Homes Without Hands: Being a Description of the Habitations of Animals, Classed According to Their Principle of Construction

In like manner, also, the beautiful gold-tail moth (Porthesia chrysorrhœa), so well known for the soft downy plumage of its wings, and the large round tuft of golden hairs upon the end of its body, robs itself of the latter adornment after it has laid its eggs, and shelters the future brood with an elegant thatch, composed of those downy hairs. Yet there is no self-sacrifice involved in the act, which is as purely instinctive as that of laying the eggs; and I do not believe that the insect has the least idea of the future prospects of the eggs, or possesses any foreknowledge of the snow and bitter frost of the coming winter. Even if she did know that she was depriving herself of a natural adornment for the sake of her offspring, the act would lose little of its instinctive character, and may find a parallel in humanity, when a fond mother devotes the once-cherished robes of her bridehood to her babe, and feels the keenest enjoyment in wrapping the costly furs and sheeny satins around its little limbs.

So with the ordinary incubation of birds. Didactic writers are in the habit of holding up for our admiration the conduct of the bird who leaves all her accustomed pleasures, and submits to a voluntary imprisonment in her nest until her eggs are hatched. These writers are entirely wrong, inasmuch as they assign to the lower animals certain attributes which belong only to man. I do not intend to depreciate in any way the faculties of the animal creation. On the contrary, I believe that the lower animals are endowed with gifts more extended than we generally suppose. But, as has already been remarked, we must not judge them by our own standard; and, instead of elevating them to our position, we should try to lower ourselves to theirs. By doing so there is nothing derogatory to the pre-eminence of human nature. We know that the best schoolmaster is not merely he who is the best scholar, but he who possesses the faculty of descending from his lofty elevation, of identifying himself with his pupils, and, for the time, sharing their ignorance, and so placing himself in their position. In like manner, the best naturalist is not necessarily he who has read the most about animals, nor he who attributes to them the feelings which he himself would experience in similar situations, but he who can divest himself, for the nonce, of his superiority, and conjecture the thoughts which would enter the limited minds of the creatures with which he is brought in contact.

Suppose, for example, that I am training a dog, which happens to be the case at present. If I were to judge the motives of that dog by my own ideas, I should fall into grievous errors, and fail entirely in my object. At present the animal commits various misdemeanors; but, as he does not know them to be such, I should be very wrong were I to punish him for them. He is at present obedient to instinct alone, and, until his reasoning powers have been brought into play, I should not only have no right to punish him for any instinctive act, but should greatly retard the duration of his training.

Being unused to human society, he had no idea that he might not jump on the table and help himself to meat; and his only idea of shoes, shawls, and other articles of clothing was, that they were charming playthings, which could be bitten and shaken without hurting his teeth. So, when I see him standing on the table, busily at work on a joint, or come upon him in the act of worrying my favorite shoe, I do not fly in a passion with him and beat him, but quietly put a stop to his proceedings, and tell him that he is not to do so again. Not being terrified by the fear of ill treatment, he perfectly understands the sense though not the ipsissima verba of the remonstrance, and proves his intelligence by his acts. For example, if he takes another shoe and is discovered, he immediately drops his tail and ears, and looks like the culprit that he is. Being a delinquent, and knowing that he is so, he receives the punishment due to the offense, and ever afterward the very word "shoe" will make him look utterly ashamed of himself.

Again, if he scampers over my newly-dug flower-borders, and lies down on my best bed of mignonette, I reflect that, in his position, I should have done just the same thing, not knowing that there was any harm in it. So I call him off the flowers, and explain to him that he is to restrict his gambols to the gravel and lawn. If, after the explanation, he persists in running over the borders, he becomes a conscious delinquent, and is punished accordingly.

Moreover, I manage so that he fancies the punishment to be inherent in the offense. For example, the animal at present in training is a Skye puppy of the purest breed, and as such is liable to be carried off by the numerous vagabonds who turn a dishonest penny by dog-stealing. His orders are, that he is not to go into the road on any pretext whatever, and, as a necessary consequence, he is always burning to do so. Therefore, I keep a watch upon him, and as soon as he pushes his way under the gate, he gets such a shower of swan-shot about his ears that he yelps in sudden terror, and dives back again. On such occasions he always comes up to me, as if to report himself, and I always pat him and pretend to know nothing about his intended escapade.

It is through the neglect of this simple principle that so many animals are made savage, or sulky, or stupid, by the clowns—whether in fustian or broadcloth—who have the charge of them. They lay down certain arbitrary rules of their own, neglect to teach these rules to the poor animals, and then ill-treat them because they break the laws which have never been taught to them. Farm laborers are, as a body, continually committing this error, and it is to their mingled ignorance and obstinacy that the savage nature of so many animals is due. A horse, for example, strays into some spot where he has no business, and is immediately chased, and shouted at, and pelted with stones, and struck with the first weapon that can be seized. Or he turns his head to the right instead of the left, and straightway is "chucked" by the bridle, and kicked, and anathematized with that copious flow of foul language with which our unsophisticated rural swains are so amply supplied.

Now the horse does not in the least know why he is thus maltreated. He is unconscious of error, and can only attribute the pain which he suffers to the arbitrary and inscrutable will of the being whom he hates, but is mysteriously forced to obey. He knows not that he has broken any law, or disobeyed any command, and, in consequence, will probably repeat the offense, and so earn the character of an obstinate and disobedient beast. If he be a horse of some spirit (and such an animal is always the best servant when properly treated), he will resent the injustice of which he is the victim, and bring hoofs or teeth to bear upon his tormentor, thus earning the character of a savage as well as an obstinate brute. So it happens, that a fine animal, which would have cheerfully labored with all his vast strength in the service of man, is prevented from assuming his rightful place as a humble friend and servant, and is converted into a trembling slave or a dangerous foe. Those who trained him have not identified themselves with him.

So it is with the study of zoology; and the only method of gaining a true insight into the motives of animals, and of identifying ourselves with them, is to put ourselves, as far as possible, in their condition, and to think how we should act under the circumstances, were our instincts as powerful and our reason as weak as theirs.

NORTH AMERICA is peculiarly rich in burrowing animals belonging to this order—so rich, indeed, that many curious species must be omitted for lack of space.

Burrow and Storehouses of Chipping Squirrel.

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Among these burrowers, the CHIPPING SQUIRREL, or HACKEE, or CHIPMUCK (Tamias Lysteri), is peculiarly conspicuous. It is a very pretty little creature, brownish-gray in color, with five stripes of black and two of pale yellow drawn along the back; so that it can not be mistaken for any other animal. Below, and on the throat, it is a pure snowy white. These are the normal hues of the fur; but it is somewhat variable in point of color, the gray and yellow being sometimes quite superseded by the black.

The burrow of the Chipping Squirrel is rather complicated in structure, and is always made under the shelter of a wall, an old tree, or a bank. The hole descends almost perpendicularly for nearly a yard, and then makes several devious windings in a slightly ascending direction. Two or three supplementary galleries are driven from the principal burrow, and by means of them the animal is able to escape almost any foe. The stoat, however, can not be deceived by this complicated arrangement of tunnels, but winds its lithe body through all the deviating passages, and kills every Chipping Squirrel which it finds. One of these bloodthirsty weasels has been known to enter the burrow of a Chipping Squirrel, and in a short time to leave it, having in the space of a very few minutes killed six victims, a mother and five young, whose lifeless bodies were found in the nursery when the burrow was opened.

The nest is made of dried leaves of various kinds, and in it the

foes. Owing to the complexity of the burrow, no little skill is required to trace its various windings, and much exertion is needed before they can all be laid bare.

Within this burrow the Chipping Squirrel lays up a wonderfully large store of food. It is, in fact, a perfect miser in respect of provisions, gathering and secreting much more than it can possibly eat, and never seeming to be satisfied so long as another acorn or nut can be obtained. The common beaked nut (Corylus rostrata) is a favorite article of food, and lest the sharp beak should hurt its mouth, the Chipping Squirrel takes care to bite off the beak before putting the nut into the ample cheek-pouches with which it is furnished. It is able to carry four nuts at a time, three being held in the mouth and the fourth between the teeth. When thus laden, it presents a most absurd aspect, its cheeks being so puffed out with its treasure, that it reminds the classical observer of Alemæon in the treasury of Croesus. Unclassical observers may be reminded of a man suffering from a severe attack of mumps.

The provisions are stored in the lateral galleries, and are of a very mixed nature, so as to afford variety in diet to the animal. In one burrow were discovered two quarts of buckwheat, some grass seeds, nearly a peck of acorns, some Indian corn, and a quart of the beaked nuts already mentioned.

The popular names of Chipping Squirrel and Chipmuck are given to this little animal on account of its cry, which sounds like the chirping of young chickens. It is a quick, lively little creature, ever on the move, and delighting to dart in and out of the dense underwood.