NOAH'S ARK.*

MR. PHIL Rosixsox has his own way of looking at Nature, and a very pleasant way it is. His love of his subject is as genuine, perhaps more so, than that of the solemn naturalist who writes with a pen of lead ; he can be at once lively and serious; and his knowledge, which resembles in variety the contents of an ostrich's stomach, is exhibited without effort. Indeed, it would be incorrect to say that it is exhibited at all. His style is, no doubt, achieved with art, but the art is not seen, and his easy method of expressing what he knows may deceive the unwary reader. Mr. Robinson tells us, in a curious prefatory note, that his daughter Edith, aged two, had a Noah's Ark given her on her second birthday, and that her life ever since has been de- voted to original researches into the properties of its various inhabitants. "Not only does she bathe and feed each individual of the menagerie every day, but she puts Noah and all his family, and as many beasts as she can find, under her pillow every night. Moreover, she approaches her subject quite un- prejudiced by previous information, and with a grasp that is both bold and comprehensive." We cannot pretend, to rival this intelligent young lady in her comprehensive grasp of animated nature, (how Goldsmith would have loved her, and how much she might have taught him !) but we shalt venture to adopt her free handling of Mr. and Mrs. Noah's menagerie in our notice of this delightful volume. That is to say, in turning over the pages, we shall feel at liberty, when not giving distinct quotations, to use the book as we please, pre- Noah's Ark; or, Mornings is Ike Zoo. Being B Contribution ta the Study of Unnatural History. By Phil Robinson. London : Sampson Low and Co. 1882.

miring that every amusing or interesting statement will be due to the author, and not to his reviewer.

Mr. Robinson writes with great sympathy for animals. He does not think a lion a savage beast, because when the oppor- tunity occurs it dines off a child. He pities the tiger, noblest of wild beasts ! when he is forced in feeble old age to haunt the neighbourhood of villages, and to pounce on the unwary traveller. How else, indeed, can he get a living ? No longer can he pursue the stag, or with a mighty leap and grasp over- power the buffalo ; and on finding an old woman in a hut, who shall blame him if he helps himself to her, " annoyed, no doubt, at her toughness, but all the same, poor, easy beast ! glad of the meal." For monkeys the writer has a profound esteem, as a race of high antiquity, whose melancholy faces contrast strongly enough with their eccentric and comical ways. Pass from cage to cage in the Monkey House of the Zoo, and note how inter- vals of profound contemplation alternate with fits of frivolity. But while you are watching the monkeys, they are watching you. and are wondering probably "how long it will be before men grow wise enough to use their tails instead of hiding them, and see the folly of keeping two of their hands in boots." Mr. Robin- son does not attempt to explain why the monkey is at once so sad and contemplative, and yet prone to tricks of which it ought to be ashamed. But the reason is obvious. The monkey is a philosopher, and his thoughts would wear him out if he were not, like some human philosophers, a dear lover of nonsense. Neither man nor ape can be always thinking, and it is a relief after long deliberation to turn a somersault or to catch hold of a friend's tail. The author, who is familiar with Indian life and with the peculiarities of Indian monkeys, has much to say in their favour. In India they are treated with respect and recognise their privi- leges. To some extent they are educated, and their semi-sacred character is the cause of no small trouble to officials. They never acknowledge the rights of property, bat adopt the simple plan that " he should take who has the power, and he should keep who can." So it comes to pass that "in the hill districts whole fields of corn are ravaged in a morning by the long-tailed troops ; but the superstitions villager will not do more than shout at them his respectful request to go away." It is doubtless unpleasant to dismiss with contumely so near a rela- tive. Mr. Robinson considers that a sincere pathos gathers round the ourang, although that great beast, when in a cage, is the reverse of amiable. But we are enjoined to remember that in his natural state he is inoffensive, and that captivity has soured his temper. A beast strong enough to leap upon an alligator and tear its jaws asunder, when he remembers his life of freedom and security in some beautiful island of the East, is not likely to accept a narrow London prison with good-humour.

It is pleasant to turn, as the author does, from the monkey to the elephant, a grand animal which should be treated grandly. It is unseemly that "my lord the elephant" should be made to stand upon a barrel, to pick up pins, or to dance on the tight- rope, when he ranks to-day, " in the Belgian expedition to Africa, as one of the noblest pioneers of modern commerce and the greatest of living Missionaries ; and in the Afghan war as one of the most devoted and valued of her Majesty's servants in the East." No animals have more natural affection, and when a baby elephant is born it is a cause of general delight. The author has a strong illustration of this sympathetic joy, which he does well, perhaps, to qualify with a "so it is said " :—

" Not long ago, a young elephant was born in a menagerie in the "United States, and no sooner was the fact recognised by the stable companions of the mother, than the whole company gave themselves up to prodigions rejoicings. Waving their trunks aloft, they saluted the little stranger with a perfect tempest of elephantine applause, and at last surrendering themselves entirely to a paroxysm of glee, they all with one accord got up on their hind legs and danced before the infant. The mother was carried away by the enthusiasm of her comrades, and alike regardless of consequences and appearances, snapped the chain that had fastened her to a pillar, and lifting up her offspring in her trunk, executed a pas seta of great originality and merit, and then, dropping the little one into the manger, proceeded to gyrate on her hind legs."

Elephants deserve all their fame. Great in war, they are equally great in peace; but what is to be said in favour of the elephant's fellow-countrymen,—the hippopotamus and rhino- ceros? "That their hides make good leather, is no adequate justification for such huge entities ; and the fact of their teeth and horns being useful for paper-knives and walking-sticks, hardly authorises two prodigious creatures occupying so much terrestrial space." One might tolerate them more readily if they were not so hideous. Neither of them has much claim to

respect, as seen in the Gardens, but the reader who, in reality or in an arm-chair, has hunted the larger game of South Africa, can tell many a tale of the tremendous strength and ferocity of

the rhinoceros, and these qualities give a certain dignity to the caged beast which we are forced to acknowledge. The giraffe in the Zoo is a far more attractive object than its bulky neigh- bour, the hippopotamus. It seems to enjoy its life fairly well, and has some love of mischief, too, for we once saw a lively giraffe steal a parasol from a young lady, and with the eager help of its companions tear it into shreds. Mr. Robin- son will not give it credit for fun, but thinks that it is about the best instalment of the impossible that has been vouchsafed us. It is the only animal that lives on the earth and never thinks about the ground it walks on It moves, we are told, with a high-bred, languid grace, that has more than a suspicion of weariness about it. Like most animals, it has its compensations. Its long neck betrays it to its enemies, but considering its elevated look-out, and the fact that, if it chooses, it can look two ways at once, it has a fair chance of escaping from them. "Its length of neck, again, so medical science assures us, secures it from all danger of apo- plexy; but, on the other hand, it is terrible to think what a giraffe's 'sore throat' would be like. Imagine seven feet of sore-throat !"

A goodly share of the volume is devoted to the cat family, to which belong some of the most attractive residents in the Zoological Gardens. The writer does not venerate the lion, despite the honour that has been heaped upon it, but observes that, if the servants did not object, it might be made useful in the kitchen as the enemy of cockroaches and mice. "Thu lion in a wild state never disdains such small deer as insects," but,

unfortunately, its taste is not confined to them, and this royal beast, notwithstanding his apparently honourable conduct to Una (we have always had a suspicion, by the way, that he dined off her milk-white lamb) has some shameless habits. He does not meet his foe in the open, but crawls silently along upon his stomach, and hiding himself, perhaps under a tamarisk, pounces upon an antelope, just as the domestic cat, hidden under a gooseberry bush, leaps out upon a. robin. The lion is only bold in the dark, and is, as a rule, timid in the day-time :— "Yet this is the King of Beasts. Certainly not in generosity, or yet in its habits Is it its size ? Certainly not, for the ele- phant is its companion, and the lion never dares to cross the mam- moth's path, confessing by its deference a sense of superiority which other beasts, the lion's subjects, refuse to entertain,—notably the tiger, the wild boar, and the rhinoceros. These three do not hesitate to affront the elephant in broad daylight, and certainly would not turn tail for their 'King,' if they met him. Is it, then, in its appearance that this animal claims to be royal among the quad- rupeds ? It is true that in repose—notably in the splendid bronzes of Trafalgar Square—there is a surpassing majesty in the lions'

heads. They have the countenances of gods But then this is in bronze."

Mr. Robinson suggests that the honour bestowed on the lion may be due to his voice, for its roaring when at liberty is some- thing terrific ; but is not the roar of the tiger also among the most terrifying sounds of nature ? And the tiger is an animal that knows his business in the world, and does it openly. There is nothing sneaking about him ; all his character is on the sur- face, and he is endowed with superb capabilities :—

" Speed, strength, and cunning are his in a degree to which, in the same combination, no other animal can lay claim ; in daring none exceed him, while for physical beauty he has absolutely no rival. A tiger has been known to spring over a wall five feet high into a cattle enclosure, and to jump back again with a full-grown animal in its jaws ; and has been seen to leap, holding a bullock, across a wide ditch. As regards its speed, the first bounds of a tiger are so rapid as to bring it alongside the antelope; while for strength, a single blow of its paw will stun a charging bull."

Many amusing anecdotes are told of this most powerful of brutes. But when old age comes on, as we have before said, he is liable to infirmities, and there is a story related of a ram charging and killing an immense man-eating tiger, in the Cal- cutta collection. The intention was to provide the ferocious beast with a good meal; but the ram, not wishing to be eaten, preferred killing his enemy out of hand. There would seem to be two opinions about the tiger, and Mr. Robinson subscribes to both. He is the autocrat of the jungle, and he is, at least in Bengal, according to a great authority, " a harmless, timid animal,"—very much like a rabbit, in fact.

Of the leopard and panther, of the jaguar and puma, Mr. Robinson has mnch to say, and his talk about them is delight- ful. The domestic cat, too, is made to purr cheerily, all the

more so as her life can never, like her hereditary foe, the dog, have a tax put upon it, seeing that a cat is "at home" nowhere, for she makes herself at home everywhere. A cat does not know her master, but she knows the niaster's cook, and finds her way down the area steps with the keen instinct of a police- man. Cats would be more engaging and more respectable if they went to bed like Christians, instead of making night hideous with their unearthly yells. In this respect they imitate on a small scale their big brother the tiger. The particular jungle which the domesticated cat frequents is called "the back garden."

Some time ago a foolish young man descended into the bears' pit at the Zoological Gardens to pick up something he had dropped, and, on being rescued from the animal's close but unfriendly embrace, excused himself by saying he did not understand the nature of bears. According to naturalists, it is the nature of bears not to attack you unless provoked ; but a bear's notions of provocation are peculiar, and, as .A.rtemus Ward observes, it is " onreliable." "If it comes up behind you," says Mr. Robinson, "and finds you not looking that way, it knocks Off the back part of your head with one blow of its carved claws ; and if it meets you face to face, it knocks off the front part of your head. But there is nothing agreeable in this variety." That the good story-books always tell the truth is the belief of every child, and ought to be, and their truth is sometimes made evident to grown-up people. Thus, "The Bear in the Pig-sty," which has lived a long life in fiction, has lately taken its place among the facts of history :—

." At the village of Massegros, in France, only the other day, a bear-man came along the road with a bear, and asked for a night's lodging, and the bear was put into the pig-sty. At night, three men name to steal the pig ; but, on the contrary, one of the men died, the second very nearly, and the third went mad with fright. The bear did it—just as it was written in the story-book years upon years ago—and the pig is back in his sty again."

Mr. Robinson's natural-history experiences carry him over sea and land, and we should like to follow him, as he talks of birds, fishes, and insects, forgetting, in his lively chat, that he has wandered far away from the Regent's Park. Our space, how- ever, is nearly exhausted, and with a few facts and opinions, picked out at random from these pages, we must close our notice of a book which deserves the attention both of young and old readers. Lord Byron's opinion of dogs is not shared by Mr. Robinson, who hesitates to say that, taking one with another, they are superior to ordinary men and women, and he looks upon the dog as only a kind of beast, after all. It is curious, by the way, to remember how much life, apart from in- sect life, there is in the world that is not human. If we could have a census of our dogs, and cats, and rats, we should probably find our own population limited in comparison. Rats, in par- ticular, despise Malthus, and "there are far more rats in Paris than human beings." Mermaids, on the other hand, are extinct, —but then have we not the manatee instead, "the only creature known that has three eyelids to each eye, and two hearts P"— and if you doubt the existence of the great sea-serpent, hear what Captain Cox, of the `Privateer,' has to say on the subject, -and you will, perhaps, doubt no longer. There are, verily, greater wonders in the world than exist in the imagination, even of sailors. Victor Hugo has immortalised the octopus, and its horrible power can scarcely be exaggerated. Snakes, too, of the larger kind, can do almost anything, "except swallow a porcu- pine," and one, so at any rate the Assamese say, "not only stalks its prey and pounces upon it, but chases it swiftly, and tracks it like a bloodhound, relentlessly." On the whole, perhaps, the insect-world, if it understood how to use its powers, might, in some countries at least, drive away man and take full posses- sion of the soil. These pests could do what they liked if only they would combine, and, instead, of preying on each other, use all their power against man. "As a matter of fact, the insect world largely maintains its equilibrium by the cannibalism and constant strife that obtain between creatures of the same species,—caterpillars chase and eat each other, spiders devour nearly as many spiders as flies, wasps kill wasps, fleas bite fleas, and bugs destroy bugs." Nor is this all, for assassination is constant, and the younger members of a family pull their elders to pieces, not for food, but simply as a practical joke. This proves, no doubt, a corrupt nature, but it is one which makes life possible for us, and, as Mr. Robinson observes, saves our species from the poet's stricture that,—

" Man only mars kind Nature's plan,

And turns the fierce pursuit on man."