherever he is placed.

Being entirely inodorous he is kept in the drawing-room in a mahogany cage which was made specially to meet his small requirements. He is a busy little creature at night, as he likes daily to make a fresh bed of cotton-wool, and fusses about with his mouth full of material until he has arranged his little couch.

In his own country, where the cold is very severe in winter, its habit is to become perfectly unconscious, exactly as if dead, and in that state it can endure the rigour of the climate and wake up when the temperature rises. It was once left in a cold room and became in this apparently lifeless state. I was not alarmed, as I knew of its peculiarity, but it really was difficult to believe it ever could revive; there was no trace of warmth, or any apparent beating of the heart, and so it lay for some days, but on bringing it into a warm room it became as bright and active as ever. It seems a more intense form of hibernation than that of our squirrel and dormouse.

The naturalist at San Bernardino, from whom I obtained this mouse, told me he had kept one as a pet for many years, and his specimen lived entirely without water; as there was sufficient moisture in the wheat grains on which it fed to supply its need; but I think it is cruel to keep anything without the means of quenching thirst which might arise from an artificial mode of life, so my little pet has always a small jar of water to which I know it resorts from its requiring to be refilled from time to time.

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SANCHO THE TOAD.

About four years ago I began to feed a toad that had found its way into the conservatory. He sat daily in one place expecting his meal-worms, and when he had snapped them up with his curious sticky tongue he would retire to some hidden nook and be invisible until the next day. Each winter he has hibernated as soon as cold weather began, and reappeared with the spring suns.h.i.+ne. Sancho is now a very portly, and most amusing pet.

Few people would guess how much character can be shown by even this poor, despised reptile when treated with real kindness, regularly fed, and never frightened or abused. I will describe what happens when Sancho is "shown to the public."

Some meal-worms are thrown on the pavement near him. He sits for a time gazing at them with his gold-rimmed eyes; then slowly creeps towards them, fixes his eyes on one of the worms bends his head a little towards it, then one hears a snap and the prey is taken. The act is so rapid that one can never see the tongue that has picked up the meal-worm--simply it is gone! The toad's eyes are tightly shut whilst he swallows the morsel, and then he turns to pick up a second. Now is the time to approach him from behind and begin to stroke his leathery, warty skin. In a few seconds he is in a state of perfect ecstasy, his front legs are stretched out, he leans first to one side, then to the other, to guide the hand where he wishes to be stroked, and at last uplifts his ponderous body until he is an inch or more from the ground, supported on the tips of his toes. No description can do justice to the absurdity of the att.i.tude, and the rapture seems so intense that food is forgotten, and so long as Sancho can get any one to stroke him, he is quite oblivious to all around him, although at other times he will hop away as soon as any stranger approaches.

Sancho will not, as yet, take anything from my hand, but I hope to bring him to that state of tameness in course of time.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: ROMAN SNAILS.]

ROMAN SNAILS.

"How _can_ you take an interest in snails and slugs?--horrid, slimy, crawling things!" More than once have I heard this kind of remark from youthful lips when I produced my grand old Roman snails and gave them a pleasant time for exercise upon the dewy lawn. Now in my secret mind I think a snail is a wonderfully curious creature, neither ugly nor "horrid"--it _is_ slimy, but about that I shall have something to say later on.

When staying at Box Hill, near Dorking, I often saw the great apple snail, _Helix Pomatia_, which is only found on chalk soils, and is supposed to have been introduced by the Romans, from the quant.i.ties of their empty sh.e.l.ls found with Roman remains in all parts of England.

They were kept and fattened in places called "Cochlearia" and made into various "dainty dishes" which the Romans thought quite fit to set before their kings. It is certain that they are very nutritious creatures, and that in times of famine people have supported life and kept themselves mysteriously "fat and well-liking" by resorting to snails and slugs as articles of diet. Indeed I have heard more than once that the famous "Pate de Guimauve" owes its healing nutritive character to this despised univalve, which is said to enter largely into its composition. I brought several apple snails home with me from Box Hill and kept them for many years, until I really believe the creatures, in a dim sort of way, recognized me as their friend, or at any rate their feeder. I cannot boast, as I believe an American lady is said to have done, that "her tame oysters followed her up and down stairs," but certainly my snails would, when placed upon the lawn, very frequently crawl towards me, and would do so again and again when removed to a distance. As the weather became cold they always hibernated, closing the mouth of the sh.e.l.l with a thin, firm covering, or operculum, of chalk, which, mixed with their slime, made a substance like plaster of Paris. Thus enclosed they would lie as if dead until the warmth of the following spring made them push the door open and come out, with excellent appet.i.tes, ready to eat voraciously to make up for their long fast. These Roman snails were quite five inches long when fully extended, and therefore were much larger than our English species; the body was cream colour and the sh.e.l.l a pale tint of buff varying somewhat in different specimens.

These creatures were kept in a fern case with gla.s.s top and sides, and it was singular to observe the way in which they could suspend themselves (as shown in the drawing) from the top of the box.

The substance which exists in the caterpillar of the silkworm moth, and which can be drawn out into fine shreds of silk, is very similar to the slime of the snail, only in the latter it is not filiform, but exudes as a liquid and then hardens into a thin layer of silk which is strong enough to support the weight of two of these snails, for, seeing them one day thus suspended, I put them in the scales and ascertained that the weight of the two amounted to 2-1/2 ounces.

This mucus forms the glistening, s.h.i.+ny track which the snail leaves behind it, enabling it to glide easily and painlessly over rough substances which would otherwise lacerate its soft body.

One hardly expected to find social feeling and affection in animals so low down in the scale of nature, but I do not know what else could have led my "Romans" to caress each other with their long horns by the hour together and always keep close to one another, twisting and curling their yielding bodies round each other in the most odd contortions. Our English snails hibernate in whole colonies for the winter, which also points to their affectionate and gregarious habits.

In lifting up some moss I once came upon some yellow, half-transparent eggs about as large as pearl barley, and wis.h.i.+ng to know what they would prove to be I kept them in damp moss under a tumbler for about a fortnight, when, to my dismay, I found a grand colony of yellow slugs!

and not a little was I teased about these interesting young people. I am afraid I must own they were given as a _bonne bouche_ to my Virginian nightingale, who seemed highly to approve of this addition to his daily fare. Snails' eggs are nearly white and semi-transparent; the empty sh.e.l.ls of young snails are very lovely when placed in a good microscope: the polariscope bringing out their exquisite prismatic tints.

The gardener one day brought in a testacella, or sh.e.l.led slug. It fed upon earth-worms and was quite unlike the ordinary black or grey slug, of which we have, alas! countless thousands preying upon all the green things of the earth. This sh.e.l.led slug was yellow, and seemed able to elongate its body very differently to any other species. The sh.e.l.l was quite small, a simple dome-shaped plate upon the anterior part of the body. I kept it for some weeks on damp moss under a tumbler, but it was often able to escape by flattening itself to a mere thread and then crawling under the rim of the tumbler, and at last I gave it liberty as a reward for its persevering efforts to obtain its freedom.

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AN EARWIG MOTHER.

I had often read of the earwig as an incubating insect, and much wished to see for myself how she carried out her motherly instincts. One bright May morning found me busily turning over stones, clinkers, and old tree-roots in a fernery, which, having been long undisturbed, seemed a likely spot for the nest I wished to find. There seemed no scarcity of worms, wood-lice, centipedes, or beetles, but no earwigs could I see; and I was just about to give up the search when, lifting a piece of stone, I saw a small cavity, about as large as would contain a pea, and in it lay about twenty-six round, white eggs, hard-sh.e.l.led and s.h.i.+ning, of the size of a small pin's head. An earwig had placed herself over the eggs, and I was delighted to think at last I had lighted upon the insect mother I had been searching for. But what was to be done with her? How could I watch the process of incubation? The difficulty was solved by lifting the nest and its mother with a trowel and placing it in a saucer under a tumbler, without any displacement of the eggs; thus the mother's care could be conveniently watched. The earwig first carefully examined her new home, touching each morsel of earth and stone with her antennae; and, having ascertained the exact condition of things, she set to work to make a fresh nest, labouring with great industry until it was formed to her mind. She then took up the eggs, one by one, with her mandibles, and placed them in the new nest, arranging and rearranging them, until at last she seemed content, and remained either upon or near them for the rest of the day, quite motionless.

Every night, and sometimes two or three times in the day, she would form fresh places in the earth, and replace the eggs. To prevent the soil becoming too dry, I used to sprinkle a little water upon it--a drop here and there--and if by accident the water fell too near the eggs, the earwig became much excited, hurrying to and fro with her eggs, until they were all removed to a drier spot. On the other hand, if I omitted the water until the earth became dry, she would choose the dampest spot that remained in which to form her nest, and seemed to welcome the water-drops, drinking herself from them, and feeling the damp earth with her antennae. She remained thus for three weeks, feeding on little pieces of beef or mutton, or an occasional fly; I did not then know that earwigs are mostly vegetable feeders, but it is clear they can eat other food when needful. The first time I dropped a newly-killed house-fly near her she looked at it intently, felt it with her antennae, and then suddenly wheeled round and pinched it with her forceps, and being apparently satisfied that it could do no harm to her eggs, she began to devour it, and after an hour or two but little remained except the wings.

As it was early in the year, but few insects could be seen, but by searching in the conservatory I found a large green aphis, which I gave to the earwig. To my surprise, instead of devouring it at once, she applied herself to one of the projecting tubes of the aphis, and evidently sucked its sweet secretion, and enjoyed it as much and in the same way as ants are said to do. She feasted thus for four or five minutes, but I am sorry to add that, unlike the humane ants, who care tenderly for their aphides and preserve their lives by kind treatment, the earwig ended by munching up the unfortunate aphis, till not a trace of it was left.

At the end of three weeks I found one morning all the eggs were hatched, and tiny, snow-white earwigs, with forceps and antennae fully developed, were creeping about and around their mother. I placed a slice of pear in the saucer, upon which the little ones swarmed, and seemed to find it congenial food. In a few days they increased to nearly double their size when first hatched, and turned a light brown colour. Having ascertained all I wished to know about the maternal instincts of the earwig, I released the mother and her family, and no doubt she was happy enough to return to her old haunt in the fernery, and would greatly prefer tree-roots and stones to my tumbler-and-saucer arrangement.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: EGYPTIAN BEETLES.]

THE SACRED BEETLE.

On reading books on Egypt and the voyage up the Nile, one is sure to find some mention of the curious beetle which is found along the banks of the river, especially in Nubia, where the sh.o.r.e is traceried with the footprints of the busy little creature. Miss Edwards, in her very interesting book, "A Thousand Miles up the Nile," thus speaks of it: "Every one knows how this scarab was adopted by the Egyptians as an emblem of creative power and the immortality of the soul; it is to be seen in the wall-sculptures, on the tombs, cut out in precious stones and worn as an ornament, buried in the mummy-cases, and a figure of the beetle forms a hieroglyph, and represents a word signifying 'To be and to transform.' If actual wors.h.i.+p was not paid to _Scaraboeus Sacer_,[1]

it was, at any rate, regarded with the greatest reverence and a vast amount of symbolism drawn from its various characteristics."

[Footnote 1: Or _Ateuchus Sacer_.]

I had often wished to see this insect alive, and one day my wish was very unexpectedly gratified by the arrival of a small tin box in which I found a specimen of the sacred beetle swathed in wet linen like a veritable mummy, only, instead of being an Egyptian specimen, this had come from a kind friend at the Riviera, who knew that the same species existed there, and had sent me this one by post. The scarab was at once named "Cheops," and treated with all the respect due to his ancient family traditions.

His wants were easily supplied: a deep tin box, with earth and moss slightly damped, gave him s.p.a.ce for exercise; and then for food--alas!

that his tastes should be so degraded--he had to be supplied with cow-dung! This could be done in secret, and judiciously hidden by fair, green moss; but when exhibiting my cherished pet to admiring friends the first question was sure to be, "What does he feed upon?" and one had to take refuge in vague generalities about organic substances, &c., which might mean anything, and then, by diverting attention to some point of interest apart from the food question, the difficulty was generally overcome.

I kept a close watch to see if the beetle would be led by instinct to form its round pellets of mud as is its custom on the banks of the Nile, and having placed its egg in the centre, it begins to roll it from the margin of the river until it is above high-water mark. There it digs a hole and buries the pellet, leaving the sun to hatch the eggs in due time. Travellers who have watched the process describe the untiring way in which both the male and female beetle roll these pellets, often falling down with their burden into holes and ridges in the rough ground; but then their comrades will give them help, and, picking up the ball, they patiently labour on. Walking backwards, having the pellet between their broad hind legs, they push it up and up until it is placed in safety. The persevering energy of this insect led the Egyptians to adopt it as an emblem of the labours of their great deity, Osiris, or the sun; they also traced a resemblance in the spiny projections on its head to the rays of the sun.

Great was my delight to find at length that Cheops--even in captivity--was true to his native instincts, that he had formed a pellet about the size of a marble and was gravely rolling it with his hind legs backwards and forwards in his box. Poor captive! he was evidently puzzled what to do with the precious thing. He had no Nile bank to surmount, and the sun was hardly warm enough to encourage any hope for his future family; but he did the only thing that was possible--he set to work to scoop out a hole of sufficient size, then rolled the pellet in and covered it over with loose earth. Three such pellets were made at intervals of a few days; one of them I unearthed and kept as a curio.