Title: The Dawn of Reason - or, Mental Traits in the Lower Animals
Author: Weir, James, 1856-1906
Language: English
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       *       *       *       *       *

THE
DAWN OF REASON

OR

MENTAL TRAITS IN THE
LOWER ANIMALS

BY
JAMES WEIR, JR., M.D.

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1899

_All rights reserved_

       *       *       *       *       *

COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.


Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

       *       *       *       *       *

To My Father

WHO, WHILE NOT A SCIENTIST, HAS YET TAKEN

AN INTELLIGENT AND APPRECIATIVE

INTEREST IN MY WORK

THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

       *       *       *       *       *



PREFACE


Most works on mind in the lower animals are large and ponderous volumes,
replete with technicalities, and unfit for the general reader; therefore
the author of this book has endeavored to present the evidences of mental
action, in creatures lower than man, in a clear, simple, and brief form.
He has avoided all technicalities, and has used the utmost brevity
consistent with clearness and accuracy. He also believes that metaphysics
has no place in a discussion of psychology, and has carefully refrained
from using this once powerful weapon of psychologists.

Many of the data used by the authors of more pretentious works are
second-hand or hearsay; the author of this treatise, however, has no
confidence in the accuracy of such material, therefore he has not made
use of any such data. His material has been thoroughly sifted, and the
reader may depend upon the absolute truth of the evidence here
presented.

The author does not claim infallibility; some of his conclusions may be
erroneous; he _believes_, however, that future investigation will
prove the verity of every proposition that is advanced in this book. These
propositions have been formulated only after a twenty-years study of
biology in all of its phases.

Some of the data used in this volume have appeared in _Appleton's Popular
Science Monthly_, _Lippincott's Magazine_, _Worthington's Magazine_, _New
York Medical Record_, _Recreation_, _Atlantic Monthly_, _American
Naturalist_, _Scientific American_, _Home Magazine_, _Popular Science
News_, _Denver Medical Times_, and _North American Review_; therefore the
author tenders his thanks to the publishers of these magazines for their
kindness in allowing him to use their property in getting out this work.

"WAVELAND," OWENSBORO, KY.,
January 9, 1899.

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CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS MIND

                                                                       PAGE
Definition of mind--The correlation of physiology, morphology, and
  psychology--The presence of nerve-elements in _monera_--Conscious
  and unconscious mind--Unconscious ("vegetative") mind in the
  jelly-fish--Anatomy, physiology, and psychology of the jelly-fish
  --The origin of conscious mind.                                         1


CHAPTER I

THE SENSES IN THE LOWER ANIMALS

The sense of touch--The senses of taste and smell--Actinophryans having
  taste--The sense of sight--Modification of sight organs by surroundings
  --Sight in Actinophryans--Blind fish sensitive to light--Blind spiders
  --Blind man--Primitive eyes in _Cymothoe_--In the jelly-fish, sea-urchin,
  _Alciope_, _Myrianida_--The sight organs of the snail--Power of vision
  in the snail--Eyes of crayfish--Compound eyes--Vision in "whirligig
  beetle"--In _Periophthalmus_--In _Onchidium_--In _Calotis_--Organs of
  audition--In _Lepidoptera_--_Hymenoptera_--_Orthoptera_--_Diptera_
  --_Hemiptera_--_Dyticus marginalis_--_Corydalus_--Ears of grasshopper
  and cricket--Of the "red-legged locust"--Of flies--Of gnats--Auditory
  vesicles of horse-fly--Ears of butterflies--Cerambyx beetle--Long-horned
  beetle--_Cicindelidæ_--_Carabidæ_.                                      7


CHAPTER II

CONSCIOUS DETERMINATION

Definition--How conscious determination is evolved from the senses--The
  presence of nerve-tissue in _Stentor polymorphus_--The properties of
  nerve-tissue--Romanes' experiment with anemone--Action of stimuli on
  nerve-tissue--Reflection--Origin of consciousness--Time element in
  consciousness--Conscious determination in _Stentor polymorphus_--In
  _Actinophrys_--In _Amoeba_--In _Medusa_--In a water-louse--In a garden
  snail--In the angle-worm--In oysters--In a ground wasp.                39


CHAPTER III

MEMORY

Discussed under four heads, viz. _Memory of Locality_ (_Surroundings_),
  _Memory of Friends_ (_Kin_), _Memory of Strangers_ (_Other animals not
  kin_), and _Memory of Events_ (_Education_, _Happenings_, etc.)--Memory
  of locality in _Actinophrys_--In the snail--In the ant--In sand
  wasps--In beetles--In reptiles--_Memory of Friends_--In ants
  --Experiments with ants, _Lasius flavus_, _Lasius niger_, and
  _Myrmica ruginodis_--Memory of kin in wasps and bees--Experiments
  --_Memory of Strangers_ (_Animals other than kin_)--Recognition of
  enemies--By bumblebees--Memory of individuals not enemies--By the
  toad--By the spider--By ants--By snakes--By chameleons--By birds
  --By cattle--By dogs--By monkeys--_Memory of Events_ (_Education_, etc.)
  --In the wasp--In fleas--In the toad--In other insects.                60


CHAPTER IV

THE EMOTIONS

The higher animals--Laughter--In monkeys--In the dog--In the chimpanzee
  --In the orang-utan--Fear, dismay, consternation, grief, fortitude,
  joy shown by bees--Affection for the individual evinced by house wren
  --Anger, hate, fear, revenge, in the higher animals--Forgiving
  disposition in the monkey--Sympathy--In ants--Care of young by ants
  --Solicitude of butterflies--Of gadfly--Of the ichneumon fly--Of the
  mason wasp--Of the spider--Of the earwig--Anger and hate evinced by
  ants, centipedes, tarantulas, weevils.                                 88


CHAPTER V

ÆSTHETICISM

The love of music--In spiders--In quail--In dogs--Origin of love of
  music in the dog--Dog's knowledge of the echo--Love of music in rats
  --In mice--Singing mice--Love of music in lizards--In salamanders--In
  snakes--In pigeons--In the barnyard cock--In the horse--Amusement and
  pastime--In _Actinophrys_--In the snail--In _Diptera_--In ants--In
  lady-bugs (_Coccinellæ_)--Æsthetic taste in birds--The snakeskin
  bird--Humming-bird--Bower bird--The love of personal cleanliness--In
  birds--In insects--In the locust.                                     107


CHAPTER VI

PARENTAL AFFECTION

Origin of parental feeling--Evidence of this psychical trait in spiders
  --In earwigs--In crayfish--In butterflies--In fish--In toads--In
  snakes--Instance of pride in parents--In the dog--In the cat--Parental
  affection in birds--Animals seeking the assistance of man when their
  offspring is in danger--The evolution of parental affection.          134


CHAPTER VII

REASON

Definition of reason--Origin of instincts--Instances of intelligent
  ratiocination--In the bee--The wasp--The ant--Mental degeneration in
  ants occasioned by the habit of keeping slaves--The honey-making ant
  filling an artificial trench--Other evidences of reason in the insect
  --_Termes_--Division of labor--The king and queen--Bravery of soldier
  ants--Overseer and laborers--Blind impulse and intelligent ideation
  --Harvester ants--Their habits and intelligence--Their presence in
  Arkansas believed to be unique--Animals able to count--This faculty
  present in the mason wasps--Experiments--Certain birds able to count
  --Also dogs and mules--Cat recognizing the lapse of time--Monkey's
  ability in computing--Huber's experiment with glass slip and bees
  --Kirby and Spence's comment--Summary.                                147


CHAPTER VIII

AUXILIARY SENSES

The color-changing sense and "homing instinct" so-called--These
  faculties not instincts but true senses--The chromatic function
  --Tinctumutation--Chromatophores and their function--Various
  theories--Experiments of Paul Bert with axolotls--Semper's
  contention--The difference between plant coloring and animal
  coloring--Effects of light--Experiments with newts--Lister's
  observations--Pouchet's experiments--Sympathetic nerves--Author's
  experiments with frogs--The sense-centre of tinctumutation--Effects
  of atropia--Experiments with fish--With katydid--The "homing instinct"
  a true sense--Evidences of the sense in a water-louse--Author's
  experiments with snails--Location of sense-centre in snails--Evidences
  of the homing sense in the limpet--In beetles--In fleas--In ants--In
  snakes--In birds--In fish.                                            181


CHAPTER IX

LETISIMULATION

Not confined to any family, order, or species of animals--Death-feigning
  by rhizopods--By fresh-water annelids--By the larvæ of butterflies and
  beetles--By free-swimming rotifers--By snakes--By the itch insect
  (_Sarcoptes hominis_)--By many of the _Coleoptera_--The common "tumble
  bug" (_Canthon Lævis_) a gifted letisimulant--The double defence of the
  pentatomid, "stink-bug"--Reason coming to the aid of instinct--
  Death-feigning an instinct--Feigning of death by ants--By a hound--Not
  instinctive in the dog and cat--The origin of this instinct--Summary. 202


CONCLUSION

Instinct and reason--Specialized instincts and "intelligent accidents"
  --Abstraction in the dog--In the elephant--The kinship of mind in man
  and the lower animals shown by the phenomenon of dreaming--By the
  effects of drugs--The action of alcohol on rhizopods--On jelly-fish
  --On insects--On mammals--Animals aware of the medical qualities of
  certain substances--Recognition of property rights--Animals as tool
  users--Instinct and reason differentiated--Summary.                   215


BIBLIOGRAPHY                                                            225


INDEX                                                                   227

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DAWN OF REASON

MENTAL TRAITS IN THE LOWER ANIMALS

INTRODUCTION.--CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS MIND


Mind is a resultant of nerve, in the beginning of life, neuro-plasmic,
action, through which and by which animal life in all its phases is
consciously and unconsciously, directly and indirectly, maintained,
sustained, governed, and directed.

This definition of mind is widely different from the definition of those
metaphysical scientists who directed psychological investigation and
observation a decade ago. They held that psychology had nothing in
common with physiology and morphology; that _psychos_ stood upon an
independent pedestal, and was not affected by, and did not affect, any
of the phenomena of life.

In these days it is becoming an accepted fact that morphology,
physiology, and psychology are intimately related and connected, and
that a thorough knowledge of the one implies an equally thorough
knowledge of the others.

Morphology and physiology, until a comparatively recent time, led
divergent paths; but, thanks to such men as Haeckel, Romanes, Huxley,
Wolff, and many others, this erroneous method of investigation, to a
great extent, has ceased.

"The two chief divisions of biological research--Morphology and
Physiology--have long travelled apart, taking different paths. This is
perfectly natural, for the aims, as well as the methods, of the two
divisions are different. Morphology, the science of forms, aims at a
scientific understanding of organic structures, of their internal and
external proportions of form. Physiology, the science of functions, on
the other hand, aims at a knowledge of the functions of the organs, or,
in other words, of the manifestations of life."[1]

  [1] Haeckel, _Evolution of Man_, Vol. I. p. 20.

Indeed, physiology has so diverged from its sister science, morphology,
that it completely and entirely ignores two of the most important
functions of evolution, heredity and adaptation. This has been clearly
shown by Haeckel, who has done much towards bringing about a change of
opinion in these matters.[2]

  [2] _Ibid._, p. 21 _et seq._

Morphology and physiology are interdependent, correlated, and connected
one with the other; and, as I will endeavor to point out as my argument
develops itself, psychology is, likewise, intimately associated with
these two manifestations of life.

It will be noticed that as forms take on more complexity, and as organs
develop new and more complex functions, _psychos_ becomes less simple
in its manifestations, and more complex in its relations to the internal
and external operations of life.

Keeping in view the definition of mind as advanced in the opening
paragraph of this chapter, it at once becomes evident that even the very
lowest forms of life possess mind in some degree. It is true that in the
_monera_, or one-celled organisms, the nerve-cell is not differentiated;
consequently, if I were to be held to a close and strict accountability,
my definition of mind would not embrace these organisms. Yet, some small
latitude must be allowed in all definitions of psychological phenomena,
especially in those phenomena occurring in organisms which typify the
very beginnings of life.

I am confident that, notwithstanding the fact that the nerve-_cell_ is
not differentiated in these primal forms, nerve-elements are,
nevertheless, present in them, and serve to direct and control life.

Mind makes itself evident in two ways--consciously and unconsciously.
The conscious manifestations of mind are volitional, while the
unconscious, "vegetative," reflex operations of mind are wholly
involuntary.

Although the unconscious mind plays fully as prominent a rôle in the
economy of life as does the conscious mind, this treatise will not
discuss the former, except indirectly. Yet, an outline sketch as to what
is meant by the _unconscious_ mind will be necessary, in order that the
reader may more fully comprehend my meaning when discussing _conscious_
mind.

A brief investigation of the anatomy, physiology, and psychology of the
medusa, or jelly-fish, will serve to illustrate the operations of the
unconscious mind as it is to be noticed in its reflex and "vegetative"
phases. The higher and more evolved phases of the unconscious mind will
not be discussed in this work, except incidentally, perhaps, as they may
appear, from time to time, as my propositions are advanced, and the
scheme of mental development is elaborated.

The medusa (the specimen that I take for study is a very common
fresh-water individual) has a well-developed nervous system. Its
transparent, translucent nectocalyx, or swimming-bell, has a central
nervous system which is localized on the margin of the bell, and which
forms the so-called "nerve-ring" of Romanes.[3] This nerve-ring is
separated into an upper and lower nerve-ring by the "veil," an annular
sheet of tissue which forms the floor of the swimming-bell, or
"umbrella," and through a central opening in which the manubrium, or
"handle," of the umbrella passes down and hangs below the margin of the
bell.

  [3] Romanes, _Jelly-Fish_, _Star-Fish_, _and Sea-Urchins_, p. 16.

The nerve-ring is well supplied with epithelial and ganglionic
nerve-cells; their function is wholly reflex and involuntary; they
preside over the pulsing or swimming movements of the nectocalyx. This
pulsing is excited by stimulation, and is analogous, so far as movement
is concerned, to the peristaltic action of the intestines. Situated on
the margin of the bell are a number of very minute, round bodies, the
so-called "eyes." These eyes are supplied with nerves, one of whose
functions is volitional, as I will endeavor to show in my chapter on
Conscious Determination.

The manubrium, or handle, is also the centre of a nerve-system. Nerves
proceed from it and are spread out on the inner surface of the bell.
These nerves preside over digestion, and are involuntary. Certain
ganglia in the manubrium appear to preside over volitional effort. I
have never been able, however, to locate their exact position, nor to
determine their precise action. They will be discussed more fully in the
next chapter.

The nervous system of the nectocalyx is exceedingly sensitive,
responding with remarkable quickness to stimulation. When two or three
minims of alcohol are dropped into a pint of water in which one of these
creatures is swimming, the pulsing of the nectocalyx is notably
increased in frequency and volume.

Romanes determined that the centres governing pulsation were located in
the nerve-ring of the swimming-bell, and that each section of the
nectocalyx had its individual nerve-centre.[4]

  [4] _Jelly-Fish_, _Star-Fish_, _and Sea-Urchins_, p. 65 _et seq._

The pulsing of the nectocalyx occasions a flow of water into and out of
the bell. This current brings both food and air (oxygen) to the animal,
which is enabled to take these necessary life-sustainers into its system
through the agency of vegetative nerve-action, a phase of the
unconscious mind.

The unconscious mind made its appearance in animal life many thousands
of years before the conscious mind came into existence. The latter
psychical manifestation had its origin in sensual perception, which, in
turn, gave rise to mental recepts and concepts.

In order fully to understand the origin of mind, it will be necessary to
investigate the senses as they are observed in the lower animals. The
first manifestation of conscious mind, which is, as I believe, conscious
determination, or, volitional effort, is directly traceable to stimuli
affecting the senses. This primal operation of conscious mind, and the
manner in which it is developed from sensational perceptions, will now
be discussed.



CHAPTER I

THE SENSES IN THE LOWER ANIMALS


I am inclined to believe that the primal, fundamental sense,--the sense
of touch,--from which all the other senses have been evolved or
developed, has been in existence almost as long as life.

It is quite probable that it is to be found in the very lowest animal
organisms; and, if our own senses were acute enough, it is more than
probable that we would be able to demonstrate its presence, beyond
peradventure, in such organisms.

The senses of taste and smell, according to Graber, Lubbock, Farre, and
many other investigators, seem to be almost as old as the sense of
touch. My own observations teach me that certain actinophryans,[5]
minute, microscopic animalcules, can differentiate between the starch
spores of algæ and grains of sand, thus showing that they possess taste,
or an analogous sense.

  [5] Vide the writer, _N. Y. Medical Record_, August 15, 1896.

On one occasion I was examining an actinophrys (_Actinophrys
Eichornii_), which was engaged in feeding. It would seize a rotifer
(there were numerous _Brachioni_ in the water) with one of its
pseudopodia, which it would then retract, until the captured Brachionus
was safely within its abdominal cavity. On the slide there were several
grains of sand, but these the actinophrys passed by without notice.

I thought, at first, that this creature's attention was directed to its
prey by the movements of the latter, but further investigation showed me
that this was not the case.

After carefully rinsing the slide, I placed some alga spores (some of
which were ruptured, thus allowing the starch grains to escape) and some
minute crystals of uric acid upon it. Whenever the actinophrys touched a
starch grain with a pseudopod, the latter was at once retracted,
carrying the starch grain with it into the abdominal cavity of the
actinophryan; the uric acid crystals were always ignored.

I conclude from this experiment, that the actinophrys, which is
exceedingly low in the scale of animal life, recognizes food by taste,
or by some sense analogous to taste.

Many species of these little animals, however, are not as intelligent as
the Eichorn actinophrys; they very frequently take in inert and useless
substances, which, after a time, they get rid of by a process the
reverse of that which they use in "swallowing." By the latter process
they put _themselves_ on the outside of an object--in fact, they
surround it; by the former, they put the _object_ outside by allowing
it to escape through their bodies.

The sense of sight makes its appearance in animals quite low in the
scale, therefore the reader will pardon me if, while discussing this
sense, I prove to be a bit discursive. The subject is, withal, so very
interesting that it calls for a close and minute investigation.

One of the immutable laws of nature declares that animals which are
placed in new surroundings, not fatal to life, undergo certain changes
and modifications in their anatomical and physiological structures to
meet the exigencies demanded by such a modification of surroundings.
Thus, the flounder and his congeners, the turbot, the plaice, the sole,
etc., were, centuries and centuries ago, two-sided fishes, swimming
upright, after the manner of the perch, the bass, and the salmon, with
eyes arranged one on each side of the head. From upright fishes,
swimming, probably, close to the surface of the sea, they became
dwellers on its bottom, and, in order to hide themselves more
effectually from their enemies or their prey, they acquired the habit of
swimming with one side next to the ground, and of partially or wholly
burying themselves in the mud, always, however, with one side down. They
thus became flat fishes, losing the coloring of their under surfaces,
and their eyes migrating across their foreheads and taking up positions
on the upper surfaces of their heads. Again, when animals are placed
among surroundings in which there is no need for some special organ,
this organ degenerates, and passes wholly or partially into a
rudimentary condition, or, entirely out of existence. These latter
effects of changed conditions on animals are especially noticeable in
the effect of continual darkness on the organs of sight of those
creatures which, owing to said mutations, have been compelled to dwell
in darkness for untold ages.

The mole, far back in the past, had eyes, and gained its livelihood
above ground in the broad light of day; but, owing to some change in its
surroundings, it was forced to burrow beneath the surface of the earth;
consequently its organs of sight have degenerated, and are now
practically worthless as far as _vision_ is concerned. All moles,
however, can tell darkness from light, consequently, are not wholly
blind--a certain amount of _sight_ remains. This is due to the fact
that, although the optic nerve, on examination, is invariably found to
be atrophied or wasted, there yet remain in the shrivelled nerve-cord
true nerve-cells; these nerve-cells transmit light impressions to the
brain.

Even if the optic nerves, and, in fact, all of the structures of the
eye, were absent, I yet believe that the mole could differentiate
between daylight and darkness. The sensitive tufts and filaments of
nerve in the skin, undoubtedly, in many instances, respond to the
stimulation of light, so that totally blind animals, animals with no
rudimentary organs of vision whatever, and the inception of whose
ancestors, themselves wholly blind, probably took place thousands of
years ago, show by their actions that light is exceedingly unpleasant to
them. Thus, I have seen actinophryans taken from the River Styx in
Mammoth Cave (which is their natural habitat), seeking to hide
themselves beneath a grain of sand which happened to be drawn up in the
pipette and dropped upon the glass slide beneath the object-glass of my
microscope.

I have repeatedly seen the blind fish of Mammoth Cave seeking out the
darkest spots in aquaria. In point of fact, I think it can be
demonstrated that light is directly fatal to these fishes; they soon die
when taken from the river and placed in aquaria where there is an
abundance of light.

These fish, although they have rudimentary eyes, never have the
slightest remaining trace of nerve-cells in the wasted optic nerve (that
is, I have never been able to discover any), thus showing that their
appreciation of light is not derived through the agency of their eyes.
An eyeless spider (_Anthrobia_) taken from the same cavern showed a like
distaste for light, and yet, in this insect, there is absolutely no
vestige of an eye or its nerves.

Finally, a friend of mine, a youth of eighteen, totally blind since
birth, can differentiate between daylight and darkness. On one occasion
I carefully blindfolded him and led him into the well-lighted office of
a brewery (he had never been in a brewery before), and asked him if it
were light or dark. He answered that it was almost as light as day. I
then conducted him into the dark beer vaults, and as soon as he passed
the door he exclaimed, "How cold and dark it is here!" Thinking that he
might possibly associate darkness with coldness, I asked him if this
were the case. "No," he replied, "I _see_ the darkness and I _feel_ the
cold; they are not the same."

In these animals--and I include man--continuous darkness has modified
sensibility (sense of touch) to such an extent that it has partially
taken on the functions of the useless organs--the eyes; these creatures
_see_ with their skins.

I do not believe that there is a creature in existence to-day, whether
it has eyes or not, which cannot tell the difference between night and
day. Professor Semper says that in the Pelew Islands he found a small
fresh-water creature, whose generic name is _Cymothoe_, in pools where
daylight penetrated, that was absolutely blind.[6] We have fresh-water
Cymothoe living in our own waters that are close kin to the Pelew
islander mentioned by Semper, and which are not blind. Along the middle
of their backs, over the edge of each segment, there is an oblong dark
spot. This little collection of coloring-matter is covered by a
transparent membrane, the cornea, and has a special nerve leading to the
brain, if I may use the word. These spots are primitive eyes, the
analogues of which are preserved by many of the true worms. I am
inclined to believe that Semper would find primitive eyes of some form
or other in the Cymothoe he mentions, if he were again to examine it.
The insects, etc., which dwell in caves, and which have eyes, are new
arrivals; they have not dwelt long enough in total darkness to have
experienced the full effects of changed surroundings. They show,
however, that they are beginning to feel such effects, for there is more
or less diminution in the color-cells of the eyes and body coverings. My
experiments on fish and frogs show, conclusively, that the
color-producing function is directly due to light stimulation. The
longer fish and frogs are kept in total darkness, the lower is the
number of color-cells and the smaller is the amount of coloring-matter.
This accounts for the fact that all animals which have dwelt in darkness
for untold ages are absolutely colorless. Pigmented or colored fishes,
nevertheless, having well-developed organs of vision, have been taken
from such depths (over a mile) as to preclude the possibility of a
single ray of daylight.[7] These fishes, however, are phosphorescent,
and thus furnish their own light. Moreover, I am inclined to believe
that the vast depths of the ocean, in certain localities, lie bathed in
a continuous phosphorescent glow, so that creatures living there neither
lose their color nor their eyes, sufficient light being present to
prevent degeneration. Where eyeless and colorless fishes are brought up
from great depths, there the ocean is not phosphorescent, but is in
absolute darkness.

  [6] Semper, _Animal Life_, p. 83.

  [7] Hickson, _The Fauna of the Deep Sea_, p. 150 _et seq._

The preceding observations indicate that the sense of sight is a very
old sense, and that it is to be found in a primitive form (ocelli) in
animals of exceedingly low organization. That this is true, I will now
attempt to demonstrate.

Sight is the result of the conversion of one form of motion into
another--a conservation, as it were, of energy. Thus, waves of light
coming from a luminous body are arrested by the pigment-cells of the
retina in our eyes and are transmuted into another form of motion, which
is called nerve energy (in this instance, sight). It would seem that as
far as sight (_vision_ is not included) is concerned, eyes of very
simple construction would amply satisfy the needs of thousands of
creatures whose existence does not depend upon vision. This supposition
is undoubtedly correct; there are many creatures in existence to-day
with eyes so exceedingly simple that they can form no visual picture of
objects--they are only able to discriminate between light and darkness.
Primitive eyes appear in animals very low in the scale of life; probably
the most remarkable of these early organs of sight are to be found in
the medusa, or jelly-fish. This creature, with its bell-shaped body and
pendent stem, bears a striking resemblance to an umbrella; noting this
resemblance, naturalists have given the name _manubrium_, "handle," to
the stem. Around the edge of the umbrella, and situated at regular
intervals, are certain round, cell-like organs, which vary considerably
in number. Some species have only eight, while others have sixty,
eighty, and even (in OEquorea) as high as six hundred.[8] These
so-called "marginal bodies" are the eyes of the jelly-fish. By many
biologists these organs are considered to be ears; they contain within
their capsules transparent bodies, which some scientists deem otoliths,
or "hearing-stones." Experimentation and microscopical examinations,
however, have taught me very recently to believe otherwise. In these
marginal bodies there is always a deposit of pigment; this is,
unquestionably, a primitive retina, while the transparent disk is,
indubitably, a primitive lens. That these creatures can tell the
difference between light and darkness is a fact easily demonstrated.
Time and again have I made them follow a bright light around the wall of
the aquarium in which they were confined. On one occasion I made some
medusæ tipsy, and their drunken gravity as they rolled and staggered
through the water in pursuit of the light was as sorrowful as it was
instructive; their actions in this respect were those of intoxicated
men. After I had siphoned off the alcoholized water and replaced it with
pure, they rapidly regained their normal status; whether or not any of
them felt any evil effects from their involuntary debauch, I am not
prepared to state.

  [8] Lubbock, _Senses, Instincts, and Intelligence of Animals_, p. 84.

The eyes of sea-urchins are rather highly developed, having corneæ,
retinæ, and lenses. The lens generally lies in a mass of pigment, and,
as Lubbock remarks, looks like a brilliant egg in a scarlet nest.[9] The
eyes are scattered over the dorsal surface of the creature's body, and
are commonly situated just beneath the skin; they are, however,
sometimes elevated on pear-shaped bulbs. The eyes of starfish are
generally quite primitive in character, as far as I have been able to
determine, being simply pigmented spots which are supplied with nerves;
in several species, however, I have been able to make out lenses. The
eyes are arranged along the rays or arms, and vary in number.

  [9] "In Solaster or Asteracanthion the lenses look like brilliant
  eggs, each in its own scarlet nest."--LUBBOCK, _Senses, Instincts, and
  Intelligence of Animals_, p. 132 _et seq._

Even the stay-at-home and humble oyster has eyes (not the round, fleshy
muscle called the "eye" by gourmands and epicures, but bright spots
around the edge of the mantle)--primitive eyes, it is true, yet amply
sufficient for the needs of a domestic, non-travelling, home body like
the oyster.

In most of the worms the eyes are simple ocelli--spots of pigment
supplied with nerves. These eyes can discriminate between light and
darkness, which is all that is required of them; but in the Alciope, a
small sea-worm, these organs are brought to a high degree of perfection.
This worm is exceedingly transparent, so that when observing it, it is
difficult to make out more than its large orange eyes and the violet
segmental organs of each ring. It looks like an animated string of
violet disks surmounted by a pair of orange-colored eyeglasses. The eye
of this creature is strikingly like that of a human being; it has a
cornea, an "eye-skin," a lens, vitreous humor (posterior chamber), and
retina.

Another aquatic worm, Myrianida, is still more remarkable, not only on
account of its eyes, but also on account of the wonderful way in which
it reproduces its young. When seen swimming in the water it presents the
appearance of a long, many-ringed worm, which impels itself through and
by the aid of its hundreds of flat, oar-like legs. Closer inspection
reveals the startling fact that this seemingly single worm is really a
multiple worm--six or more individuals being joined together, thus
forming a living chain. This creature reproduces itself by
fissigemation; that is, when the young worms arrive at a certain age
they separate from the parent worm and begin life as individuals. These
in turn eventually become multiple worms and divide into individuals,
and so on _ad infinitum_. The tail worm, or that section farthest from
the head, is the oldest and is always the first to leave its comrades
and take up a separate existence. The adverb _always_ in the above
sentence is, strictly speaking, not exactly accurate, for on one
occasion I saw the separation occur at the second head from the tail,
thus producing twins. The two sections came apart, however, in a very
few seconds after their departure from the colony. I am inclined to
believe that this deviation from the normal was due to accident;
probably to manipulation. This annelid is really "many in one" until the
very moment of division; the alimentary canal, nerves, blood-vessels,
etc., extend in unbroken continuity from the head of the parent worm to
the tail of the last section. In every fourth (sometimes fifth) ring two
round, dark-colored spots will be observed; these spots are ocelli, and
some of them eventually become the eyes of young worms. These organs
even in their embryonic state possess sight, for they have special
nerves and pigment-cells; they can differentiate between light and
darkness.

The snail carries its eyes in telescopic watch-towers. This animal is,
for the most part, nocturnal in its habits, and, since prominent and
commanding view points are assigned to its organs of sight, one would
naturally expect to find a comparatively high degree of development in
them; and this supposition is correct. The eyes of the creature are in
the extreme tips of its "horns," and consist of (1) a cornea, (2) a
lens, and (3) a retina. Lubbock is rather disposed to decry the visual
powers of the snail;[10] my conclusions, drawn from personal
observations, are, however, directly the opposite. The position of the
eyes at the extreme tips of the horns naturally indicates that they
subserve a very useful purpose; otherwise they would not have attained
such prominence and such a high degree of development. Actual
experimentation declares that the garden snail can see a moving white
object, such as a ball of cotton or twine, at a distance of two feet. In
my experiments I used a pole ten feet in length, from the tip of which a
white or dark ball was suspended by a string. The ball was made to
describe a pendulum-like movement to and fro in front of the snail on a
level with the tips of its horns. Time and again I have seen a snail
draw in its horns when it perceived the white ball, to it an unknown and
terror-inspiring object. I have likewise seen it change its line of
march, and proceed in another direction, in order to avoid the
mysterious white stranger dancing athwart its pathway. Dark-colored
objects are not so readily perceived; at least, snails do not give any
evidence of having seen them until they are brought within a foot of the
creatures under observation. A snail will generally see a black ball at
twelve or fourteen inches; sometimes it will not perceive the ball,
however, until it has been brought to within six or eight inches of its
eyestalks. During the season of courtship snails easily perceive one
another at the distance of eighteen or twenty inches. I have often
watched them at such times, and have been highly entertained by their
actions. The emotional natures of snails, as far as love and affection
are concerned, seem to be highly developed, and they show plainly by
their actions, when courting, the tenderness they feel for each other.
This has been noticed by many observers of high authority, notably
Darwin, Romanes, and Wolff.[11] Mantagazza, a distinguished Italian
scientist, in his _Physiognomy and Expression_, writes as follows: "As
long as I live I shall never see anything equal to the loving tenderness
of two snails, who, having in turn launched their little stone darts (as
in prehistoric times), caress and embrace each other with a grace that
might arouse the envy of the most refined epicurean."[12]

  [10] Lubbock, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 140.

  [11] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 27.

  [12] Mantagazza, _loc. cit._, p. 97.

Darwin tells us that two snails, one of them an invalid, the other in
perfect health, lived in the garden of one of his friends. Becoming
dissatisfied with their surroundings, the healthy one went in search of
another home. When it had found it, it returned and assisted its sick
comrade to go thither, evincing toward it, throughout the entire
journey, the utmost tenderness and solicitude.[13] The healthy snail
must have used its sight, as well as its other senses, to some purpose,
for, if my memory serves me correctly, we are told that the sick snail
rapidly regained its health amid its new surroundings.

  [13] Darwin, _Descent of Man_, pp. 262, 263.

The crayfish also has its eyes at the tips of eyestalks, but the eyes of
this creature are very different, indeed, from the eyes of the snail.
They are what are known as compound eyes, a type common to the crayfish
and lobster families. Viewed from above, the cornea of a crayfish is
seen to be divided into a number of compartments or cells, and looks, in
this respect, very much like a section of honeycomb. The microscope
shows that in each one of these cell-like compartments there is a
transparent cone-shaped body; this is called the crystalline cone. The
apex of this cone is prolonged into an exceedingly small tube, that
enters a striped spindle-like body called the striated spindle; the
entire structure is called a visual rod. Nerve-fibrils emanating from
the optic nerve enter the striated spindle at its lower extremity, and
in this way nervously energize the visual rod. There is a deposit of
pigment about the visual rod which arrests all rays of light save those
which strike the cornea parallel to the long axis of the crystalline
cone. We see from this that the visual picture formed by a crayfish's
eye must be made up of many parts; it is, in fact, a mosaic of hundreds
of little pictured sections, which, when united, form the picture as a
whole. Each visual rod receives its impression from the ray or rays of
light reflected from the object viewed which strike it in the line of
its long axis; the other rays are stopped by the layer of pigment-cells.
When the impressions of all the visual rods are added together, the sum
will be a mosaic of the object, but such a perfect one that the junction
of its many portions will be absolutely imperceptible.

The crayfish can see quite well. It has been thought that this creature
uses its sense of smell more than its sense of sight in the procurement
of its food. This is undoubtedly true where the animal is surrounded by
water that is muddy, or that is otherwise rendered opaque. The
odoriferous particles coming from the food being carried to the creature
by the water, it follows them until it arrives at this source.

It is different, however, in clear water and on land. I have seen
crayfish rush down stream after bits of meat thrown to them, thus showing
that here, at least, the sense of sight directed them. Again, I have
enticed crayfish from clear streams by slowly dragging a baited hook in
front of them. Moreover, when high and dry on land, I have seen them
follow with their eyes and bodies the tempting morsel as it waved to and
fro in the air above their heads.

The female crayfish carries her eggs beneath her tail, and, when they
have hatched out, the young find this sheltering member a safe and cosey
dwelling-place until they have grown strong enough to enter life's
struggle. At such times, the mother crayfish is quite brave, and will do
battle with any foe. With her eyestalks protruded to their utmost extent,
she vigilantly watches her enemy. Her eyes follow his movements, and her
sharp nipper is held in readiness for immediate use.

Actual experimentation has taught that these animals can descry a man at
the distance of twenty or twenty-five feet. When approaching a crayfish
"town" for the purpose of making observations, I use the utmost caution;
otherwise, each inhabitant will retreat into its burrow before I can
come close enough to observe them, even with my field-glasses.

The gyrinus, or "whirligig beetle," whose dwelling-place during the
greater portion of its life is, like that of the crayfish, in ponds and
streams, has remarkably acute vision. This insect is a true cosmopolite,
however, and is as much at home on dry land as it is in the water. All
seasons seem to be alike to it, just so the sun shines; for, during the
hottest days of summer and the coldest days of winter (that is, if there
is sunlight and no ice on the water), it may be seen on the surface of
ponds and streams, gyrating hither and thither in a seemingly mad and
purposeless manner.

Several of these creatures will be seen at one moment floating on the
water, still and motionless; the next moment they will be darting here
and there over the surface of the water, their black and burnished backs
shining in the sunlight like brilliant gems. Suddenly, it is "heels up
and heads down," and they disappear beneath the surface, each of them
carrying a bubble of air caught beneath the wing-tips; or, as the late
William Hamilton Gibson expresses it, "they carry a brilliant lantern
that goes gleaming like a silver streak down into the depths, for a
bubble of air is caught beneath their black wing-covers, and a diamond
of pure sunlight accompanies their course down among the weeds until
they once more ascend to the surface."[14] This little beetle is well
provided with eyes, for it has a large pair beneath its head, with which
it sees all that is going on in the water below, and another pair on the
sides of its head, with which it keeps a bright lookout above. That it
has remarkably keen vision with the latter pair, any one who has tried
to steal upon them unawares can testify.[15]

  [14] William Hamilton Gibson, _Sharp Eyes_, p. 307.

  [15] I have a distinct purpose in introducing these and other
  queer-eyed individuals while discussing the sense of sight. I wish to
  demonstrate through one or more of them the correlation of morphology,
  physiology, and psychology, as formulated in the first chapter of this
  work. This is one of the most important facts in the doctrine of
  evolution, and upon it is based the law of progressive psychical
  development from the simple manifestations of conscious determination
  in the lowest organisms to the most complex operations of the mind in
  man.

The queerest of all queer-eyed animals is, probably, the Periophthalmus,
a fish inhabiting the coasts of China, Japan, India, the Malayan
Archipelago, and East Africa.[16]

  [16] Semper, _Animal Life_, p. 374 _et seq._

I use the word coasts advisedly, for this strange creature when in
pursuit of its prey leaves the sea and comes out on the sands, thus
existing, for the greater portion of its life, in an element which,
according to the general nature of things, ought to be fatal to it. The
laws of evolution have, however, eminently prepared it for its peculiar
mode of life, for its gill-cavities have become so enlarged that when it
abandons the sea it carries in them a great quantity of water which
yields up the necessary supply of oxygen.

Its locomotion has been provided for likewise, for continued use along
certain lines has so developed its pectoral fins that the creature uses
them as legs, and jumps along at a surprising rate of speed.

Its eyes are very large and prominent, and possess, for a fish, the
peculiar faculty of looking around on all sides, hence its name,
"periophthalmus," which is derived from the Greek words, περί, around,
and ὀφθαλμός, eye. These eyes are situated on top of the animal's head,
and present a very grotesque appearance.

The favorite food of this fish is Onchidium, a naked mollusk. And, in
the matter of eyes, this last-mentioned creature is itself worthy of
remark. Its cephalic, or head, eyes are like those of other mollusks of
its genus, and are not worthy of special mention, but its dorsal eyes,
sometimes several dozen in number, are truly remarkable. These eyes,
although they are very simple in structure, in type are the same as
those of vertebrates, having corneæ, lenses, retinæ, and "blind spots."
(In the vertebrate eye, the spot where the optic nerve pierces the
external layer of the retina is not sensitive to light impressions;
hence, it is called the "blind spot.")

When this mollusk sees periophthalmus bounding over the sands (and that
it does see is beyond all question), what does it do? It contracts a
thousand or so of little bladder-like cells in the skin of its back,
thereby discharging a hailstorm of minute concretions in the face of its
enemy. The fish, terrified and amazed by the volley, often turns aside,
and the mollusk is saved. Thus we see that its dorsal eyes are of great
service to onchidium.

The Greeks were, unwittingly, very near an anatomical truth when they
ascribed to certain monsters, called cyclopes, only one eye apiece,
which was placed in the centre of their foreheads. The cyclopean eye
exists to-day in the brains of men in a rudimentary form, for in the
pineal gland we find the last vestiges of that which was once a third
eye, and which looked out into the world, if not from the centre of the
forehead, at least from very near that point. There is alive to-day a
little creature which would put to shame the one-eyed arrogance and
pride of Polyphemus, and Arges, and Brontes, and Steropes, and all the
rest of the single-eyed gentry who, in the days of myths and
myth-makers, inhabited the "fair Sicilian Isle." The animal in question
is a small lizard, called Calotis. Its well-developed third eye is
situated in the top of its head, and can be easily seen through the
modified and transparent scale which serves it as a cornea. Many other
lacertilians have this third eye, though it is not so highly organized
as it is in the species just mentioned. A tree lizard, which is to be
found in the mountains of East Tennessee and Kentucky, has its third eye
quite well developed. This little animal is called the "singing
scorpion" by the mountaineers (by the way, all lizards are scorpions to
these people), and is a most interesting creature. I heard its plaintive
"peep, peep, peep," on Chilhowee Mountain a number of times before I
became aware of the fact that a lizard was the singer. On dissection,
the third eye will be found lying immediately beneath the skin; it has a
lens, retina, and optic nerve.

Thus we see that the sense of sight is to be found in animals very low
in the scale of life. From a simple accumulation of pigment-cells which
serves to arrest light rays (in simple organisms such as rotifers) to
that complex and beautiful structure--the human eye--the organs of
vision have been developed, step by step.

We will also see in the course of this discussion that, just as these
simple and primal organisms have given place to more complex forms, just
so have the operations of mind become higher and more involved. We see,
in periopthalmus, a creature exceedingly well adapted by form, function,
and intelligence to its manner of life. We must admit, in fact, the
correlation and interdependence of morphology, physiology, and
psychology in the evolution of this creature from its ancestral form to
its present status.

The primitive organ of audition as it is to be observed in creatures of
simple, comparatively speaking, organization is as simple as is the
anatomy of the animals in which it is found. Commonly, it is a hollow
hair, which is connected by a minute nerve-filament with the sensorium.
Sound vibrations set the hair to vibrating, which in turn conveys the
vibrations to the nerve-filament, and so on to the auditory centre.
Sometimes the hair is not hollow; in this case, the root of the hair is
intimately associated with nerve-filaments which take up vibrations.

It is highly probable that the majority of the lower animals, especially
those which are sound-producers, can hear just as we hear. It is also
highly probable that the so-called deaf animals can hear, just as we
hear when we have either been born deaf, or through disease have lost
the power of hearing--by _feeling_ the sound waves.

Owing to our own lack of acuteness, all of the problems involved in this
question of audition in the lower animals will, probably, never be
definitely settled; yet, reasoning by analogy, we can, approximately,
solve some of them.

By far the larger number of entomologists locate the auditory organs of
insects in their antennæ. I have only to mention the names of such men
as Kirby, Spence, Burmeister, Hicks, Wolff, Newport, Oken, Strauss,
Durkheim, and Carus, who advance this opinion, to show what a formidable
array of talent maintains it. Yet my observations lead me to believe
otherwise, though these authorities are in part correct. As far as
Lepidoptera are concerned, and certain of Hemiptera, they are right--the
antennæ in these creatures are the seat of the organs of audition. But
in Orthoptera, in most of Coleoptera, Hymenoptera, and Diptera, and in
certain bugs (Hemiptera), they are located elsewhere. The habit that
almost all insects have of retracting their antennæ when alarmed by
noise, or otherwise, has done much to advance and strengthen the opinion
that these appendages are the seat of insect ears; yet I am confident
that in nine cases out of ten the antennæ are retracted through fear of
injury to them, and not through any impression made on them by sound.
The antennæ are the most exposed and least protected of any of the
appendages or members of the insect body; hence their retraction by
insects when alarmed is an instinctively protective action. They shelter
them as much as possible in order to keep them from being injured.
Again, although the antennæ of most insects are provided with numerous
sensitive hairs, or setæ, we have no right to assume that these hairs
are auditory; no "auditory rods," otoliths, etc., are to be found
generally in antennæ, yet there are exceptional instances. Leydig found
auditory rods in the antennæ of _Dyticus marginalis_ (Furneaux[17]), the
giant water-beetle, and I myself have observed them in _Corydalis
cornuta_ and other neuropterous insects. I am inclined to believe that
the entire order of Neuroptera has antennal ears, and should therefore
in this respect be classed with Lepidoptera.

  [17] Consult Furneaux, _Life in Ponds and Streams_, p. 325.

In grasshoppers and crickets the ears are situated in the anterior pairs
of legs. If the tibia of a grasshopper's anterior leg be examined, two
(one before and one behind) shining, oval, membranous disks, surrounded
by a marginal ridge, will be at once observed. These are the tympana or
ear-drums of the ear of that leg. Where the trachea, or air-tube, enters
the tibia it becomes enlarged and divides into two channels; these two
channels unite again lower down in the shaft of the tibia. The tracheæ
of non-stridulating grylli are much smaller than those of
sound-producing grasshoppers. The same may be said of the tibial
air-tubes of the so-called dumb crickets. In grasshoppers and crickets
the ear-drums lie bathed in air on both sides--the open air on the
external side and the air of the air-tube, or trachea, on the inside.
Lubbock calls attention to the fact that "the trachea acts like the
Eustachian tube in our own ear; it maintains an equilibrium of pressure
on each side of the tympanum, and enables it freely to transmit
atmospheric vibrations."

In grasshoppers the auditory nerve, after entering the tibia, divides into
two branches, one forming the supratympanal ganglion, the other descending
to the tympanum and forming a ganglion known as Siebold's organ. This
last-mentioned ganglion is strikingly like the organ of Corti in our own
ear, and undoubtedly serves a like purpose in the phenomenon of audition.
The organ of Corti is composed of some four thousand delicate vesicles,
graduated in size, each one of which vibrates in unison with some
particular number of sound vibrations. The organ of Siebold in the
grasshopper's ear begins with vesicles, of which a few of the first are
nearly equal in size; these vesicles then regularly diminish in size to
the end of the series. Each of these vesicles contains an auditory rod,
and is in communication with the auditory nerve through a delicate
nerve-fibril. I have observed that each of these nerve-fibrils swells into
a minute ganglion immediately after leaving its particular vesicle; the
function of these ganglia is, I take it, to strengthen and reënforce
nerve-energy. No other observer mentions these ganglia, as far as I have
been able to determine; they may have been absent, however, in the
specimens studied by others, yet in the specimens studied by myself--the
"red-legged locust" (_Melanoplus femur-rubrum_, Comstock)[18] and the
"meadow grasshopper" (_Xiphidium_), they were always present.

  [18] Consult Comstock, _Manual for the Study of Insects_, p. 110.

That grasshoppers, locusts, and crickets can hear, no one who has
observed these creatures during the mating season will for one instant
deny; they hear readily and well, for in most of them the sense of
hearing is remarkably acute.

Immediately behind the wings of flies two curious knobbed organs are to
be observed; these are considered to be rudimentary hinder wings by
entomologists, and are called the halteres. Bolles Lee and others of
the French scientists call them _balanciers_. This latter name I
consider the correct one, for these organs unquestionably preside over
alate equilibrium: they are true balancers. I do not propose to enter
into any discussion as to whether these organs are rudimentary wings or
not; suffice it to say that they appear to me to be organs fully
developed and amply sufficient to serve the purposes for which they were
created. Whether or not in the process of evolution there has occurred a
change of function, is a point which will not be discussed in this
paper. As they now exist, I deem them to be auditory organs of Diptera
(flies, gnats, etc.).

The semicircular canals are, to a great extent if not entirely, the seat
of equilibration in man. Any derangement or disease of these canals
interferes with equilibration; this is well shown in Ménière's disease,
in which there is always marked disturbance of the equilibrating
function.

If the balancers of a horsefly be removed, the insect at once loses its
equilibrium; it cannot direct its flight, but plunges headlong to the
ground. The same can be said of _Chrysops niger_--in fact, of the entire
family of Tabanidæ, of the gall gnat (_Diplosis resinicola_, Comstock),
and of the March flies (_Bibionidæ_). These widely differing flies
constitute the material from which I have derived my data; I will
venture to assert, however, without fear of contradiction, that what
has been said about the flies mentioned above is equally true of all
flies.

When the knobbed end of the balancers of the horsefly (_Tabanus
atratus_, Comstock)[19] are examined with the microscope, the cuticle
will be found to be set with minute hairs or setæ; some of these hairs
penetrate both cuticle and hypoderm, are hollow, and receive into their
hollows delicate nerve-fibrils. These nerve-fibrils pass inward toward
the centre, and enter ganglia, which in turn are in immediate connection
with the great nerves of the balancers. There is but one nerve in the
insect's body that is larger than the balancer nerve, and that is the
optic nerve; hence, it is natural to infer that the balancer nerve leads
to some special sense centre. This centre in my opinion is,
unquestionably, the seat of the auditory function.

  [19] Consult Comstock, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 455.

It has been demonstrated beyond doubt that analogous hollow hairs, or
setæ, are prominent factors of audition in many animals, notably
crustaceans, such as the lobster, the crab, and the crayfish, and many
of the insect family; hence, it is logically correct to conclude that
the hollow hairs on the balancers of flies are likewise auditory hairs.
Moreover, there are grouped about the bases of these knobbed organs
certain rows of vesicles, which contain auditory rods almost identical
in appearance with the auditory rods of the grasshopper. Indeed, I have
found those in the upper row of vesicles to be precisely similar in
appearance to the rods found in Melanoplus.

I have determined that in the horsefly (_Tabanus atratus_) there are six
rows of these vesicles, and that they are graduated in size. There are
in the knobs of the balancers minute spiracles (I do not think that
these have been pointed out before by any other observer) through which
air passes into the large, vesicular cells which make up the greater
portion of the knobs; spiracles are also to be found in the shafts of
the balancers, thus providing an abundance of air to the internal
structures of these organs and allowing for the free transmission of
sound vibrations.

I am well aware of the fact that in considering these organs to be the
ears of flies, I antagonize Lee and others who consider them olfactory
in character.[20] The position I take in regard to these organs is,
however, a tenable one, and one that cannot easily be overthrown.

  [20] Bolles Lee, _Les Balanciers des Dipteres_; quoted also by
  Lubbock, _Senses, Instincts_, etc., pp. 110, 111.

The ears of Lepidoptera (butterflies) are situated in their antennæ. This
fact has been clearly demonstrated by Lubbock, Graber, Leydig, and Wolff.
Newport has made an especially exhaustive study of the antennæ of insects;
and he, too, places the organs of audition in these appendages.[21] But in
Coleoptera my experiments and microscopical researches compel me to
assert that I differ somewhat from the conclusions of the above-mentioned
authorities. These gentlemen locate the ears of beetles also in their
antennæ. Lubbock bases his conclusions on an experiment of Will--an
experiment which, if it had been carried a little further, would have
demonstrated the fact that the ears of beetles are not in their antennæ,
but are, on the contrary, in their maxillary palpi.

  [21] Newport, _The Antennæ of Insects_, Entomol. Society, Vol. II.

Will put a female Cerambyx beetle into a box, which he placed on a
table; he then put a male Cerambyx on the table, some four inches from
the box. When he touched the female she began to chirrup, whereupon the
male turned his antennæ toward the box, "as if to determine from which
direction the sound came, and then marched straight toward the female."
Will concluded from this that the ears of the beetle were located in its
antennæ.[22]

  [22] Will, _Das Geschmacksorgen der Insecten_, Wiss. Zool.; quoted
  also by Lubbock, _Senses, Instincts_, etc., p. 96.

Seeing that Will's experiment as described by him was incomplete, I took
a pair of beetles belonging to the same family (genus _Prionus_), and
determined the true location of their ears by a system of rigid
exclusion. These beetles, when irritated, make a squeaking chirrup by
rubbing together the prothorax and mesothorax.

When I irritated the female she began to chirrup, and the male
immediately turned toward the small paper box in which she was confined.
I then removed the antennæ of the male, and again made the female
stridulate; the male heard her, and at once crawled toward her, although
his antennæ were entirely removed.

This showed conclusively that the organs of audition were not located in
the antennæ, as Will supposed and as Lubbock advocates. I then removed
the maxillary palpi of the male, after which the insect remained deaf to
all sounds emanating from the female.

Again, I took an unmutilated male, which at once turned and crawled
toward the chirruping female. I then removed its labial palpi, leaving
maxillary palpi and antennæ intact; it heard the female and made toward
her. The maxillary palpi were then removed (the antennæ being left _in
situ_), and at once the creature became deaf.

If the maxillary palpi of long-horned beetles be examined, certain
vesicular organs, each containing a microscopic hair, will be observed
in the basal segments; these, I take it, are auditory vesicles. In some
of the Coleoptera I have found auditory rods in the apical segments,
though this is by no means a common occurrence. In Cicindelidæ and
Carabidæ these auditory vesicles are exceedingly small, and require a
very high-power objective in order to be clearly seen.

In justice to other observers I must say, however, that I am inclined to
believe that in all beetles the antennæ in some way aid or assist
audition, but they are adjuncts, as it were, and not absolutely
necessary. It is a matter of easy demonstration to show that some of
these insects hear less acutely where they are deprived of their antennæ.
I presume they are about as necessary in audition as are the external
appendages of the human ear; this, however, is mere supposition, and has
no scientific warrant for its verity.

I have purposely said but very little about the senses of touch, taste,
and smell in this discussion of the senses in the lower animals. These
three senses have been so exhaustively treated by Lubbock in his
_Senses, Instincts, and Intelligences of Animals_, that I could not hope
to introduce any new data in regard to them. Graber, Frey, Leuckart,
Farre, Hertwig, and a host of others have likewise investigated these
senses most thoroughly.

As to the senses of sight and hearing, the matter presented a different
aspect. I was confident that I could add somewhat to the knowledge
already formulated, consequently I have treated these senses at some
length. Technicalities and the details of microscopic investigation,
especially microscopic anatomy, have been omitted; they have no place in
a work like this.



CHAPTER II

CONSCIOUS DETERMINATION


Conscious determination, or, effort induced by conscious volition, is
the basic mental operation upon which is reared that complex psychical
structure which is to be found in the higher animals, and especially in
man--the highest product of evolutionary development.

By conscious volition is not meant that consciousness which appertains
to the child of two or three years, who, at that age, recognizes the
_ego_. Ego-knowledge, while undoubtedly present in some of the higher
animals, such as the dog, monkey, horse, cat, etc., is not a factor in
the psychical make-up of any of the lower animals (insects, crustaceans,
mollusks, etc.). But consciousness, so far as volition or choice is
concerned, enters into the _psychos_ of animals exceedingly low in the
scale of animal life.

We have seen in the chapter on the senses in the lower animals, that
animals possess one or all of the five senses--touch, taste, smell,
sight, and hearing; we will see in a later chapter that some of them
likewise possess certain other senses which man has lost in the process
of evolution.

Now, let us very briefly discuss the _modus operandi_ through which and
by which conscious determination and other psychical manifestations
arise from the physical basis--the senses.[23] I have asserted, and, as
I believe, I have demonstrated elsewhere, the interdependence and
correlation of physiology and psychology. Furthermore, I wish to be
plainly understood as also asserting the physical basis and origin of
all psychical operations whatever they may be.

  [23] "Sensorial impression is at the bottom of all our ideas, all our
  conceptions, though it may at first conceal itself in the form of a
  binary, ternary, quaternary compound; and, on our methodically
  pursuing the inquiry, it is easily recognizable--just as a simple
  substance in organic chemistry may be always summoned to appear, if we
  sit down with the resolution to disengage it from all the artificial
  combinations which hold it imprisoned."--LUYS, _The Brain and its
  Functions_, p. 252.

Mind is always associated, according to our experience and knowledge
(and this question must be studied objectively) with a peculiar tissue
which is only to be found in animal organisms. This tissue is called
nerve, and is made up of cells and, broadly speaking, prolongations of
cells which are called nerve-fibres.

Certain accumulations of nerve-cells called ganglions (ganglia) are to
be found scattered throughout the structure of animals. Experiment and
observation teach that these ganglia subserve a governing influence
over nerve-action; hence, they are called nerve-centres.

Nerve-tissue is found in all animals above and including Hydrozoa,
according to Romanes;[24] I am inclined to believe, however, that it is
present in animals even lower than Hydrozoa, for I have been able, on more
than one occasion, to verify Professor Clark's observations in regard to
the protozoan, _Stentor polymorphus_, which, as he asserts,[25] has a
well-developed nervous system. Moreover, I have seen, in my opinion,
unquestionable acts of conscious determination enacted by this little
creature, as I will point out further along in this chapter.

  [24] Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Animals_, p. 24.

  [25] Clark, _Mind in Nature_, p. 64 _et seq._

Nerve-tissue has the peculiar faculty of transmitting impressions made
upon it by stimuli. When a nerve is acted on by a stimulus, the
impression wave is transmitted along the in-going nerve to the ganglion;
here, the stimulus is transferred to the out-going nerve, which, going
to the muscle, causes it to contract.

This form of nerve-action is called reflex action, and reflex action is,
in the beginning, the germ from which spring volition (choice) and all
of the higher psychical attributes.

Again, it is to be observed, as animals become more highly organized,
that nerves have the power of discriminating between stimuli, and "it is
this power of discriminating between stimuli," as Romanes puts it,
"_irrespective of their relative mechanical intensities_, that
constitutes the physiological aspect of choice" (volition). It is also
through the faculty of discrimination that the special senses, upon
which the entire psychical structure depends, have been evolved.

The fact of this power of discrimination has been so clearly and so
beautifully demonstrated by Romanes, that I present his experiment and
observations, as detailed by him in his magnificent work, _Mental
Evolution in Animals_:--

"I have observed that if a sea-anemone is placed in an aquarium tank,
and allowed to fasten on one side of the tank near the surface of the
water, and if a jet of sea-water is made to play continuously and
forcibly upon the anemone from above, the result of course is that the
animal becomes surrounded with a turmoil of water and air-bubbles. Yet,
after a short time, it becomes so accustomed to this turmoil that it
will expand its tentacles in search of food, just as it does when placed
in calm water. If now one of the expanded tentacles is gently touched
with a solid body, all the others close around that body, in just the
same way as they would were they expanded in calm water. That is to say,
the tentacles are able to discriminate between the stimulus which is
applied by the turmoil of the water and that which is supplied by their
contact with the solid body, and they respond to the latter stimulus
notwithstanding that it is of incomparably less intensity than the
former."[26]

  [26] Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Animals_, pp. 48, 49.

When a stimulus passes over a nerve to a ganglion, it leaves upon it an
impression which remains for a shorter or longer time as the stimulus is
great or small. Now, when a stimulus is again applied to the nerve, the
impression wave follows in the footsteps, as it were, of the first
impression wave, and the ganglion reflects or transfers it just as
before, thus showing that nerve has another peculiar quality--that of
_memory_.

Again, when two or more reflexes are excited by the same stimulus or
stimuli, the ganglion learns to associate one with the other, thus
showing that it possesses another quality--that of the association of
ideas (stimuli and reflexes).

All of these operations are, in their beginnings, exceedingly simple;
yet, as organisms increase in complexity, these simple beginnings become
more complex and more highly developed.

Heretofore, the operations described have been entirely ganglionic
(reflex) and utterly without that which we call consciousness. Now, since
consciousness, as I understand it, is simply a knowledge of existence, and
since this knowledge of existence is only to be had through sensual
perceptions, and, since sensual perceptions are excited undoubtedly by
coördinated stimuli, then, "there cannot be coördination of many stimuli
without some ganglion through which they are all brought into relation.
In the process of bringing these into relation, this ganglion must be
subject to the influence of each--must undergo many changes. And the quick
succession of changes in a ganglion, implying as it does perpetual
experiences of differences and likenesses, constitute the raw material of
consciousness."[27]

  [27] Spencer, _Principles of Psychology_, Vol. I. p. 435.

However quick this succession of changes may be, there must be an
interval of time between the application of the stimulus and the
response to that stimulus, hence, the element of time enters into all
psychical operations that are not distinctly reflex. Even in the
reflexes there is a time element, but it is distinctly shorter than the
time interval that enters into the make-up of a conscious psychical
operation. This can easily be demonstrated, as has been done, time and
again, by actual experiment.

"With this gradual dawn of consciousness as revealed to subjective
analysis, we should expect some facts of physiology, or of objective
analysis, to correspond; and this we do find. For in our own organisms we
know that reflex actions are not accompanied by consciousness, although
the complexity of the nerve-muscular systems concerned in these actions
may be very considerable. Clearly, therefore, it is not mere complexity of
ganglionic action that determines consciousness. What, then, is the
difference between the mode of operation of the cerebral hemispheres and
that of the lower ganglia, which may be taken to correspond with the great
subjective distinction between the consciousness which may attend the
former and the no-consciousness which is invariably characteristic of the
latter? I think that the only difference that can be pointed to is a
difference of rate of time."[28]

  [28] Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Animals_, pp. 72, 73.

The gradual cultivation of the senses (evolution), during which the
special adaptations of their motor reactions are gradually developed, is a
necessary prerequisite to the formation and elaboration of conscious
volition.[29] In the foregoing pages I have very briefly discussed this
cultivation of the senses and the development of their motor reactions. I
have likewise outlined the origin of volition from sensual perceptions; it
now becomes necessary in this discussion of mind, in the lower animals, to
study those organisms in which volition (choice) first makes its
appearance in the shape of conscious determination.

  [29] Maudsley, _Physiology of Mind_, p. 247.

_Stentor polymorphus_ is exceedingly interesting on more than one
account. Its queer, trumpet-like shape, with its flaring, bell-like,
open mouth (if I may use such a term to indicate its entire cephalic
extremity), surmounted by rows of vibratile cilia, its pulsating
contractile vesicle, its ability to move from place to place by
swimming, are all interesting features; but, when it is ascertained to
be the first creature in the entire Animal Kingdom in which a true
nervous system is to be found, then it becomes doubly interesting.

This protozoan has been a favorite subject for study with microscopists,
but Professor Clark of Harvard was the first observer to note and call
attention to its nerve-supply. Says he in his note calling attention to
this discovery:--

"The digestive and circulatory systems are the only parts of the
organization essential to life that are known to investigators; but
recently I have been led to believe that I have discovered the _nervous
system_, or at least a part of it, and that too in the very region of
the body where there is the most activity, and therefore more likely
than elsewhere to have this system most strongly developed. Immediately
within the edge of the disk (_bell_) there runs all around a narrow
faint band, which lies so close to the surface that it is difficult to
determine precisely that it is not actually superficial. From this band
there arise, at nearly equal distances all round, about a dozen
excessively faint thin stripes, which converge in a general direction
toward the mouth."[30]

  [30] Clark, _Mind in Nature_, pp. 64, 65.

This band Professor Clark very correctly, as I believe, assumes to be a
part of Stentor's nervous system; for, with a medium high-power lens
(×500) I have been able to make out ganglionic enlargements both in the
circular band and in the stripes. These ganglia are the brain of this
infusorian. When the animalcule is stained with eosin, the nervous
system can very readily be made out and followed throughout all of its
ramifications.

On one occasion, while I was studying the contractile vesicle (heart) of
one of these animalcules, I saw it evince what seemed to me to be
unquestionable evidences of conscious determination.

Just above the creature, which was resting in its tube (it builds a
gelatinous tube into which it shrinks when alarmed or disturbed in any
way), there was a bit of alga, from which ripened spores were being given
off. Some of these spores were ruptured (probably by my manipulations) and
starch grains were escaping therefrom.

The Stentor, from its location below the alga, could not reach the
starch grains without altering its position. I saw it elevate itself in
its tube until it touched the starch grains with its cilia. With these
it swept a grain into its mouth, and then sank down in its tube. I
thought, at first, that this was the result of accident, but when the
creature again elevated itself, and again captured a starch grain, I was
compelled to admit design!

By some sense, it had discovered the presence of starch, which it
recognized to be food; it could not get at this food without making a
change in its position, which, therefore, it immediately proceeded to
do!

Here was an act which required, so it seemed to me, correlative
ideation, and which was doubly surprising, because occurring in an
animal of such extremely simple organization. This observation was
substantiated, however, by the testimony of Professor Carter, an English
biologist, which came to my notice a week or so thereafter. This
investigator witnessed a similar act in an animalcule belonging, it is
true, to another family, but which is almost, if not quite, as simple in
its organization as Stentor. He does not designate the particular
rhizopods that he had under observation, yet from his language, we are
able to classify them approximately. His account is so very interesting
that I take the liberty of quoting him in full.

"On one occasion, while investigating the nature of some large,
transparent, spore-like elliptical cells (fungal?) whose protoplasm was
rotating, while it was at the same time charged with triangular grains
of starch, I observed some actinophorous rhizopods creeping about them,
which had similar shaped grains of starch in their interior; and having
determined the nature of these grains by the addition of iodine, I
cleansed the glasses, and placed under the microscope a new portion of
the sediment from the basin containing these cells and actinophryans for
further examination, when I observed one of the spore-like cells had
become ruptured, and that a portion of its protoplasm, charged with the
triangular starch grains, was slightly protruding through the crevice.
It then struck me that the actinophryans had obtained their starch
grains from this source; and while looking at the ruptured cell, an
_actinophrys_ made its appearance, and creeping round the cell, at last
arrived at the crevice, from which it extricated one of the grains of
starch mentioned, and then crept off to a good distance. Presently,
however, it returned to the same cell; and although there were now no
more starch grains protruding, the _actinophrys_ managed again to
extract one from the interior through the crevice. All this was repeated
several times, showing that the _actinophrys_ instinctively knew that
those were nutritious grains, that they were contained in this cell, and
that, although each time after incepting a grain it went away to some
distance, it knew how to find its way back to the cell again which
furnished this nutriment.

"On another occasion I saw an _actinophrys_ station itself close to a
ripe spore-cell of _pythium_, which was situated on a filament of
_Spirogyra crassa_; and as the young ciliated monadic germs issued forth
one after another from the dehiscent spore-cell, the _actinophrys_
remained by it and caught every one of them, even to the last, when it
retired to another part of the field, as if instinctively conscious that
there was nothing more to be got at the old place.

"But by far the greatest feat of this kind that ever presented itself to
me was the catching of a young _acineta_ by an old sluggish _amoeba_,
as the former left its parent; this took place as follows:

"In the evening of the 2d of June, 1858, in Bombay, while looking
through a microscope at some _Euglenæ_, etc., which had been placed
aside for examination in a watch-glass, my eye fell upon a stalked and
triangular _acineta_ (_A. mystacina?_), around which an _amoeba_ was
creeping and lingering, as they do when they are in quest of food. But
knowing the antipathy that the _amoeba_, like almost every other
infusorian, has to the tentacles of the _acineta_, I concluded that the
_amoeba_ was not encouraging an appetite for its whiskered companion,
when I was surprised to find that it crept up the stem of the _acineta_,
and wound itself round its body.

"This mark of affection, too much like that frequently evinced at the
other end of the scale, even where there is mind for its control, did
not long remain without interpretation. There was a young _acineta_,
tender and without poisonous tentacles (for they are not developed at
birth), just ready to make its exit from its parent, an exit which takes
place so quickly, and is followed by such rapid bounding movements of
the non-ciliated _acineta_, that who would venture to say, _a priori_,
that a dull, heavy, sluggish _amoeba_ could catch such an agile little
thing? But the _amoebæ_ are as unerring and unrelaxing in their grasp
as they are unrelenting in their cruel inceptions of the living and the
dead, when they serve them for nutrition; and thus the _amoeba_,
placing itself around the ovarian aperture of the _acineta_, received
the young one, nurse-like, in its fatal lap, incepted it, descended from
the parent, and crept off. Being unable to conceive at the time that
this was such an act of atrocity on the part of the _amoeba_ as the
sequel disclosed, and thinking that the young _acineta_ might yet
escape, or pass into some other form in the body of its host, I watched
the _amoeba_ for some time afterwards, until the tale ended by the
young _acineta_ becoming divided into two parts, and thus in their
respective digestive spaces ultimately becoming broken down and
digested."[31]

  [31] Carter, _Annals of Natural History_, 3d Series, 1863, pp. 45, 46;
  quoted also by Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, pp. 20, 21.

In the discussion of conscious and unconscious mind, I called attention
to the marginal bodies of the nectocalyx of the jelly-fish. These bodies
in the "covered-eyed" species are protected by hoods of gelatinous
tissue; in the naked-eyed species the hoods are absent. The marginal
bodies in both species are practically identical as far as general
make-up is concerned, being composed of an accumulation of
brightly-colored pigment-cells, embedded in which are several minute
clear crystals. Nerve-fibres connect these bodies with the sensorium
("nerve-ring").

Jelly-fish seek the light, and they can be made to follow a bright light
from one side of the aquarium to the other by manipulating the light in
the proper manner. Even where a slight current is set up in the water,
they will swim against it in their efforts to reach the light.

When two or more of the marginal bodies are excised, no effect seems to
follow such excision, but as soon as the last of these bodies is cut
out, the creature falls to the bottom of the tank without motion.

When a point in the nectocalyx is irritated with a point of a needle or
by a vegetable or mineral irritant, the tip of the manubrium will turn
toward, and endeavor to touch, the spot irritated. It does not turn at
once, as it would were its movements the result of reflex action; it
moves deliberately as though actuated by volition.

The above experiments and observation seem to indicate the presence of
conscious determination in the medusa; in fact, there seems to be a
distinct element of choice in these psychical manifestations.

While engaged in watching a water-louse, I saw it swim to a hydra, tear
off one of its buds, and then swim some distance away to a small bit of
mud, behind which it hid until it devoured its tender morsel. Again it
swam back to the hydra and plucked from it one of its young; again it
swam back to the little mud heap, behind which it once more ensconced
itself until it was through with its meal. When we remember that this
little creature was among entirely new surroundings (for I dipped it
from a pond in a tablespoon full of water which I had poured into a
saucer), we will appreciate the fact that the water-louse evinced
conscious determination and no little memory. It probably discovered the
hydra accidentally; it then, as soon as it had secured its prey, swam
away, seeking some spot where it could eat its food without molestation.
But when it sought the hydra again and swam back to its sheltering mud
heap, it showed that it remembered the route to and from its source of
food supply and its temporary hiding-place.

At the base of a large terminal ganglion in the neuro-cephalic system of
the common garden snail, lying immediately below and between its two
"horns," will be found, I am satisfied, the centre governing its sense
of direction. For, when this portion of this ganglion is destroyed, the
snail loses its ability of returning to its home when carried only a
short distance away; otherwise, it can find its way back to its domicile
when taken what must be to it a very great distance away, indeed.
Beneath the stone coping of a brick wall surrounding the front of my
lawn, and which, on the side toward my residence, is almost flush with
the ground, many garden snails find a cool, moist, and congenial home.
Last summer I took six of these snails, and, after marking them with a
paint of zinc oxide and gum arabic, set them free on the lawn. In time,
four of these marked snails returned to their home beneath the stone
coping; two of them were probably destroyed by enemies. Again, the same
number of snails were marked, after the base of the above-mentioned
ganglion had been destroyed, and likewise set free. Although they lived
and were to be observed now and then on the trees and bushes of the
lawn, none of them ever returned to the place from which they were taken
beneath the stone coping. I have performed this experiment repeatedly,
always with like results.

These experiments show that the snail is capable of conscious effort;
furthermore, they indicate that this little animal is the possessor of a
special sense which many of the higher animals have lost in the process
of evolution. I refer to the sense of direction, or "homing instinct,"
so-called, which will be treated at length in the chapter on Auxiliary
Senses.

Darwin has very beautifully demonstrated the senses of touch, taste, and
smell in the angle-worm; provisionally he denies it, however, the senses
of sight and hearing.[32] I think he is in error as to these last two
senses.

  [32] Darwin, _Formation of Vegetable Mould_.

Angle-worms are nocturnal in their habits, hence, we should expect, from
the very nature of things, to find them able to differentiate between
light and darkness. And experiments show, very conclusively, that they
are very sensitive to light. My vermicularium is made of glass,
consequently, when one of its inmates happens to be next to the glass
sides, which very frequently occurs, it is easy to experiment on it with
pencils of strong light. If a ray of light is directed upon an
angle-worm, it at once begins to show discomfort, and, in a very few
moments, it will crawl away from the source of annoyance, and hide in
some tunnel deep in the earth of the vermicularium. Again, when the
worms are out of their tunnels at night, a strong light shining on them
will at once cause them to seek their holes.

If the back of an earthworm be examined with a high-power lens (×500),
small points of pigment will be seen here and there in its dorsal
integument; these, I believe, are primitive eyes (ocelli). I think that
the worm is enabled to tell the difference between light and darkness
through the agency of these minute dark spots, which serve to arrest the
rays of light, thus conveying a stimulus to nerve-fibrils, which, in
turn, carry it to the sensorium.

Any country schoolboy will tell you that worms can hear. He points to
his simple experiment (pounding on the earth with a club) in proof of
his assertion. For, as soon as he begins to pound the ground in a
favorable neighborhood, the worms will come to the surface "to see what
makes the noise." Darwin assumes that the worms feel the vibrations,
which are disagreeable to them, and come to the surface in order to
escape them. I do not deny the possibility or the probability of this
assumption; I do deny, however, that it proves that worms are deaf.

If the third anal segment (abdominal aspect) of a worm be examined, two
round, disk-like organs incorporated in the integument will be found;
these organs are supplied with special nerves which lead to the central
nerve-cord. Experiments lead me to believe that these are organs of
audition.

When I tap the earth of my vermicularium with a pencil, the unmutilated
worms will come to the surface; but, when the organs described above are
removed, the worms so mutilated will not respond to the tapping, but
will remain in their tunnel. The worms are not appreciably impaired by
such mutilation; on the contrary, they seem to thrive as well as those
to which the knife has not been applied.

In creatures which possess, in all probability, the senses of touch,
taste, smell, sight, and hearing, we would naturally expect to find some
evidences of conscious determination; and we do.

Certain leaves are the favorite food of earth-worms, while certain other
leaves are eaten by them, but not with avidity. When these two kinds of
leaves are given to worms, they will carefully select the favorite food
and will ignore the other, thus unmistakably evincing conscious choice.
Their avoidance of light is probably the result of conscious
determination, and not reflex, as some observers maintain.

Oysters taken from a bank never uncovered by the sea, open their shells,
lose the water within, and soon die; but oysters kept in a reservoir and
occasionally uncovered learn to keep their shells closed, and live much
longer when taken out of the water. This is an act of intelligence due
directly to experience without even the factor of heredity.[33] It is an
instance of almost immediate adaptation to surrounding circumstances.

  [33] Dicquemase, _Journal de Physique_, Vol. XXVIII. p. 244; quoted
  also by Darwin, MS.; by Bingley, _Animal Biography_, Vol. III. p. 454;
  and by Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 25.

A gentleman fixed a land-snail, with the mouth of the shell upward, in a
chink of a rock. The animal protruded its foot to the utmost extent,
and, attaching it above, tried to pull the shell vertically in a
straight line. Then it stretched its body to the right side, pulled, and
failed to move the shell. It then stretched its foot to the left side,
pulled with all of its strength, and released the shell. There were
intervals of rest between these several attempts, during which the snail
remained quiescent.[34] Thus we see that it exerted force in three
directions, never twice in the same direction, which fact shows
conscious determination and no slight degree of intelligence.

  [34] Consult Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 26.

A ground wasp once built a nest beneath the brick pavement in front of
my door. The entrance of the nest was situated in the little sulcus, or
ditch, between two bricks. While the wasp was absent, I stopped the
entrance with a pellet of paper, and, when the little housekeeper
returned, she was nonplussed for a moment or two, when she discovered
that her doorway had been closed. The wasp, after examining the pellet
of paper, seized it with her jaws and tried to pull it away; but, since
she stood on the brick and pulled backwards (toward herself), the edge
of the brick interposed, and she could not dislodge the obstacle.
Finally, she got down into the little gully between the two bricks, and
pulled the pellet away from the opening of the nest without any further
trouble. Three times I performed the experiment, the wasp going through
like performances each time. At the fourth time, however, she went at
once into the little space between the bricks, and then removed the wad
of paper without difficulty. I stopped the hole five or six times after
this, but she had learned a lesson; she always got into the sulcus
between the bricks before attempting to remove the paper. She had
discovered the fact that she could not remove it when she stood upon the
surfaces of the bricks, owing to the interposition of their sides, and
that she could drag it away if she got down into the little ditch and
pulled the paper in a direction where nothing opposed. In this instance
there was not only conscious determination, but also a distinct
exhibition of memory. It took the wasp some time to learn that she had
to pull in a certain direction before she could remove the pellet of
paper; but when she had once learned this fact, she remembered it. And
this brings us to another quality of mind--memory--which will be
discussed in the next chapter.



CHAPTER III

MEMORY


In discussing memory as it is to be observed in the lower animals, I
think it best to divide the subject into four parts; viz., _Memory of
Locality_ (_Surroundings_), _Memory of Friends_ (_Kindred_), _Memory of
Strangers_ (_Other Animals not Kin_), and _Memory of Events_
(_Education_, _Happenings_, _etc._).

_Memory of Locality._--There can be no doubt but that the rhizopods
observed by Carter displayed memory of locality. He distinctly asserts
that he saw the actinophrys, after it had incepted a starch grain,
"crawl away to a good distance" and then return to the spore-cell from
which it was taking the grains of starch. The creature must have
remembered the route to and from the spore-cell. The same must be said
of the water-louse observed by myself, which not only came back to the
source of its food-supply, but also returned to a certain lurking-spot
at which it hid itself each time until it had eaten the hydra buds. It
must be remembered that a journey of one inch, to these minute little
creatures, is, comparatively speaking, an immense distance. Each grain
of sand, each particle of decayed vegetable matter, etc., is, to these
microscopic animalcules, a gigantic boulder, a mighty muck heap. These
obstacles in the path undoubtedly serve as landmarks to the wandering
myriads of microscopic animalcules.

It can be demonstrated that the snail has memory of locality. This
creature is essentially a homing animal, as I will show in the chapter
on Auxiliary Senses, consequently we would naturally expect to find it
possessing memory of locality. An interesting observation by Mr.
Lonsdale, an English observer, which has been often quoted, clearly
proves that this creature does possess this psychical function. Mr.
Lonsdale placed two snails in a small and badly kept garden. One of them
was weak and poorly nourished, the other strong and well. The strong one
disappeared and was traced by its slimy track over a wall into a
neighboring garden where there was plenty of food. Mr. Lonsdale thought
that it had deserted its mate, but it subsequently appeared and
conducted its comrade over the wall into the bountiful food-supply of
the neighboring garden. It seemed to coax and assist its feeble
companion when it lingered on the way.[35]

  [35] Darwin, _Descent of Man_, pp. 262, 263.

Marked bees and ants invariably return to places where they have found
food-supplies, thus showing the possession of a memory of locality and
route. It is very interesting to watch a marked ant during her journey
back to her nest, after she has been carried away and placed among
unfamiliar scenes and surroundings. At first, owing to her fright, she
will dash away helter-skelter; but soon recovering, she will head in the
direction of home, and moderate her pace until she creeps along at a
very cautious and circumspect gait, indeed. Every now and then she will
climb a tall grass-blade or weed and take observations. After a while
she sees certain landmarks, and her speed becomes faster; soon the
surrounding country becomes familiar, and she ceases to climb blades of
grass, etc., now she is in the midst of well-known scenes, and at last
she fairly races into her nest.

In this instance the ant is led at first by her sense of direction
alone; as soon, however, as she comes to country which she has hunted
over, and with which she is familiar, memory comes into play and the
sense of direction ceases to act, or, if it acts at all, it acts
unconsciously.

Sand-wasps build their nests in the ground, and, when leaving their
tunnels in search of food for the prospective grubs, always circle about
them and observe the lay of the land before taking their departure.
Numerous sand-wasps build in the interstices between the bricks of a
pavement in front of my house. When one leaves her tunnel she will fly
about the orifice for several seconds (taking observations) before she
finally flies away. When she returns, she hovers about the orifice, or,
rather, in its neighborhood, until she is quite certain that it is the
entrance to her home, when she will dart in with such rapidity that the
eye can scarcely follow her movements.

On one occasion, I covered the pavement surrounding the entrance with
newspapers, leaving, however, about three inches on all sides of the
orifice uncovered. When the wasp returned she seemed to be completely at
a loss what to do. She hovered about for at least an hour, and then flew
away.

Thinking that this experiment was too great a tax on the wasp's
intelligence, I tried the following, which seemed to me to be nearer a
natural happening than the former experiment. I believe that, in
studying mind in the lower animals, one's experiments should be as near
nature as they can possibly be.

As soon as the wasp had left her tunnel, I covered the surface of the
bricks and the interstices between them, for several feet around the
orifice of the tunnel, with sand. This might have happened, naturally,
through the agency of the wind.

When the wasp returned, it was perfectly apparent that she did not
recognize her domicile. She flew here and there and round about, but she
would not alight. Finally, I swept the sand away, when she at once flew
to her nest and entered.

In my opinion, these experiments prove very clearly the presence of
memory of locality in these insects. The sense of direction, which a
vast majority of the lower animals possess in some degree, is, however,
of material assistance to their memory; this special sense will be fully
discussed in another chapter.

Most of the beetles are homing animals; that is, they have certain spots
to which they will return after excursions in search of food.
Heretofore, observers have held to the opinion that beetles made their
homes wherever they happened to be; but close study of marked
individuals, especially of _Carabidæ_ and _Cicindelidæ_ has taught me
otherwise. Some of the long-horned beetles appear to be rovers, but
these are always males, and their roving habits are due to sexual
promptings. The females are, however, to a great extent, homing animals,
and do not wander far after they have once established a home. Being
creatures which recognize certain surroundings as home, they must,
necessarily, have some memory of locality. This proposition is new,
being formulated and advanced by myself alone, therefore I expect that
it will be negatived by many investigators. All that I ask, however, is
that _marked_ specimens of the different genera be closely watched; I am
confident that if this plan be followed, the truthfulness of this
proposition will soon be universally acknowledged.

Reptiles and certain fishes are homing animals, and this habit is
especially noticeable in the land or box terrapin. One of these animals
had its home for many years in my lawn, and I have often satisfied
myself in regard to its knowledge of locality. I have frequently taken
it several hundred yards (its usual "using-place" is circumscribed at
about one hundred yards) away from its home and set it free.

At first, led by its sense of direction, it would turn towards home and
slowly crawl in that direction. It would not feed _en route_, but seemed
intent only on arriving at its home as quickly as possible. Finally,
when it arrived among familiar surroundings, it would begin to feed, but
would still make its way homeward. It clearly and unmistakably indicated
by its actions that it had a memory of locality.

This treatise on mind in the lower animals is, mainly, a study of
psychical manifestations as they are to be observed in insects;
therefore, the higher animals will only be studied incidentally. Suffice
it to say that, among the higher animals, evidences of memory of
locality are very abundant, and are so patent that they do not need
discussion.

_Memory of Friends_ (_Kindred_).--This phase of mind in ants has been
closely studied and graphically described by Sir John Lubbock. Most of
his experiments and observations have been verified by myself, therefore
the reader will pardon me if I quote freely from his valuable work,
_Ants, Bees, and Wasps_.

The observations of Huber, Ford, Lubbock, and other observers declare
that ants can remember and recognize their kindred after having been
separated from them for several months. "Huber mentions that some ants
which he had kept in captivity having accidentally escaped, met and
recognized their former companions, fell to mutual caresses with their
antennæ, took them up by their mandibles, and led them to their own
nests; they came presently in a crowd to seek the fugitives under and
about the artificial ant-hill, and even ventured to reach the
bell-glass, where they effected a complete desertion by carrying away
successively all the ants they found there. In a few days, the ruche was
depopulated. These ants had remained four months without any
communication."[36]

  [36] Huber, p. 172; quoted by Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p.
  120; also by Kirby and Spence, _Introduction to Entomology_, Vol. III.
  p. 66; also by Newport, _Trans. Ent. Soc._, London, Vol. II. p. 239.

On one occasion, I took ten _Lasius niger_ and confined them in a
specially constructed formicary so that they could not possibly leave
the nest. I supplied these colonists with a gravid queen, so they very
quickly became satisfied with their new home. Four months thereafter, I
put three of these ants, previously marked with a paint of zinc oxide
and gum arabic, into their former nest. They were at once recognized by
their kindred, which began to caress them with their antennæ and to
remove the paint from their bodies. In the course of a half hour, the
paint had all been removed, and I lost sight of them among the other
ants.

A month after the performance of this experiment, I took three marked
ants from the parent nest and placed them in the new nest. They were at
once recognized by the colonists, which received them, as it were, with
open arms and began to cleanse their bodies by removing the paint. In
both of these experiments the recognition appeared to be instantaneous;
there was no hesitancy whatever.

On the other hand, when performing like experiments with _Lasius
flavus_, it took the ants (on two occasions) some little time to
recognize their kindred; when the marked ants were put into the nest
they were at once seized by the other ants, which pulled them about the
nest for some time. They were finally recognized, however, and the paint
removed from their bodies by the busy little tongues of their kindred.

This would seem to indicate that _Lasius niger_ had a better memory than
_Lasius flavus_; whether the failure of the latter to recognize their
friends at once was due, however, to faulty memory or not, is a
psychical problem that will, probably, never be solved.

Lubbock's experiments with _Myrmica ruginodis_ clearly demonstrate that
these ants can recognize their kin. Says he:--

"On August 20, 1875, I divided a colony of _Myrmica ruginodis_ so that
one half were in one nest, A, and the other half in another, B, and were
kept entirely apart.

"On October 3, I put into nest B a stranger and an old companion from
nest A. They were marked with a spot of color. One of them immediately
flew at the stranger; of the friend they took no notice.

"October 18.--At 10 A.M. I put in a stranger and a friend from nest A.
In the evening the former was killed, the latter was quite at home.

"October 19.--I put one in a small bottle with a friend from nest A.
They did not show any enmity. I then put in a stranger, and one of them
immediately began to fight with her."[37]

  [37] Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p. 121 _et seq._

These experiments show that _Myrmica ruginodis_ recognize their kin at
sight, and that they are able to remember and recognize one another
after long separations.

Lubbock states that _Lasius flavus_ accept others of the same species as
their friends, no matter how great a distance lies between the nests.
His experiments were made with ants taken from contiguous nests as well
as those located some distance apart, and, in one instance, with ants
taken from a nest in another part of the country. He states that, in
the last-mentioned experiment, "in one or two cases they seemed to be
attacked, though so feebly that I could not feel sure about it; but in
no case were the ants killed."[38]

  [38] Lubbock, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 124.

My experiments and observations with this ant are directly the reverse.
As long as the individuals experimented with belonged to contiguous
nests, and were, probably, derived from the same root-stock, there was
no fighting; but, in the case of ants taken from opposite sides of the
house, which, probably, sprang from two different sources, there was,
invariably, much fighting, in which not a few of the combatants lost
their lives. Whether or not the American species of _Lasius flavus_ are
naturally more pugnacious than the English species, I know not; if they
are, then this fact will account for the difference in behavior of the
two species to a certain extent, though not entirely.

Others of the social Hymenoptera--for instance, bees and wasps--remember
kindred. On one occasion, I clipped the wings of a wasp, and, after she
had learned that she could no longer fly, placed her on a strange nest.
She was at once attacked, and was soon stung to death. I kept a wasp
confined in a glass for three weeks, carefully feeding her meanwhile,
and then placed her on the nest from which she had been taken. She was
at once recognized by the other wasps, which caressed her with their
antennæ, and licked her with their tongues.

Bees, though they seem able to recognize kindred, and to remember them
also for some time, do not show these faculties of the mind as plainly
as do wasps and ants. This is probably due to the fact that bees are a
later development, socially speaking, and are not as psychically mature
as the other social insects.

In the higher animals the memory of kindred, especially in monkeys, is
quite well developed, and is so well known that it does not need
demonstration.

_Memory of Strangers_ (_Animals other than Kin_).--The recognition of
enemies can be noticed in animals quite low in the scale of life, and,
although this psychical phase is almost universally instinctive, it
carries with it certain elements of consciousness. As we ascend the
scale, however, we discover that certain animals are capable of
remembering other animals after a hostile encounter with them; thus, a
pet squirrel remembered the turtle which had bitten him after two years
had elapsed, and a white mouse showed, very plainly, that he had not
forgotten the pet crow from whose clutches he had been rescued, even
after three years had passed by. I might enumerate quite a number of
instances like these, but think it hardly necessary; any one who has
paid any attention to natural history has seen evidences of this phase
of memory in animals. I will, however, give one more illustration of
this form of memory, which, in my opinion, is quite remarkable. In my
front yard, last summer, there dwelt a large colony of bumblebees. One
day, in a moment of idleness, I tossed a tennis ball, with which I was
teaching a young dog to retrieve, into the nest. The dog dashed after
it, scratching up the ground and barking loudly; immediately the bees
sallied forth, pounced upon the dog and stung him severely. During the
entire summer this dog could never come near the nest without being
stung; his companions, two in number, trotted to and fro on the path
near which the nest was located without being noticed in the slightest
degree by the bees. The disturber, and, to them, would-be ravisher and
destroyer of their home, however, was always assailed and put to flight.
He eventually learned to give that portion of the yard a wide berth, and
could not be coaxed into coming within thirty yards of the home of his
savage little foes.

Instances of memory of individuals, incited by friendship or regard,
between animals of different species is quite rare among the lower
animals (insects, reptiles, etc.), yet, I have fortunately been able to
note this phase of memory as occurring in several animals, comparatively
speaking, low in the scale of intellectual development. I have every
reason for believing that even the toad remembers individuals, at
least, it remembers the sound of some particular voice or whistle. It
most certainly remembers localities and places, and that, too, when
unaided by its sense of direction which it possesses in a high degree. A
toad which I had under observation, and which I was in the habit of
feeding, would come at my call or whistle, and this it learned to do
after only two weeks of teaching. It would do this even in the middle of
a hot summer day (toads feed at dusk and during the night), showing,
thereby, that it remembered that this call meant food.

I have strong reasons for believing that certain spiders possess this
phase of memory; at least, a certain lycosid once evinced such
unmistakable evidences of a recognition of my individual person, that
more than one observer became convinced that she knew me from other
people. At the time these observations were made, I was confined to the
house by sickness.

In my room and dwelling beneath my table was a large black spider, one
of the most beautiful of her species. When I first made her acquaintance
she was very timid, and would run to her den if I made the slightest
motion. As time passed, however, she grew bolder and would come to the
edge of the table which was close beside my bed, and regard me intently
with her beady black eyes. Finally she became so tame that she would
take flies and insects from my fingers. She learned to know me so well
that she could easily tell the difference when others came into the
room. When I would leave the room for a short outing, on my return I
would find her waiting for me on the top of the table. When others
entered the room, she would hide herself in her den, and remain there,
very frequently, until they took their departure.

It has been known for quite a while that in the nests of ants there are
always to be found other insects, which appear to dwell in perfect
harmony with the real builders and owners of the domiciles. Some of
these creatures (the aphides, for instance) are brought into the nests
by the ants themselves, which use them as we do cows, milking from their
bodies a clear, sweet fluid, which they greedily lap up with their
tongues. But there are other animals in the teeming formicary which seem
to subserve no useful purpose other than that of ministering to the
ants' love of pets or playmates. One notable little alien in certain ant
communities is a minute claviger beetle (so called from its peculiar
claviger, or club-shaped antennæ), which seems to be a well-beloved
friend and companion, and which is always treated with great
kindness.[39] These little beetles sometimes leave the nest, and may be
observed sunning themselves at the entrance. The busy workers are never
so busy but that they can spend a fraction of a second for the purpose
of caressing their diminutive playmates. On one occasion, a swarm was
about to take place in one of my formicaries. The young princes and
princesses had emerged and had congregated about the entrance; they
seemed loath to take wing and fly away on their honeymoon jaunt out into
the unknown world. The workers were gently urging them to depart,
sometimes even nipping them slightly with their mandibles. Several
little clavigers could be seen running here and there and everywhere
through the crowd of anxious workers and timid young males and females.
They irresistibly reminded me of a lot of little dogs in a crowd of men
around some centre of excitement or attraction. I have seen dogs, on
more than one occasion, act in just such a manner. The ants,
notwithstanding their evident worry and excitement, seemed to notice
their little pets, and to give them, every now and then, an encouraging
pat, as it were, on their backs or heads.

  [39] Consult Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, pp. 75, 76.

The clavigers are not the only pets in a formicary; several other
species of beetles and one bug also live in ants' nests, and seem to
occupy places in the affection of the masters of the home akin to those
which dogs, cats, and other pets occupy in our own affections.

It has been asserted, most frequently by superficial observers, however,
that the reptilian _psychos_ is exceedingly low; this is a popular error,
for many reptiles give evidence, on occasions, of a, comparatively
speaking, high degree of intelligence. Especially is this true in regard
to their memory of individuals.

I kept for some time in my room, some years ago, a male black snake
(_Bascanion constrictor_). Whenever this creature became hungry, he
would follow me about the room like a dog or a cat. He would wind his
way up my legs and body, until his head was on a level with my own; he
would then bow repeatedly, darting out his tongue with inconceivable
rapidity.

He would never attempt to crawl up the legs of a visitor (some visitors
knew "Blacky" quite well and were not at all afraid of him), thus
showing that he knew me personally.

Again, a friend sent me two Floridian chameleons, which dwelt in my
desk, and which, in course of time, became very tame. My desk is a
combination bookcase and writing-table, and these creatures passed most
of their time among the books, changing color so perfectly, especially
when alarmed, that it took a very sharp eye indeed to descry them when
they were quiescent. When I sat at my desk writing they would jump down
on my head or shoulders and explore my entire body, running here and
there and everywhere about me, sometimes tickling me with their sharp
little claws until I, too, was forced into making a tour of discovery,
in order to bring them once more to the light. But let a stranger enter
the room, and, presto! they were gone in the twinkling of an eye. I
left home on one occasion and was gone for two months. When I came to my
room and sat down at my desk, I looked about for my little pets, and
could not see them. I had come to the conclusion that they had either
died or escaped from the room, when suddenly I saw a tiny little head
peep out from between two books and as suddenly disappear. I pulled out
a writing-pad and went to work, keeping a watch, however, for my shy
little friends. They gradually became bolder and bolder, until all at
once they seemed to recognize me, first one and then the other leaping
to my shoulders. In a few moments they were making their usual tour over
my person. In this instance these lizards remembered me after an absence
of at least two months; it took them about two hours fully to recall my
personality, yet they did it in the end.

Birds remember individuals, and testify their love or hatred for such
individuals in actions that are unmistakable. Thus, an eagle in Central
Park, for some--to me--unknown reason, took a great dislike to myself,
and, whenever I approached its cage, would erect its crest and regard me
in the most belligerent manner. On several occasions it even left its
perch and flew to the bars in its desire to attack me. A large, handsome
gobbler belonging to my mother has shown the house boy that it is war to
the death between them. This turkey never fails to attack the boy
whenever opportunity offers; no other person is ever molested by him.

A lady writes me as follows: "Last week my brother" (a lad of twelve)
"killed a snake which was just in the act of robbing a song-sparrow's
nest. Ever since then, the male sparrow has shown gratitude to George in
a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will
fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his
shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and
gratitude. It will accompany him about the garden, never leaving him
until he reaches the garden gate. George, as you know, is a quiet boy,
who loves animals, and this may account, in a degree, for the sparrow's
extraordinary actions."

I am perfectly convinced that the nesting birds on my place know me, and
that they remember me from one nesting-time to another. I have
repeatedly approached my face to within a foot of setting birds without
alarming them. On one occasion I even placed my hand on a brooding
cardinal, which merely fluttered from beneath it without showing further
alarm; yet no wild bird has ever evinced toward myself any special
degree of friendship. When I was a lad I remember that a certain
decrepit old drake would follow me like a dog, and appeared to enjoy
himself in my society. I could not appreciate his friendship then, and
greatly fear that I was, at times, rather cruel to the old fellow.

One of the queerest friendships that ever came under my observation was
that which existed between a bantam cock and a pekin drake. The cock was
the most diminutive specimen of his kind that I ever saw, being hardly
larger than a quail, while the drake was almost as large as a full-grown
female goose. These two birds, so widely dissimilar as to genus and
species, were always together. If "One Lung" (the cock) took it into his
head to go into the garden and flew over the fence, "Chung" (the drake)
would solemnly waddle to a certain hole in the fence well known to
himself, and, by dint of much pushing with his strong, yellow feet,
would squeeze himself through, and rejoin his companion with many a
guttural quack and flirt of his tail. If "Chung" desired to take a bath,
he would make for the brook, where "One Lung" would soon join him,
always remaining, however, on the bank, where he would strut about and
crow continuously. On one occasion, a chicken-hawk attacked the cock,
which, though it defended itself valiantly, was in great danger of being
destroyed. The drake soon became aware of what was happening, and hurled
himself, with many a squawking quack, like a white avalanche against the
hawk, and, with one quick blow of his horny, flat bill, laid this pirate
of the air dead at his feet! He then examined the cock, with low-voiced
exclamations issuing from his throat all the while. Then, finding him
uninjured, he flapped his wings and quacked loud and long, as if in
thankfulness. As for "One Lung," he pecked the dead hawk several times,
then hopped up on its body and crowed as loud as he could, as if to say,
"Look-what-I-have-do-o-o-ne!"

"One Lung" was taken to a neighboring farm for breeding purposes by his
owner, and "Chung" moped and appeared utterly inconsolable during his
absence. When the bantam was finally brought home, the drake recognized
him "afar off" and came hurrying to meet him with flapping wings and
much vociferation. He caressed him with his bill, and appeared to make a
close examination of his person. These birds have always passed the
night close together, the bantam roosting among the branches of a low
bush, while his faithful companion squatted on the ground at its root.

Several years ago I knew a hen which was devotedly attached to an old
white horse. When the horse was confined to the stable, the hen was
always to be found in his stall, either in the manger, on the floor, or
perched upon his back. This last position was a favorite one, and it was
only abandoned when the hen was in search of food. When the horse was
out on pasture, the hen went with him and stayed close beside him until
nightfall, when she always returned and roosted on one of the stall
partitions.

Many cow owners of my town are in the habit of turning out their cows in
the morning, allowing them to roam about in the search of grass during
the day. As there are many large open commons in the immediate
neighborhood of town, the cows easily find an abundance of food. In my
early morning walks I repeatedly noticed a large red cow which was
always accompanied by a small black dog. When the cows came back into
town in the evening, many of them passed my house, and among the number
was the red cow and the dog in attendance. I became very much interested
in the cow and dog, and, one evening, followed the former to her home. I
asked her owner if he had trained the dog to follow the cow, whereupon
he disclaimed all knowledge of any dog, declaring that he had not
allowed a dog on his premises for many years. The next morning I was at
his cow-house before the animal was turned out. When this occurred I
followed her. A few blocks from her home, she was met by the dog, which
bounded about her and showed his delight by wagging his tail. When she
returned home in the evening he accompanied her until he arrived at his
own home (the place where he met her in the morning), when he left her
and crawled through a hole in the fence. His owner declared that his dog
had been leaving home early in the morning and returning in the evening
during the entire spring and summer (it was then September), and that he
had often wondered where he stayed during the day. This queer friendship
continued until November, when some miscreant put an end to it by
shooting the dog. Neither the favored cow nor any of her companions
(there were, sometimes, at least a hundred cows on the commons grazing
together) appeared to pay the slightest attention to the dog or to
notice him in any way. The dog kept close to his friend, the red cow,
during the day, sometimes sitting gravely on his haunches and watching
her eat, at other times frisking about her, as though asking for a romp.
When she started to return home he followed close at her heels.

Another of my dog acquaintances struck up a friendship with a hog, and
seemed to be highly pleased when he was allowed to play with his porcine
friend. What is more wonderful, the hog appeared to be just as fond of
his dog friend, and always greeted him with a series of delighted
grunts. If permitted, they would play together for hours at a time. The
dog was the bitter enemy of other hogs, and would worry them at every
opportunity.[40]

  [40] These animals sometimes did not meet for months, yet they never
  forgot each other, and their friendship continued for several years.

I have had many friends among the lower animals, but have always gained
and retained their good-will through their appetite. Some of these
creatures will be considered queer pets, for instance, grasshoppers,
spiders, and crickets, yet they were very interesting and often showed
much intelligence. The lower animals, with the single exception of the
dog (I do not include the cat, for I doubt her friendship), rarely
accept man as a companion and friend spontaneously. Their appetites or
the exigencies of their surroundings very frequently occasion them to
act in a friendly manner towards man, simply in order to induce him to
befriend them. It is the rarest thing in the world for them to
experience disinterested friendship for him. As I have said elsewhere in
this paper, a few instances of disinterested and spontaneous affection
of animals, other than dogs, for human beings are, however, on record,
and I am happy in being able to record another.

In 1882 there was received at the Fair Grounds in St. Louis, Missouri, a
consignment of South American monkeys. Among the lot were several large
individuals of a species then unknown to me, and which remain unknown to
me to this day. When I entered the monkey house I went at once to the
cage of the newcomers. One of the creatures, after examining me very
carefully, uttered a peculiar cry, and then leaped to the bars and began
jabbering at a great rate. I told the keeper that I believed that the
monkey wished to make friends with me; that the tones of its voice were
decidedly pacific. He laughed at the idea, and declared that this same
animal had bitten him severely when he was removing it from the box in
which it had been shipped to the cage in which it was then confined. I
said nothing more, but, going behind the rail, inserted my hand between
the bars of the cage. The monkey immediately seized it with its paws,
kissed it, and then licked it with its tongue. It then drew its head
down beside it, murmuring all the while in low tones. It showed great
pleasure when I scratched its head and body, and, in fact, seemed to
regard me with the greatest affection. When the keeper, in his
astonishment, drew near, the monkey bounded toward him, chattering and
showing every indication of great anger. This animal never forgot me,
but always recognized me the very moment I entered the monkey house.

In the same house there was a large dog-faced ape (chacma) named "Joe,"
whose friend and companion was a little white and black kitten. "Joe"
called no living thing, except the cat, his friend; he had many
acquaintances, but only one friend. He would tolerate me, and even
invented a name for me, so the keeper declared, yet his friendship never
got beyond tolerance. But he loved the cat, and the cat seemed to love
him--that is, as much as a cat could love. He could not bear to have her
taken from his cage; whenever this was done he would rage up and down
his den, coughing, growling, and yelling like a mad creature. When she
was restored to him he would seize her by the nape of the neck and carry
her to the back of his cage, from which coign of vantage he would growl
forth maledictions on the heads of his tormentors.

In order to test this monkey's memory, the cat was removed from the
cage, and another cat was substituted. "Joe" at first appeared to be
afraid of the new cat, and retired to the rear of his den. He would
avoid the cat, whenever she approached him, by moving about the cage.
Finally, he became very angry, and seizing poor puss, he broke her back
and then pulled her head from her body! This was done so quickly that
the tragedy was over before we could make a move to prevent it.

At the end of three months his pet was returned to him. The kitten had
grown considerably during this interval, yet "Joe" recognized her at
once, and welcomed her with many extravagant acts denoting joy and
satisfaction.

All of the higher animals, such as the dog, horse, cat, ox, elephant,
monkey, etc., possess this phase of memory.

_Memory of Events_ (_Education_, _Happenings_, _etc._).--The memory of
events and their sequences is a faculty of the mind that is to be
noticed in animals very low in the scale of life. In fact, psychical
development is based almost wholly upon this mental attribute. The vast
majority of what are now entirely instinctive habits were, in the
beginning, the results of sensual perceptions formulated and remembered
(consciously and unconsciously), which gave rise to conscious ideation;
this conscious ideation, in turn, became instinct.

This part of my subject is treated at length in the chapter on Reason,
therefore I will only introduce here certain evidence of this phase of
memory as it is to be observed in the lower animals, especially in
insects. A wasp of the variety commonly called "mud-dauber" last summer
built her nest on the ceiling of my room in one corner. The windows of
this room remained open night and day during the hot summer months, so
her nest was easy of access. One day, while the wasp was busy about her
home, I closed all the windows and awaited developments. At length she
flew toward a window, against which she landed with a thump which for a
moment or two completely dazed her. The wasp soon discovered that she
was barred from the outer world by some transparent, translucent
substance; she then proceeded on a voyage of discovery, flying around
the room and searching here and there and everywhere for an exit. She
finally found a small hole in a window casing which communicated with
the outside; through this she made her escape from the room. Upon
opening the window I saw her examining the passage through which she had
come, going through it repeatedly. She finally flew away, but shortly
returned with a pellet of mud. Notwithstanding the fact that all the
windows were then open, the wasp went at once to the hole in the casing,
through which she made her way into the room and thence to her nest on
the ceiling. She never again, so far as I was able to ascertain, made
an exit or an entrance through the windows, but always made use of the
hole in the casing. This little creature undoubtedly gave unmistakable
evidences of ratiocination; she found that a transparent barrier had
been placed in her way--a barrier so translucent and transparent that
she could not see it until she actually felt it. She therefore concluded
that she would never again risk injury by flying through the windows.
What is most remarkable about this instance is that this insect derived
her knowledge from a single experience, and at once profited thereby.
The wasp remembered the event--her experience with the window glass--and
avoided a like occurrence by going through the hole in the casing. Her
experience was a bit of education.

There are many people alive to-day, probably, who saw the trained fleas
which were on exhibition in the large cities of the United States some
thirty or forty years ago. These little creatures had been taught to
perform military evolutions, to dance, to draw miniature carts, to feign
death, etc., at the command or signal of their owner and trainer. The
mere fact that they possessed memory enough to learn, retain, and
remember their lessons is not proof positive of reason, but the fact of
their having restrained their natural tendency and desire to escape,
when they could so easily gratify such a desire or tendency, is a potent
factor in an argument for their possession of the ratiocinative
faculty. Their teacher explained that he "brought them to reason" by
keeping them at first in a glass vessel, where they jumped and bumped
their heads to no purpose against the transparent walls of their prison.
Thus their vaulting ambition was held in check, and they learned to
reason from cause and effect.

It is a well-known fact that many of the higher animals can be taught to
do many things entirely foreign to their natures. This is brought about
entirely through the faculty of remembering events. I am confident that
many of the lower animals, insects, crustaceans, reptiles, are likewise
the possessors of this faculty, and are capable of being taught. I,
myself, have succeeded in teaching a toad to hop over a stick at the
word of command. Again, I taught two chameleons to take certain
positions and to retain them at feeding time. These little creatures
remembered their lesson, and at my whistle would "line up" on the
particular book that I had designated as their dining-table. We have
seen that fleas are capable of being highly educated, hence it is
reasonable to presume that other insects, specially and generically akin
to the flea, likewise possess the faculty of remembering events. Of
course, this faculty is necessarily more highly developed in some
animals than in others; it differs in degree of development, not in
kind.



CHAPTER IV

THE EMOTIONS


Careful observation and investigation lead me to believe that, in many
of the higher animals, all the fundamental emotions, such as love, hate,
fear, anger, jealousy, etc., are present. Books on natural history
fairly teem with data in support of this proposition. Such authorities
as Romanes,[41] Darwin,[42] Semper[43] and Hartman[44] give instance
after instance in support of the dictum that the emotional nature of
many of the higher animals is highly developed.

  [41] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_.

  [42] Darwin, _Descent of Man_.

  [43] Semper, _Animal Life_.

  [44] Hartmann, _Anthropoid Apes_.

Man has been called the Laughing Animal, because, so it has been
claimed, he alone of all animals expresses emotion through the agency of
the smile or through laughter.

This is a grave mistake, for both the dog and the monkey, in certain
instances, have been known to express pleasure through the agency of the
smile. And, in the case of certain monkeys, the action of the facial
muscles was accompanied by cachinnatory sounds.

"Tom," a capuchin monkey of the St. Louis, Missouri, zoölogical garden
(Fair Grounds), was quite a noted "laugher," and his facial expressions
as well as the sounds he uttered were so evidently laughter, pure and
simple, that the most casual observer was able to recognize them as
such.

"Stranger," a half-bred spaniel belonging to my kennel, invariably
expressed pleasure with smiles. The action of the facial muscles, as
well as the facial expression engendered by this action, was widely
different from like phenomena when the dog showed his teeth in
anger.[45]

  [45] Compare Darwin, _Expression of the Emotions_, p. 120.

Young chimpanzees chuckle and smile when one they love returns to them
after an absence of some little time. Their eyes sparkle and grow
bright, while very evident and easily recognized smiles flit over their
countenances.[46]

  [46] Martin, _Natural History of Mammalia_, Vol. I. pp. 383, 410;
  quoted also by Darwin, _loc. cit. ante_.

Young orang-utans likewise chuckle and grin when tickled, and, as
Wallace observes, give expression to unmistakable smiles. "Dr.
Duchenne--and I cannot quote a better authority--informs me that he kept
a tame monkey in his house for a year; and when he gave it, during
meal-times, some choice delicacy, he observed that the corners of its
mouth were slightly raised; thus an expression of satisfaction,
partaking of the nature of an incipient smile, and resembling that often
seen on the face of man, could be plainly perceived in this animal."[47]

  [47] Darwin, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 133.

A dog belonging to Mr. Henry Barklay, of Paducah, Kentucky, not only
smiles when pleased, but also gives utterance to an unmistakable
chuckle. When I first saw and heard this manifestation of delight, I
thought that the animal had been taught the accomplishment; his master
assured me, however, that such was not the case, that both the smile and
the chuckle were natural and inborn traits of the dog.

I think it hardly necessary to give more data on this point; suffice it
to say that it is a fact beyond dispute that certain monkeys and dogs
are "laughing animals," and that man is _not_ the only animal that
expresses emotion through the agency of the smile and laughter!

On one occasion during very hot weather, one of the combs in my
bee-house became loosened at the top through melting of the wax. The
weight on the comb dragged it down, and suddenly it broke from its
supports and sagged over against a neighboring comb. It was perfectly
apparent to me that if something were not done at once, the comb would
continue to sag until it broke away from all its connections, and would
then be precipitated to the floor of the hive. The bees likewise
recognized this impending calamity, and clearly showed that they did by
the noise and tumult which arose among them as soon as they discovered
the precarious situation of the endangered comb.[48]

  [48] Compare Huber, Vol. II. p. 280.

The loud buzzing which they immediately set up clearly indicated their
dismay and consternation. It seemed to me very much like the noisy
vociferation of conflicting counsels, which would undoubtedly arise
among the people in some orderly town were they suddenly threatened by
some unforeseen and unheard-of catastrophe.

The tumult among the bees continued for four or five minutes, when,
suddenly, order was evolved out of chaos, and they set to work to
prevent the fall of the comb, showing almost, if not altogether, as much
intelligence as human beings would evince under like circumstances.

They shored up the endangered comb by building a thick pillar of wax
between it and a neighboring comb, thus effectually fixing it so that it
could sag no further. When this had been done, they re-affixed the top
of the comb to the ceiling of the hive by a broad, thick bar of wax; the
pillar used in propping up the comb was afterwards removed and the wax
used elsewhere.

In this instance, these little creatures at first clearly evinced the
emotions of fear, dismay, consternation, and grief; afterwards, they
just as clearly showed fortitude and joy; for, after the supporting
pillar had been built, I saw the queen, surrounded by a crowd of
courtier-bees, on the comb near it, and am fully convinced that she had
been brought out by her rejoicing subjects to view the results of their
brave struggle against an utterly unforeseen but now happily averted
calamity.

On another occasion I witnessed the terrible grief of a community of
bees at the death of their queen, which was seized with illness (a
sudden and overwhelming diarrhoea, to which bees, at times, are very
subject) while making a progression through her domains, and fell to the
floor of the hive and died before she could be conveyed back to the
royal cell. I was, therefore, able to see the conduct of the bees during
her illness and after her death.

When she fell to the floor, the bees seemed to know at once that
something out of the ordinary had happened. The sick queen was
immediately surrounded by a dense circle of her subjects, those next to
her licking her with their tongues and endeavoring to raise her to her
feet.

When she died they were a little slow in recognizing the fact, but when
they did realize that she was dead those nearest the dead sovereign set
up a loud buzzing. This was transmitted from circle to circle, from bee
to bee, until the entire hive was in an uproar. The bees rushed to and
fro bewailing their loss, and seemingly crazed by grief. All work was
immediately suspended, and even the young were abandoned and left, for
the time being, to shift for themselves. Those bees which returned to
the hive laden with honey did not put it into the cells but retained it
in their honey-bags. In fact, the entire social economy of the hive was
disrupted and disarranged, and this confusion lasted for hours. After
about twenty-four hours of mourning for the dead queen the bees
recovered their equanimity, and began the work of rearing another queen
from a worker larva.

In another chapter of this book (vid. Memory) I have related an
instance of complex ideation in a bird. I have reference to the sparrow
whose young was saved from a snake, and which remembered the lad who
destroyed its enemy. This bird undoubtedly showed gratitude. Another
correspondent writes: "Knowing your love for, and your interest in, all
animals, I think my experience with two house wrens this summer will
entertain you. These birds selected for their home an old boot, which
they discovered on a bench in an outhouse. Here they built their nest,
and, in the course of time, had the great pleasure of welcoming into the
world two interesting 'wrenlets.'

"One day, while feeding my pigeons, I noticed that the old wrens were
greatly disturbed by something or other. They kept flying about me,
uttering sharp, complaining cries; they would now and then fly to the
outhouse, and then back to me. At last it occurred to me that some
accident might have befallen the young wrens, so I proceeded to
investigate, and soon discovered the trouble.

"Some one, in rummaging about the room, had overturned the boot, which
had fallen in such manner that the top pressed against the wall, thus
effectually barring the way to the nest. I righted the boot, thereby
restoring the children to their parents, much to the delight of all
parties concerned. Ever since this episode the male wren has shown his
gratitude in an unmistakable manner. He has followed me into the house
on several occasions; he has learned where I sit when engaged in sewing,
and pays me short visits, flying though the window several times a day,
and, wonderful to relate, after the young had learned to fly, he brought
them around to my window and evidently gave them to understand that I
was their saviour!"

The higher animals, such as the horse, the ox, the dog, the monkey,
etc., show the emotions of anger, hate, fear, love, and grief so plainly
that "he who runs may read." That these animals possess these emotions
is a fact which hardly needs demonstration. They likewise have very
retentive memories, sometimes treasuring up an injury for days, months,
and years, until an opportunity arrives for them to "get even," thus
showing that they are revengeful.

Thus, a dog of my acquaintance had been severely thrashed last winter
by a larger dog. He bided his time, and, this summer, after his
antagonist had been handicapped by having that atrocious invention, a
muzzle, affixed to his head, he fell upon him, "tooth and toe-nail," and
would have killed him had he not been prevented.

Again, some years ago my attention was called to a large mandril by the
keeper of the monkey house in the St. Louis Zoölogical Garden, who
remarked that "That monkey will do me up some day. I had to thrash him
several days ago, and ever since then he has had it in for me."

Not ten minutes after the conversation, while I was in another part of
the building, I heard a yell from the keeper, and, on rushing to see
what had happened, found that the man's thumb had been almost severed
from his hand by the powerful teeth of the mandril. The keeper had been
explaining something to some visitors, standing with his back to the
animal, and with his hand resting on one of the bars of the cage. The
brute saw his opportunity, and, in the twinkling of an eye, seized it
and inflicted a severe injury to the individual whom he regarded as his
enemy.

During another visit to the above-mentioned monkey house, I accidentally
inflicted an injury to a capuchin monkey, "Tom" by name, who was a great
friend of mine and who had been taken from his cage and given to me by
the keeper. After playing with him for a time, I had placed him on the
floor and had resumed my conversation with the keeper. Suddenly, "Tom"
gave a loud squall and jumped into my lap, wringing one of his hands and
moaning piteously.

He held up his hand towards me, calling my attention to it with many a
grimace and cry; he even felt it with his other hand, carefully
separating the fingers and gently stroking them. On examination I
discovered that the tips of two fingers were bruised and abraded; the
little fellow had evidently had them caught in some way beneath the heel
of my shoe. He quietly and patiently submitted while we dressed his
wounded digits, but removed the bandages just as soon as he was returned
to his cage, evidently having more faith in the curative qualities of
his own saliva than in the medicaments of man.

In this instance, the monkey clearly indicated that he had been hurt; he
pointed out the portion of his body where the injury was situated, and
then allowed his friend to "doctor" the injury, although he did not
evince an abiding faith in that friend's skill. In contradistinction to
the mandril which evinced revenge, the capuchin showed that he was of a
forgiving disposition, for, no sooner was he hurt, than he sought
consolation from the very person who inflicted the injury.

An English observer, Captain Johnson, writes as follows, when speaking
of a monkey which he had shot: "He instantly ran down to the lowest
branch of a tree, as if he were going to fly at me, stopped suddenly,
and coolly put his paw to the part wounded, and held it out, covered
with blood, for me to see. I was so much hurt at the time that it has
left an impression never to be effaced, and I have never since fired a
gun at any of the tribe."[49]

  [49] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 475.

Another observer, Sir William Hoste, records a similar case. One of his
officers saw a monkey running along some rocks, holding her young one in
her arms. He fired, and the animal fell. When he arrived at the place
where she was lying, she clasped her young one closer, and pointed with
her fingers to the hole in her breast made by the bullet. "Dipping her
finger in the blood and holding it up, she seemed to reproach him with
having been the cause of her pain, and also that of her young one, to
which she frequently pointed."[50]

  [50] Romanes, _op. cit._, p. 476.

These observations would seem to indicate that monkeys are capable of
feeling and of expressing sorrow and reproach. "So intense is the grief
of female monkeys for the loss of their young, that it invariably caused
the death of certain kinds kept under confinement by Brehm in North
America."[51]

  [51] Darwin, _Descent of Man_, p. 70.

By the observant and analytical mind, the various psychical phenomena
evinced by the lower animals are not regarded as being either wonderful
or extraordinary. Man is a conceited, arrogant individual, and his
place in nature has done much toward fostering and enlarging this
self-conceit and arrogance. Even in the time of Moses this
self-glorification was _en evidence_. The genesis of the world, as
related by this famous historiographer, geographer, naturalist,
theologian, and lawgiver, plainly shows this. At the present time,
science declares, emphatically, that man is but a mammal, whose brain
has undergone exceptional evolutionary development. He is but the
younger kinsman of other mammals whose evolutionary development has
sought other channels; these, in turn, are but younger kin of yet older
animals, and so on backwards, to the beginning of life in bathybian
protoplasm. The resistless forces of evolution have placed him where he
is, and no amount of self-adulation can hide the scientific fact that he
is _not_ a special creation. All the creatures of the living world are
kin, and that force which animated the first moneron, and which we call
life, has been transmitted from creature to creature until the present
day, absolutely unchanged. There is no reason for believing that life
will ever be entirely extinguished, until conditions arise which will
render the presence of this force impossible.

When we recognize the fact that intelligent ratiocination is but the
product and the result of the psychical action of a certain substance
called brain matter, and not the product and the result of the action of
an essence or force unconnected with, or outside of, brain; and,
furthermore, when we know that these lower animals have receptive
ganglia analogous to those possessed by man, analogical deductions force
us to the conclusion that these animals should possess mental emotions
and functions similar to those of man.

The microscope shows that these animals have notochords, nervous
systems, and ganglia, or brains. With a one-sixteenth objective, and an
achromatic light condenser, I have been able to differentiate the gray
matter in the brain of an ant, and even, on two occasions, to bring out
the cells and filaments of the cortex. Here in the brain of an ant, is
an anatomical and physiological similarity to the brain of man:
therefore, it is reasonable to expect evidences of mental operations in
the ant akin to those of man.

That we do find these evidences in abundance can no longer be denied.
Sir John Lubbock chloroformed some _Lasius niger_ belonging to his
formicary. The other ants brought their anæsthetized comrades out of the
nest and carried them away; they thought that they were dead. He made
some other specimens of the same species intoxicated, and the ants
carefully bore their helpless companions back into the nest. The care
evinced in helping their intoxicated friends to reach the safe shelter
of their nest undoubtedly indicates a sense of sympathy toward the
afflicted individuals.

Ants frequently display sympathy for mutilated companions. Whether or
not this feeling is ethical or material is not and can not be
determined; the fact remains, however, that sympathy is evinced. I
myself have observed it on many occasions. I removed the anterior pair
of legs from a specimen of _Lasius flavus_, and placed her near the
entrance to her nest. In a short time a companion came to her
assistance, and, lifting her with her mandibles, carried her into the
nest. A specimen of _F. fusca_, destitute of antennæ, was attacked and
severely injured by an ant of another species. An ant of her own species
soon came by. "She examined," says Lubbock, whom I quote, "the poor
sufferer carefully, then picked her up tenderly and carried her into the
nest. It would have been difficult for any one who witnessed the scene
to have denied to this ant the possession of human feelings."[52]

  [52] Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p. 107.

Not only do they display sympathy toward mutilated and helpless friends,
but also toward healthy individuals who may accidentally get into
trouble and need assistance. Belt, while watching a column of _Eciton
hamata_, placed a stone upon one of them to secure her. The next ant in
line, as soon as she discovered the condition of her friend, ran
hurriedly backward and communicated the intelligence to the others.
"They rushed to the rescue; some bit at the stone and tried to move it,
others seized the prisoner by the legs and tugged with such force that I
thought the legs would be pulled off; but they persevered until they got
the captive free. I next covered one up with a piece of clay, leaving
only the ends of its antennæ projecting. It was soon discovered by its
fellows, which set to work immediately, and by biting off pieces of the
clay soon liberated it."

At another time he found a few of the same ants passing along at
intervals. He buried one beneath a lump of clay, leaving only the head
protruding. A companion soon discovered her and tried to release her.
Finding this to be impossible, she hurried away. Belt thought that she
had abandoned the unfortunate prisoner, but she had only gone for
assistance, and soon returned accompanied by a dozen companions, which
made directly for the imprisoned ant and soon set her free. "I do not
see how," says Belt in conclusion, "this action could be instinctive. It
was sympathetic help, such as man only among the higher mammalia shows.
The excitement and ardor with which they carried on their unflagging
exertions for the rescue of their comrade could not have been greater if
they had been human beings."[53] I have buried _Lasius flavus_ beneath
sand, and in every instance, sooner or later, they have been dug out by
their companions.

  [53] Belt, _The Naturalist in Nicaragua_, p. 26; quoted also by
  Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 48.

Rev. Mr. White has noticed the same sympathetic help among _F.
sanguinea_.[54] Lubbock noticed in one of his nests of _F. fusca_, Jan.
23, 1881, an ant lying on her back and unable to move. She was unable
even to feed herself. Several times he uncovered the part of the nest
where she was. The other ants at once carried her to the covered part.
"On March 4," says he, "the ants were all out of the nest, probably for
fresh air, and had collected together in a corner of the box; they had
not, however, forgotten her, but had carried her with them. I took off
the glass lid of the box, and after a while they returned as usual to
the nest, taking her in again. On March 5th she was still alive, but on
the 15th, notwithstanding all their care, she was dead."[55]

  [54] White, _Leisure Hour_, p. 390, 1880.

  [55] Lubbock, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 107 _et seq._

Dr. Stimson Lambert of Owensboro, Kentucky, a careful and accurate
observer, informs me that he has frequently observed the large red ants
(_F. rufa_) helping their mutilated or crippled companions.

Ants exhibit another emotion that shows the high development of their
psychical or emotional nature. In the tender watchfulness and care of
their young they are surpassed by no living creature. As soon as the
young ant bursts its pupa case, it is carefully assisted into the world
by its foster-mothers. These foster-mothers clean it with their tongues,
gently going over the entire surface of its body, and then feed it. The
young ant is conducted by them throughout the whole nest, and shown all
the devious passageways and corridors. When it makes its first visit
into the outside world, it is always accompanied by several chaperons.
This parental love, if I may use the expression, is even extended to the
unhatched eggs. If an ants' nest is disturbed by a stroke of a spade or
hoe, the little inhabitants will at once begin to remove eggs, pupæ, and
young to a place of safety.

This parental love is even evinced by insects who never see their
offspring. The butterfly uses the utmost care in selecting a suitable
leaf on which to deposit her eggs. She selects one that will be
nourishing food for the larvæ when hatched out, and, after carefully
observing whether it is preoccupied by the eggs of some other butterfly
(in which case she abandons it), she proceeds to deposit her eggs.
"Having fulfilled this duty, from which no obstacle short of absolute
impossibility, no danger however threatening, can divert her, the
affectionate mother dies."[56]

  [56] Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_, p. 228.

The gadfly uses a like forethought in selecting a place for her eggs.
The larvæ of the gadfly (_OEstrus equi_) are developed in the stomach
of the horse, so the provident mother attaches the eggs to the hairs of
the foreleg between the knee and the shoulder, a place the horse is
almost certain to lick with his tongue and, in this manner, convey the
eggs to his stomach, where they are hatched out. The breeding place of
certain of the ichneumons is the body of a caterpillar. The ichneumon
may be seen busily searching the bushes for her victim. When she finds
it, she inserts her ovipositor into its body and lays her egg. If some
other ichneumon has preceded her, she recognizes the fact at once, and
will not deposit her egg, but will go in search of another grub. When
the egg is hatched, the larva feeds on the body of its host, carefully
avoiding the vital organs. The caterpillar retains just enough vitality
to assume the pupa state, and then dies. The chrysalis discloses, not a
butterfly, but an ichneumon.

The mason wasp (_Epipone spinipes_) builds its cells and lays its eggs,
one in each cell. It then hunts and procures spiders, which it deposits
in the cells and then seals the openings. These spiders are not killed
outright, but are partially paralyzed by the sting of the wasp. The
insect thus secures for her young a supply of fresh food. This wasp not
only knows the difference between the eggs that will produce female
young, but she also makes this knowledge useful. She always supplies the
females with more spiders than she does the males. The females are
larger and require more food, hence the discrimination. All of this care
and forethought is expended on young which the mother will never see.
Human love cannot give greater evidences of complete unselfishness.

I once removed a ball of eggs from the web of a spider. The mother clung
tenaciously to her treasure, and, when I tried to remove her with a pair
of forceps, she bit fiercely at the steel blades of the instrument. In
her great love for her offspring she lost all sense of fear. Time and
again I removed her several inches from the eggs; she would run about in
a distracted way, for all the world like a mother who had lost her baby,
until she found the ball of eggs. She would then seize it and attempt to
remove it to a place of safety. The naturalist, Bonnet, put a spider and
her bag of eggs in the pit of an ant-lion. The myrmeleon seized the
egg-bag and tore it away from the spider. Bonnet forced the spider out
of the pit, but she returned and chose to be dragged in and buried alive
rather than leave her eggs.[57]

  [57] Bonnet, _OEuvres_; quoted also by Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_,
  p. 205.

Earwigs lay their eggs, and then incubate them after the manner of the
hen. When the young are hatched out, the proud mother leads forth the
brood and shows unmistakable pride and affection in her children. On one
occasion, when a storm was coming up, I saw an earwig marshal her troop
of young ones, and lead them to a place of safety beneath the bark of a
tree.

M. Geer scattered the eggs of an earwig over the bottom of a box: "The
earwig carried them, however, one by one, into a certain part of the
box, and then remained constantly sitting upon the heap without ever
quitting it for a moment until the eggs were hatched."[58] This, I take
it, is at least an instance of love of offspring, even if it is not a
higher emotion. From the earwig's habit of watching over her young I am
inclined to believe that this insect possesses true mother-love.

  [58] Romanes, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 229; quoted also by Bingley, _loc.
  cit._, Vol. III. pp. 150, 151.

Many of the lower animals give unmistakable evidences of the possession
by them of the emotions of anger and fear. Ants, centipedes, tarantulas,
weevils, etc., as well as many of the crustacea will give battle on the
slightest provocation, clearly showing by their actions that anger and
hate are their incentives. When alarmed, their actions indicate very
plainly that the emotion of fear has seized them.

In the next chapter I hope to show that many of the lower animals
possess one or more of the finer emotions, which I have thought best to
group under the head of Æstheticism.



CHAPTER V

ÆSTHETICISM


"The man that hath not music in himself, nor is not moved with concord
of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils." The above
quotation is the thought of one of the most acute, profound, and
accurate psychologists that ever lived. That which he observed to be
true among men, strangely enough, a long and systematic course of
observation leads me to believe to be equally true among the lower
animals; for wherever it can be observed that animals evince an
appreciation for musical sounds, or show discrimination in their
perception of harmonious tonal vibrations, such animals, with a single
exception--the spider--will be found to be of kind disposition, and not
given to "treasons, stratagems, and spoils" other than those required by
their struggle for existence. So true is this rule, that the single
exception--the spider--proves the verity of the deduction or conclusion.
For, like many men, the spider's love for the beautiful, not only in
music but in decorative effects as well, is intimately associated with
murder-lust; it kills for the love of killing. Many examples of the
association of great cruelty and profound love for the beautiful in
nature and the arts might be given; it is necessary for my purpose,
however, to give but two--Nero and Catherine de' Medici.

That spiders appreciate musical sounds, and that they can differentiate
between those sounds that are pleasing and those that are disagreeable
to them, I have not a scintilla of doubt. The following facts bearing on
this point came under my own observation or were told me by people in
whose veracity I believe implicitly, or are vouched for by scientists of
world-wide fame.

During one entire summer until late in autumn, a large, black hunting
spider (_Lycosa_) dwelt in my piano. When I played _andante_ movements
softly, she would come out on the music rack and seem to listen
intently. Her palpi would vibrate with almost inconceivable rapidity,
while every now and then she would lift her anterior pair of legs and
wave them to and fro, and up and down. Just as soon, however, as I
commenced a march or galop, she would take to her heels and flee away to
her den somewhere in the interior of the piano, where she would sulk
until I enticed her forth with _Träumerei_ or Handel's _Largo_.

On one occasion, while standing beside an organist who was improvising
on the swell organ with _viol d'amour_ stop drawn, a spider let herself
down from the ceiling of the church and hung suspended immediately above
his hands. He coupled on to great organ and commenced one of Guilmant's
resonant _bravura_ marches; immediately the spider turned and rapidly
climbed her silken thread to her web high up among the timbers of the
ceiling. The organist informed me that he had noticed, time and again,
that spiders were affected by music. Several days afterwards I went to
the church for the special purpose of experiment; I seated myself at the
organ and commenced to improvise on the swell organ with _flute_, _viol
d'amour_, and _tremulant_ stops out. In a few moments the spider let
herself down from the ceiling and hung suspended before my eyes. So
close was she that I could see her palpi vibrating rapidly and
continuously. I suddenly dropped to great organ and burst into a loud,
quick galop; the spider at once turned and ascended towards the ceiling
with the utmost rapidity. Again and again I enticed her from her home in
the ceiling, or sent her scurrying back, by playing slow _piano_ or
quick _forte_ compositions. She clearly and conclusively indicated that
loud, quick music was disagreeable to her. Professor C. Reclain of
Leipsic, once, during a concert, saw a spider descend from one of the
chandeliers and hang suspended above the orchestra during a violin solo;
as soon, however, as the full orchestra joined in, it quickly ascended
to its web.[59] This fact of musical discrimination in a creature so
low in the scale of animal life is truly wonderful; it indicates that
these lowly creatures have arrived at a degree of æstheticism that is
very high indeed.

  [59] Reclain, _Body and Mind_, p. 275; quoted by Romanes, _Animal
  Intelligence_, pp. 205, 206; compare Rabigot, Simonius, and Von
  Hartmann.

Spiders are decorative artists of no little ability. I saw one which
spun a web, beautifully adorned it with a broad, silken pathway, and
then used it as a pleasure resort; I also saw a spider which
intentionally beautified its web by affixing to it hundreds of minute
flakes of logwood dye;[60] thus we see that the æstheticism of spiders
is not confined to the love of music, but extends to other fields. In
passing, I may state that once, while confined to my room for a long
time by sickness, I became intimately acquainted with a wolf-spider
which seemed to take an æsthetic delight in her toilet. This lycosid
became so very tame that she would crawl upon my finger and allow
herself to be brought close to my eyes, so that I could observe her deft
and skilful movements while beautifying her person. She learned to know
me personally, rapidly running away and hiding herself when visitors
entered my chamber, but never showing fear when I alone was in the room.
This spider also showed an appreciation for certain musical sounds (the
instrument used was the paper and comb mouth-organ of childhood); low,
soft music would always entice her from her den beneath the table-lid,
while loud, quick sounds seemed to frighten and disgust her.

  [60] Mr. Willard Bates, a druggist of Owensboro, Kentucky, in whose
  store this instance of decorative æstheticism occurred, called my
  attention to the insect, which was busily engaged in beautifying her
  web.

Among animal music-lovers this chapter does not embrace those natural
musicians, the crickets, grasshoppers, locusts, frogs, and birds, whose
love-songs form such a large part of the æsthetic in nature; yet the
instance I am about to relate cannot be omitted, for it clearly
indicates a love for musical sounds other than those produced by the
creature itself or its mates.

A gentleman,[61] formerly living in the country, but now an
attorney-at-law and residing in the town in which I live, told me that,
on one occasion, he succeeded in raising two quails from eggs placed
beneath a brooding barnyard fowl. These birds grew to maturity, and,
what is rare indeed, became so exceedingly tame that they ran about the
house and yard with the utmost freedom, showing not the slightest fear,
and, seemingly, taking the greatest pleasure in the caresses bestowed
upon them by the children of the household. This gentleman comes of a
musical family, and, on pleasant summer nights, he and his sisters and
brothers were in the habit of going to the stiles some distance away
from the house and there singing and playing on the guitar and violin
for several hours. The quails roosted on a dresser in the kitchen, but,
as soon as the music began, they left their roost and flew to the stiles
no matter how late in the night it might be, and there they would stay,
perched on the shoulders of the musicians, until the concert was over;
they would then go back to roost. They seemed to be passionately fond of
the singing voice, and would seek out a singer wherever he or she might
be, whenever they heard the sound of singing. In _timbre_ the human
female voice is more nearly akin to that of the quail than to that of
any other animal. When a lad, "before my voice changed," I could call up
these birds at will by giving their various calls; I did not whistle the
songs; I _sang_ them. The peculiar quality of the female voice referred
to above may be considered by some to have been the cause that
influenced these birds; yet my informant distinctly states that _the
voice of an adult male equally attracted them_.

  [61] Martin Yewell, Esq., Owensboro, Kentucky.

The opening movement of Chopin's _Marche Funébre_ affects me very
disagreeably. The music is, to me, absolutely repugnant. The beautiful
melody in the second movement is, however, to me exceedingly agreeable
and affords me intense pleasure and gratification. The lower animals are
likewise agreeably or disagreeably affected by certain musical sounds.
Close observation has taught me the fact that certain musical keys are
more agreeable to dogs than others. If a composition in a certain key,
the fundamental note of which is agreeable to a dog, be played, he will
either listen quietly and intently to the sounds, or will, sometimes,
utter low and not unmusical howls in accord or "in tune" with the
fundamental note. If the music be in a key not pleasing to him, he will
either show absolute indifference, or will express his dissatisfaction
with discordant yelps not in accord with the fundamental note of the
key.

The bell of a certain church in my town sounds G. A collie, which lives
next door to the church, when the bell is rung, never fails to express his
delight in the sound. He listens intently while the bell is ringing,
occasionally giving utterance to low howls, the notes being either B-flat,
E-flat, or some other note in accord with G. This dog visits a house next
door to another church, the bell of which sounds F. He never shows the
slightest interest when this bell is rung. When I play compositions in
F-sharp, an English fox-terrier of mine will lie on the floor and listen
for an hour at a time. If I change to the key of E-flat, B-flat, or G, he
will soon leave the room.

A question naturally obtrudes itself here in the matter of the dog which
barks in accord with the church-bell. Does he do this knowingly
(consciously), or is it simply an accident? I believe the former, and
consider it the result of an acquired psychical habitude.

That the dog is conscious (self-conscious) that his voice is in accord
with the bell, I will not venture to assert, for, knowledge on this
point, I take it, is beyond the power of man to acquire. I mean by the
word, "knowingly," when I say that the dog knowingly pitches his voice
in accord with the bell, not that he has any knowledge whatever of
harmony, such as an educated musician possesses, or such even as the
inherited experiences of a thousand years of music-loving ancestors
would naturally impress upon the mind of a civilized European of to-day,
but that he has an acquired imitative faculty (a faculty possessed by
some of the negroes of Central Africa as well as by many other savage
races), of attuning his voice to sounds which are pleasing to his ears.
In support of this proposition I instance the fact of the dog's acquired
habit of barking, which has been developed since his domestication. In
his wild state the dog _never_ barks.

Man himself has done much toward arousing and cultivating the imitative
faculty in the dog (which, in the beginning, impelled this highly
developed animal to _answer_ his master, thus originating the first
vocables--barking--in the canine language), by conversing with him. In
all probability, it is only an "anatomical barrier and a psychical
accident" at best, which prevent the dog from addressing his master
through the agency of speech itself!

The dog's voice is exceedingly pleasing to himself, and, most
frequently, when "baying the moon," he is listening to his own singing,
_not_ (as is generally supposed) as it pours forth from his throat, but
in a more pleasing manner, as it is breathed back to his listening ears
from the airy lips of Echo!

That dogs have discovered that pleasing phenomenon, the echo, I do not
question for a single instant. If a dog which is in the habit of "baying
the moon" be watched, it will be observed that he invariably selects the
same spot or spots for his nocturnal concerts. If you happen to be
standing in the neighborhood, you will also notice that there is always
an echo, more or less distinct, of his barking; and, if you will observe
closely, you will see that the dog listens for this echo, and that he
will not resume his song until it (the echo) has entirely ceased. That
this is the true explanation of "baying the moon" (where there is not
another dog in the distance whose clamorous barkings have aroused a like
performance on the part of the animal under observation), the following
instance, coming under my own observation, would seem to indicate.

I had frequently noticed that a spaniel crept under a honeysuckle bush
in my front yard whenever he gave one of his serenades. Time and again I
tried to hear the echo, but in vain, and an almost verified fact seemed
in danger of total annihilation. Finally, it occurred to me to
dispossess the dog and take his place beneath the bush. I called him out
and succeeded with much difficulty in getting beneath the bush, from
whence I, imitating his voice, sent several howling barks. My theory was
no longer merely theory, but was, instead, a verified fact, for, sharp,
clear, and distinct, the echoes of my voice came back from some
buildings an eighth of a mile away! Some peculiar acoustic environment
made it impossible to get the echo at any place, as far as I could
discover, other than beneath the bush.[62]

  [62] These observations are original, and, while I am fully convinced
  of their truth, I would yet like to have them substantiated by other
  observers. This habit indicates a high degree of æsthetic feeling in
  the dog.

It is highly probable that the susceptibility of rats and mice to the
influence of musical sounds has been known for ages. The legend of the
Pied Piper of Hamelin is by no means recent, nor is it confined to
European peoples alone; in one form or another it exists among Asiatic,
Indian, and Indo-Malayan races. In all the legends, the rats or mice are
drawn together by sounds emanating from some kind of musical instrument.

A celebrated violinist told me that, at one period of his life, he lived
in a house that fairly swarmed with rats. He noticed that these
creatures were peculiarly susceptible to minor chords, or to
compositions played in minors, and that quick, lively music would bring
them forth from their lurking-places in great numbers. A few abrupt,
dissonant discords would, invariably, send them scurrying to their
holes.

Another violinist informs me that several mice living in his room are
influenced by the music of his violin; when he plays an _andante_
movement very softly, they appear to listen intently and to enjoy the
music; but when he plays an _allegro_ in quick time and loud, they
quickly run away. The organist of the First Presbyterian Church of
Owensboro, Kentucky,[63] tells me that when he lived in Cuba, New York,
a mouse dwelt beneath a bookcase in his room, and that he often
performed the following experiment: Seating himself at the piano, he
would begin improvising softly. In a few moments the mouse would come
from beneath the bookcase, approach the centre of the room, and,
standing on its hind feet, would listen intently to the music. A loud
chord on the piano would send it scampering away to its home. He would
then resume his _pianissimo_ improvisation, and the mouse would soon
return to its former station near the centre of the room, only to vanish
again as soon as the loud chords were struck.

  [63] Professor L. J. Quigley.

A violinist of Louisville, Kentucky, Mr. Karl Benedik, told me, on one
occasion, that he had repeatedly noticed that several mice, which lived
in his room, were influenced by the music of his violin. When he played
an _andante_ movement _pianissimo_, they would appear to listen with
pleasure; but when he played an _allegro_ in quick _tempo_ and _forte_,
they immediately ran away.

Mice not only enjoy the music of others, but sometimes make music
themselves. My father enjoyed nightly concerts or serenades, for a long
time, from some "singing mice" in his library. I was fortunate enough to
hear this novel concert on one occasion. The mice, two in number, came
out from beneath the casing of the fireplace. They took places on the
hearth, several feet distant from one another, and first one, and then
the other, sang. Their songs were low and musical, not unlike the song
of the canary, though there were no cadenzas or _fioritura_ passages.
They seemed to use six notes, these notes being repeated in melodious
sequences. I noticed, several times, a run of four notes in ascending
scale. On another occasion, in my bedroom, I heard a mouse sing his
pleasing little song over and over again.

Miss Ada Sterling, editor of _Fashions_, writes me as follows:--

"... Anent your paper ... I have had some curious experiences of a
similar nature; one was in an uncarpeted room, the house being deserted
at that time. I stood still, planning certain things and humming softly
to myself. Presently, a shadowy something caught my eye, and I
discovered a little mouse, very young evidently, then another and
another, until four were near. I did not attribute their tameness to
music, and in surprise turned to see if there were others about.
Instantly they scampered off, my action having frightened them.

"When I finally arrived at the conclusion that music had attracted them,
I sat down and began to hum, this time with an open sound instead of a
closed tone, and in a second the little creatures were out again,
standing perfectly still, as if the sound gave them delight. Gradually I
swelled the tone, and yet they were undisturbed until I became too bold
and gave a clear, sharp, full sound, and this at once frightened them.

"_I experimented in this way for more than a month, never missing my
audience once_, and by this time the little creatures, grown so fat and
bold as to cause serious damage, were ruthlessly caught and killed.

"I heard Kate Field, about four years ago, when, as the guest of Mr.
Stedman, she told several interesting stories, relate an experience of
her own, wherein, one night early in her life, she had leaned against
the walls of the Campanile, gray and phantom-like in the moonlight, and,
singing softly to herself, was surprised at discovering several little
lizards lying about on the stones, their heads held alertly in the air
as if entranced by the sound of her voice. She, too, experimented with
the varying sounds, and from time to time, and evidently looked back
upon the experiment as one of rare interest to herself."

Tree lizards will listen completely entranced to the music of a good
whistler, and will allow themselves to be captured while thus
inthralled. Some lizards are fairly good musicians themselves, notably
the tree lizards of the East Tennessee mountains. I have repeatedly
heard them singing on the slopes of Chilhowie and adjacent peaks.

Burroughs writes very entertainingly of a singing lizard, or, rather,
salamander: "... Approach never so cautiously the spot from which the
sound proceeds and it instantly ceases, and you may watch for an hour
without hearing it again. 'Is it a frog,' I said--'the small tree-frog,
the piper of the marshes--repeating his spring note but little changed
amid the trees?' Doubtless it is, but I must see him in the very act. So
I watched and waited, but to no purpose, till one day, while bee-hunting
in the woods, I heard the sound proceeding from the leaves at my feet.
Keeping entirely quiet, the little musician presently emerged, and
lifting himself up on a small stick, his throat palpitated, and the
plaintive note again came forth. 'The queerest frog that ever I saw,'
said a youth who accompanied me and whom I had enlisted to help solve
the mystery. No, it was no frog or toad at all, but the small red
salamander commonly called lizard."[64]

  [64] Gibson, _Sharp Eyes_, pp. 105, 106; quotation.

The sound of the piccolo is very pleasing to these little creatures, and
I have frequently collected about me as many as ten or a dozen by
sounding this instrument in the still depths of a wood which I knew
these salamanders frequented.

Certain snakes are very susceptible to the charm of harmonious tonal
vibration; witness the performance of the Hindu snake charmer, who,
while handling that deadly poisonous creature, the cobra-de-capello,
plays continuously on flageolets, fifes, or other musical
instruments.[65] I, myself, have often held tree lizards completely
entranced until grasped in my hand, by whistling shrilly and
continuously.

  [65] It has been claimed by some that the cobra is not influenced by
  the music, but by movements of the Hindu performer, who dances,
  salaams, etc., continually while giving exhibitions. Very recently,
  however, Momsen has proven the contrary by actual experiment.

I remember, on one occasion, when I was quite young, that a large black
snake crawled through a ventilating hole in the wall of the "quarters"
or row of brick cottages occupied by the negroes, and took shelter
beneath the floor. It was seen by myself and some of my dusky playmates,
who immediately carried the tidings to the negro gardener. He called one
of the hands from the field, and, after placing him with a loaded
shotgun at one side of the hole in the wall, took his station just
behind him and commenced to play on his fiddle. In a few moments the
snake came out, and was killed by the discharge of the gun in the hands
of the other negro. I have been informed, time and again, by negroes
that they could charm snakes from their holes with music, but the
instance related above is the only one of the snake being led to its
death by the bewitching power of musical sounds that has ever come under
my immediate personal observation.

Before dismissing the subject of the influence of music on animals, I
wish to call attention to the fact that Romanes declares that pigeons
and parrots evince an æsthetic enjoyment of musical sounds.

"Moreover," writes he, "the pleasure which birds manifest in musical
sounds is not always restricted to the sounds which they themselves
produce."

Bingley quotes John Lockman, the celebrated composer, who declares that
he once saw a pigeon which could distinguish a particular air. Lockman
was visiting a Mr. Lee in Cheshire, whose daughter was a fine pianist,
"and whenever she played the air of _Speri si_ from Handel's opera of
'Admetus,' a pigeon would descend from an adjacent dovecot to the window
of the room where she sat, 'and listen to the air apparently with the
most pleasing emotions,' always returning to the dovecot immediately the
air was finished. But it was only this one air that would induce the
bird to behave in this way."[66]

  [66] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 282; quoted by Bingley,
  _Animal Biography_, Vol. II. p. 220.

A correspondent writes me that he has a cock which is passionately fond
of the sound of the violin. This bird always flies to the window of the
music-room as soon as he hears the sound of the violin, where he will
quietly remain perched as long as the music continues. As soon as the
music ceases, he flies down from the window.

Horses very frequently show an appreciation for musical sounds,
especially when they are produced by a band of brasses.

Amusement and pastime are, unquestionably, æsthetic psychical
characteristics, hence, when we see evidences of these mental
operations, we must acknowledge the presence of æstheticism in the
animals in which they are to be noticed.

I propose to show that animals low in the scale of life--animals so low
and so minute that it takes a very high-power lens to make them visible,
have their pastimes and amusements. Also, that many insects and even the
slothful snail are not so busily engaged in the struggle for existence
that they cannot spare a few moments for play. In our researches in this
field of animal intelligence we must not attribute the peculiar actions
of the males in many species of animals when courting the females, to
simple pastime, for they are the outward manifestations of sexual
desire, and are not examples of psychical amusement. I have seen, in
actinophorous rhizopods, certain actions, unconnected with sexual desire
or the gratification of appetite, which lead me to believe that these
minute microscopic organisms have their pastimes and moments of simple
amusement. On several occasions while observing these creatures, I have
seen them chasing one another around and around their miniature sea.
They seemed to be engaged in a game of tag. This actinophrys is not very
agile, but when excited by its play, it seems to be an entirely
different creature, so lively does it become. These actions were not
those of strife, for first one and then another would act the pursuer
and the pursued. There were, generally, four or five actinophryans in
the game.

One of the rotifers frequently acts as if engaged in play. On several
occasions I have observed them perform a kind of dance, a _pas seul_,
for each rotifer would be alone by itself. Their motions were up and
down as if exercising with an invisible skipping-rope. They would keep
up this play for several minutes and then resume feeding or quietly
remain at rest. This rotifer goes through another performance which I
also believe to be simply a pastime. Its tail is armed with a double
hook or forceps. It attaches itself to a piece of alga or other
substance by this forceps, and then moves its body up and down in the
water for several minutes at a time.

The snail (_H. pomatia_) likewise has its moments of relaxation and
amusement. The following instance of play may be considered to be
gallantry by some, but I do not believe that I am mistaken, however,
when I consider it an example of animal pastime. Two snails approached
each other, and, when immediately opposite, began slowly to wave their
heads from side to side. They then bowed several times in courtly
salutation. This performance they kept up for quite a while and then
moved away in different directions. At no time did they come in contact,
and careful observation failed to reveal any excitement in the
genitalia. I have witnessed the embraces of snails, and the performance
described above does not resemble, in the slightest degree, the
manoeuvres executed at such times by mating individuals.

Swarms of Diptera may be seen on any bright day dancing in the sunlight.
Naturalists have heretofore considered this swarming to be a mating of
the two sexes. This is not the case, however, in many instances. On
numerous occasions, and at different seasons of the year, I have
captured dozens of these insects in my net and have examined them
microscopically. I found them all to be unimpregnated females; I have
never yet discovered a male among them. In some of the Diptera the males
emerge from the pupa state after the females; I therefore believe that
the females await the presence of the males, and, while waiting, pass
the time away in aërial gambols.

Forel, Lubbock, Kirby, Spence, and other naturalists have declared that
ants, on certain occasions, indulge in pastimes and amusements. Huber
says that he saw a colony of _pratensis_, one fine day, "assembled on
the surface of their nest, and behaving in a way that he could only
explain as simulating festival sports or other games."[67] On the 27th
of September last, the males and females of a colony of _Lasius flavus_
emerged from their nest; I saw these young kings and queens congregate
about the entrance of the nest and engage in playful antics until driven
away by the workers. The workers would nip their legs with their
mandibles until the royal offspring were forced to fly in order to
escape being bitten. The inciting cause of these movements may have been
sexual in character, but I hardly think so.

  [67] Büchner, _Geistesleben der Thiere_, p. 163; quoted also by
  Romanes, _loc. cit. ante_, pp. 87, 88.

On the 19th of July, 1894, I saw several _Lasius niger_ come out of
their nest accompanied by a minute beetle (_Claviger foveolatus_); the
ants caressed and played with this little insect for some time, and then
conducted it back into the nest.[68]

  [68] On one occasion several years ago, I saw a number of young ants
  of _L. niger_ brought out of the nest by five or six old ants, which
  watched over the young and kept them from straying away. The young
  ants played about the nest entrance for some time, and were then
  conducted back into the hive by the old ants.--W.

Many such little animals are kept by the ants as pets. Lubbock says of
one of them, a species allied to _Podura_, and for which he proposes the
name _Beckia_, "It is an active, bustling, little being, and I have kept
hundreds, I may say thousands, in my nests. They run in and out among
the ants, keeping their antennæ in a perpetual state of vibration."[69]
I have frequently noticed an insect belonging to the same genus as the
above in the nests of _F. fusca_ and _F. rufescens_. They reminded me
very much of the important-looking little dogs one sees running about in
the crowd on election day.

  [69] Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p. 74.

The females of _Coccinellæ_ ("lady-bugs") frequently congregate and
indulge in performances that cannot be anything else save pastimes. A
beech tree in my yard is called "lady-bug tree" because, year after
year, these insects collect there and hold their curious conventions.
They caress one another with their antennæ, and gently "shoulder" one
another from side to side. Sometimes several will get their heads
together, and seem by their actions to be holding a confidential
conversation.

These conventions always take place after oviposition, and careful and
repeated observation has shown me that they are not connected with
procreation or alimentation. I have witnessed many other instances of
true psychical amusement in the lower animals, but do not think it is
necessary to detail them here. Suffice it to say that I believe that
almost every living creature, at some period of its existence, has its
moments of relaxation from the cares of life, when it enjoys the
gratification of amusement.

Some birds evince æsthetic taste, notably in the building of their
nests, which they ornament and decorate in a manner very pleasing to the
eye.

The snakeskin bird gets its name from its habit of using the cast-off
skins of snakes for decorative purposes. Not long ago I found a nest in
a small wood, not far from the town in which I live, which was
beautifully ornamented with the exuviated skin of a black snake
(_Bascanion constrictor_). This skin must have been at least five feet
in length, and the little artists had woven it into the walls of their
nest in such a manner that its translucent, glittering scales contrasted
very beautifully with the darker materials of their home.

Humming-birds use bits of lichen and moss to decorate their tiny nests.
These materials serve a twofold purpose: they not only render the nest
beautiful, but they also serve to protect it by making it resemble the
limb on which it is placed. It takes a very acute and discriminating
eye, indeed, to locate a humming-bird's nest.

Probably of all the lower animals, the male satin or bower bird of New
South Wales has the decorative feeling the most developed. This bird
builds a pleasure resort, a summer-house, or, rather, dance hall, which
he ornaments profusely with every glittering, shining, striking object
that he can carry to his bower in the depths of the forest. This bower
is built of twigs, and, when completed, is an oblong, sugar-loaf-like
structure, open at both ends. The bird decorates his dancing hall (for
he comes here to perform love-dances during the courting season) with
bright-colored rags, shells, pebbles, bones, etc.

I once saw a pair of bower birds in captivity (they were owned by Mr.
George Hahn of St. Louis), which constructed the dance hall from
materials furnished by their owner.

The love of personal cleanliness is, probably, the root and beginning of
much that is æsthetic among the lower animals.

When quite a small lad, one of the first lessons set down in my
copy-book, after I had graduated in "pot-hooks and hangers," was the
trite old saw, "Cleanliness is next to godliness." My Yankee governess,
a tall, angular spinster, from Maine, made the meaning of this copy
clear to my infant mind, pointing her remarks by calling attention to
the Kentucky real estate which had found a resting-place beneath my
finger-nails, and which seemed to decorate them with perpetual badges of
mourning. I have never forgotten that lesson and firmly believe in its
truth.

The love of cleanliness seems to be inherent in the lower animals, with
but few exceptions. We have all noticed the cat, the dog, the squirrel,
the monkey, and the birds at toilet-making; and we know that they spend
a large portion of their time in cleansing and beautifying their bodies.
Some of them are dependent on their own ministrations, while others are
greatly assisted by humble little servants, whose only remuneration is
domicile, the cast-off clothing, or the garbage and refuse from their
host's table.

For instance, the common domestic fowl is greatly assisted in its toilet
by certain little animals belonging to the family _Liothe_. These little
creatures carefully scrape away and eat the scarf-skin, and other
epidermal débris that would otherwise impair the health of their
hosts.[70] Some of the fish family are entirely dependent on the
ministrations of mutualists, as these little hygienic servitors are
called, in matters of the toilet. Notably, the gilt catfish, which would
undoubtedly die if deprived of its mutualist, the _Gyropeltes_. This
remarkable little creature does not live on the body of its host, but
swims free in the water, and only seeks him when it is hungry. The skin
of the gilt catfish secretes a thick, glairy, mucous exudate, which, if
left to itself, would imperil the health of the fish. The Gyropeltes,
however, regards this exudate as delicious food and rapidly removes and
devours it.

  [70] Van Beneden, _Animal Parasites and Messmates_, pp. 71, 72.

All insects devote some of their time to the toilet, and there is
probably no one who has not, at some time or other, noticed the fly, or
some other insect, thus engaged. The greatest lover of bodily
cleanliness in the whole insect tribe, however, is, I believe, my pet
locust, "Whiskers"--so named by a little niece, on account of her long,
graceful antennæ. "Whiskers" is one of the smallest of her family, and
is a dainty, lovely, agile little creature, light olive-green in color,
with red legs. She was reared from the egg, and has lived in my room all
her short life. She is quite tame and recognizes me as soon as I
approach, often hopping two feet or more in order to light on my
coat-sleeve or outstretched hand.[71]

  [71] Shortly after the above was written, this interesting little
  creature met an untimely fate at the hands of an Irish chambermaid,
  who was a recent importation and who did not understand that all life
  was held sacred in my house.--W.

The first thing she does, after reaching my hand, is to seek my little
finger and try her jaws on a diamond ring. The diamond seems to puzzle
her greatly. She sometimes spends several minutes closely examining it.
She will stand off at a little distance and pass her antennæ over every
portion of it. Then she will come closer and make a more minute
examination, finally essaying another bite with her powerful jaws. A
great water drinker, she evidently thinks the stone is some strange kind
of dewdrop, hence her persistent efforts to bite it.

"Whiskers" has developed cannibalistic tastes, for the hardened skin
around my finger-nails is a favorite _morceau_ which she digs out with
her sharp jaws and masticates with seeming delight. She nips out a
piece of skin, cocks her head on one side, and, looking up at me with
her clear, emerald-tinted eyes, her masticatory apparatus working like a
grist-mill, she seems to say, "Well! old fellow, this is good."

She passes most of her time on a bit of turf, in a box on my table,
where the sun shines bright and warm. She is fond of water, however, and
makes frequent excursions to the water-pitcher across the room. How she
discovered that it contained water is more than I can tell; but she did,
and she visits it often.

It is in her habits of bodily cleanliness, however, that "Whiskers"
outshines all other insects. I have watched her at early dawn and have
always found her at her toilet. This is her first undertaking, even
before taking a bite to eat. She makes frequent toilets during the day,
and it is her last occupation at night before sinking to rest on a blade
of grass. Her method of procedure is very interesting. She commences by
first carefully cleansing her antennæ, drawing each of them through her
mouth repeatedly. Then she treats her fore-legs to a thorough scrubbing,
going over every portion with her tongue and jaws. With her fore-legs,
using them as hands, she then cleans her head and shoulders, if I may
use the latter term. Her middle legs and her long "vaulters" are then
subjected to the same careful treatment. Her back and the posterior
portion of her abdomen are next rubbed down, she using the last pair of
legs for this purpose. Finally, standing erect and incurvating her
abdomen between her legs, she cleans it and her ovipositor with her jaws
and tongue. Her toilet is made twenty or thirty times a day. Invariably,
after one of her excursions to the water-pitcher, as soon as she returns
to her box this is her first occupation.

Now, having seen that the lower animals possess æsthetic feeling, it is
reasonable to suppose that some of them possess some of the acquired
higher emotions, such, for instance, as parental affection. The evidence
seems to indicate that some of the lower animals do evince such
affection, as I will now endeavor to point out.



CHAPTER VI

PARENTAL AFFECTION


It has been claimed that one of the main objections to the doctrine of
kinship, which, undoubtedly, exists between all animals, is the wide
difference that is to be noted between the solicitude that animals
evince for their young, and the tender love of the human mother and
father for their children. This difference is more apparent than real;
for the ethical love, the refined affection of civilized human parents
for their offspring, is but a psychical culmination of the material and
matter-of-fact solicitude of the lower animals for the preservation of
their kind.

There is a vast difference between the psychical habitudes of a
civilized mother and those of an Aleutian squaw or a Niam-niam
"pot-boiler": the love of a civilized mother for her child extends
throughout its life and even beyond the grave, while the solicitude of
her savage sisters (I use the word in its maternal sense) for their
offspring ceases as soon as the infant toddler is "tall enough to look
into the pot." The latter emotion is closely akin to the maternal
solicitude of the higher and lower animals, while the former in its
refined ethical excellence shows that it is the result of unnumbered
thousands of years of evolutionary growth and development.

The love of kind-preservation is inherent in all animals; it ranks next
in psychical strength to self-preservation, and, in some instances, even
surpasses this so-called "first law of nature." For it very frequently
happens that the mother, both brute and human (and I use the word
_brute_ as the antithesis of the word _human_, and mean it to embrace
all creatures other than man), will lay down her life in defence of her
young, seemingly, utterly forgetting this "first law" in her aim to save
her offspring from destruction. Thus the spider whose egg-bag I had
taken away ran here and there and everywhere in search of it, seemingly
totally oblivious of my presence. When I extended it to her, clasped
between the blades of a small forceps, she seized it with her mandibles
and vainly tried to take it away. When she discovered that this was
impossible, she turned with fury on the forceps' blades and bit and tore
at them in a perfect frenzy of despairing agony. I removed two of her
front legs, yet, even when thus maimed and suffering, she never for an
instant forgot her beloved bag in whose silken meshes so many of her
young lay hidden. She continued her efforts to drag the bag away, and
was so persistent and showed such high courage, that my calloused
sensibilities, hardened by much biological research, were touched, and I
gave her her treasure, which she bore away in triumph.[72]

  [72] Vide Chap. IV., _The Emotions_, p. 105.

I, on one occasion, severed an earwig at the injunction of the thorax
and abdomen; the upper portion (the head and thorax) gathered together
its brood of young and safely conducted them into a haven of safety
beneath the bark of a tree.

In crustaceans we probably find the first unmistakable evidences of
maternal love. The female crayfish, with the under surface of her tail
covered with impregnated eggs or newly hatched young, will fight to the
death in their behalf. I have, time and again, reared crayfish, and have
succeeded in taming them to such a degree that they would take food from
my fingers; whenever the females of these crustaceans became mothers,
however, they became timid and suspicious and would seek out the darkest
spots in the tanks where they were kept. If I attempted to handle them
they would nip me with their sharp mandibles at the first opportunity
that offered; they would allow no interference with their precious
offspring if they could possibly prevent it. This is true of the lobster
also. This giant crustacean, with her enormous forceps-like claws,
generally wages a winning fight with the would-be ravishers of her
young.

I once owned a monkey which was exceedingly fond of shell-fish. On one
occasion I gave him a gravid lobster and came very near losing him
thereby. Usually he seized the lobster or crayfish by its back and then
broke off its forceps; he would then proceed to suck out its juices and
extract its meat. On this occasion, however, the lobster was rendered
bold and pugnacious by her burden of young, and managed in some way to
close her forceps on one of the monkey's thumbs. He squalled out, and
hammered the lobster on the bars of his cage in a vain endeavor to rid
himself of his painful encumbrance. I finally loosened her grasp, but
not until the flesh on the thumb had been cut to the bone. The wounded
hand became inflamed, erysipelas set in, and the poor animal became very
sick indeed. He eventually recovered, and ever afterward was exceedingly
careful how he handled shell-fish. He approached them with caution,
keeping a watchful eye on the dangerous forceps, until, by a quick and
sudden dart of his hand, he could seize and tear them off.

It is a mistaken, though quite generally accepted, conclusion that wasps
never behold their young, hence can readily be instanced, along with the
butterfly and some other insects, as being creatures that evince
solicitude for offspring which they never behold. I am quite confident
that in the tropics certain of the butterflies live to see their young,
for, on one occasion, Dr. Filipe Miranda told me that he was absolutely
certain that many of the _Papilioninæ_ and _Euplocinæ_ of the Amazon
valley lived at least a year and a half. I have kept alive in my room
specimens of _Heliconidæ_ for six and eight months, while mud-dauber
wasps have repeatedly wintered in my room, and have witnessed the
outcomings of spring broods. Thus, it not infrequently happens that
these insect mothers are gratified by a sight of their offspring, though
sometimes they evince painstaking care and solicitude toward creatures
which they will never see.

The pond catfish, so common to the ponds and creeks of the middle and
southern states, evinces maternal solicitude in a very marked degree. I
have frequently seen a school of newly hatched catfish under the
guardianship of an anxious and solicitous mother. She would swim around
and about her frisky and unruly herd, carefully pressing forward all
loiterers and bringing back into the school all stragglers. If a stick
were thrown among the little fishes, she would dart toward it, and,
seizing it in her mouth, would bear it fiercely away, and would not
loose her hold of it until she had borne it some distance from her brood
of young ones. Bass, white perch, and goggle-eye carefully guard their
eggs and drive away all intruders; they likewise keep watchful eyes on
the young for several days after they have been hatched. During such
times these fish can be easily taken, for they will seize anything that
comes near their nests.

Baker says of the stickleback, that when the fry made their appearance
from the eggs, "Around, across, and in every direction the male fish, as
the guardian, continually moved." There were three other fish in the
aquarium, two tench and a gold carp. As soon as these fish saw the fry,
they endeavored to devour them, but were driven off by the brave little
father, which seized their fins and struck with all his might at their
eyes and heads.[73]

  [73] Baker, _Philosophical Trans._; quoted also by Romanes, _loc. cit.
  ante_, p. 245.

"The well-known habit of the lophobranchiate fish, of incubating their
eggs in their pouches, also displays highly elaborated parental feeling.
M. Risso says when the young of the pipe-fish are hatched out, the
parents show them marked attachment, and that the pouch then serves them
as a place of shelter or retreat from danger."[74]

  [74] Baker, _Philosophical Trans._; quoted also by Romanes, p. 246;
  and Yarrell, _Brit. Fishes_, 2d ed., Vol. II. p. 436.

An experimenter, whose name escapes me, on one occasion caught a number
of recently hatched catfish and placed them in a glass jar, close to the
water's edge. The mother fish soon discovered the presence of her young
ones and swam to and fro in front of the jar, evidently much harassed
and worried. She eventually came out on dry land and attempted to get
into the jar where her young were imprisoned. Truly, a wonderful example
or instance of mother love when self was entirely forgotten in
solicitude for the offspring!

The Surinam toad hatches her eggs and then carries her young about with
her on her back until they are old enough to shift for themselves; the
"horned toad" of the southwestern states and Mexico acts in a similar
manner toward its young.

I had been informed that snakes evinced parental love for their
offspring, but never until a recent spring had I been able to verify
this information and give it my unqualified endorsement. In March
(1896), on one of the bright warm days of that phenomenal month, one of
my dogs attracted my attention by his manoeuvres on my lawn. I noticed
him walking "stiff legged" about a circumscribed spot, now and then
darting his muzzle towards the ground. On going to him I discovered that
he had found a lot of snakes, which, influenced by the summer-like
weather, had abandoned their den and had crawled out and were enjoying a
sun-bath. These snakes were knotted together in a ball or roll, but I
quickly discovered that they were all yearlings save one--the mother. I
resolved then and there to test the maternal affection of the mother
snake for her young, so I killed two of them and dragged their bodies
through the grass to the paved walk which ran within a short distance of
the nest. The old snake and the remainder of her brood took shelter in
the den; I then retired to a little distance and awaited developments.
In a very short time the mother emerged from the nest, and, after
casting about for a moment or so, struck the trail of the young ones
which had been dragged through the grass, and followed it to the dead
bodies lying on the pavement. Here she met her fate at the hands of my
iceman (whom I had called to witness the great sagacity of this lowly
creature), for he had killed her ere I could prevent him.

On one occasion I saw a copperhead (_Ancistrodon contortrix_) in the
midst of her young, and they seemed to be subservient to her beck and
call. Before, however, I could satisfy myself positively that the old
snake really held supervision over her brood, the gentleman with whom I
happened to be came upon the scene, whereupon the interesting family
disappeared beneath the undergrowth of the forest.

The higher animals sometimes show, unmistakably, that the maternal love
of offspring has taken a step upwards, and that it has become, in a
measure, refined by the addition of an æsthetic, if not ethical,
element. For instance, a dog acquaintance of mine, on the advent of her
first puppies seemed to be exceedingly proud of them; she not only
brought them, one by one, to her mistress for admiration, but she also
brought them in to show to her master, and yet again, to myself, who
happened to be visiting her owner at the time. She deposited them, one
by one, at the feet of the person whose regard she solicited, and,
after they had been admired, she returned them to the kennel. Here, in
my opinion, was an instance of pride, which has its prototype or
exemplar in the pride of the young human mother who thinks that her baby
is the handsomest child that was ever born! The dog's actions cannot be
translated or interpreted otherwise. Again (and in this instance,
strange to relate, the proud parent was the male), a cat brought his
offspring, one by one, from the basement to my room, two stories above,
in order to exhibit them! He brought them, one at a time, and, after
each had been admired, carried them back to their box in the basement.
Loud were his purs and extravagant were the curl of his tail and the
arch of his back! No father of the genus Homo could more plainly evince
his pride in his baby than did this cat in his kittens. The mother cat
came with him on his first trip; she evidently did not quite comprehend,
at first, the intentions of her spouse. She soon found out, however,
that he meant no harm to her young, so she allowed him to work off his
superabundance of pride without let or hindrance.

Birds will defend their young to their uttermost abilities and will
often yield up their lives in unequal combats with the ravagers of their
nests. Last summer I saw two jays whip in a fair fight a large cat,
which had attempted to rob their nest. They seemed to have arranged the
order of combat with one another before they attacked the would-be
ravisher of their home. The male bird confined his attack to the cat's
head, while the female went at its body with beak and talons. The
song-sparrow which remembered the boy who killed the snake which was
about to devour its young, and whose story I have told elsewhere,
undoubtedly cherished and loved its young. The gratitude which could
change the timid, wild nature of a bird in such a manner must have had
its origin in a feeling, the depths of which can only be equalled in the
psychical habitudes of the most refined of human beings! As we ascend
higher in the scale of animal life, we find that new and refining
elements are added to this love for the preservation of kind, until
finally, in the civilized human being, it has lost its strictly material
function and has become wholly and entirely ethical and æsthetic. Yet,
far back in the beginning, the maternal love or parental love of the
civilized human being was, fundamentally, based on no higher emotion
than that engendered by an inherent love for kind-preservation.

Animals very frequently turn to man when they find themselves in
difficulties and need assistance. The following instance of maternal
love and trust in man in a horse was related to me not long ago, by a
farmer[75] in whose probity and truthfulness I have implicit confidence.
The horse in question, a mare, had been placed in a field some distance
from the house, in which there was no other stock. The animal was
totally blind, and, being in foal, it was thought best to place her
there in order to avoid accidental injury to the colt when it was born.
One night this gentleman was awakened by a pounding on his front porch
and a continuous and prolonged neighing. He hastily dressed himself,
and, on going out, discovered this blind mare, which had jumped the low
fence surrounding the front yard, and which was pawing the porch with
her front feet and neighing loudly. She whinnied her delight as soon as
she heard him, and at once jumped the fence as soon as she ascertained
its locality. She then proceeded toward the field, stopping every now
and then to ascertain if he were following, and, when they arrived at
the field, the horse jumped the fence (a low, rail structure), and
proceeded toward a deep ditch which extended across one corner of the
lot. When she came to the ditch or gully she stopped and neighed once or
twice. The farmer soon discovered the trouble; the colt had been born
that night, and, in staggering about, it had accidentally fallen into
the ditch. He got down into the gully and extricated the little
creature, much to the delight of its loving mother, which testified her
joy and thankfulness by many a grateful and heartfelt whinny.

  [75] Mr. Hamilton Alexander, Owensboro, Kentucky.

As I have indicated in the first part of the chapter, parental
affection is an acquired emotion which has reached its acme in the
civilized human being; yet the germs of this highly developed psychical
manifestation are to be observed in creatures low in the scale of animal
life. As _psychos_ develops, we observe that this emotion becomes purer
and more refined, until, in some of the higher animals, such as the
monkey and the dog, it can hardly be distinguished from the parental
affection of certain savages, who leave their children to shift for
themselves as soon as they are "tall enough to look into the pot"; or,
until, as Reclus declares of Apache babies, "they can pluck certain
fruit by themselves, and have caught a rat by their own unaided efforts.
After this exploit they go and come as they list."[76]

  [76] Reclus, _Primitive Folk_, p. 131.

We have seen in previous chapters that the lower animals possess one or
all of the five senses,--sight, smell, taste, hearing, and touch,--that
they evince conscious determination; that they possess memory and
clearly indicate that the emotions, in the majority of them at least,
are highly developed; that they likewise give evidence of æstheticism
both inherited and acquired; and, finally, that they show, unmistakably,
that they have acquired, to a certain extent, that most refined of all
acquired feeling--parental affection. Now, taking these facts into
consideration, it would be reasonable to suppose that creatures so
highly endowed psychically would present evidences of ratiocination.

That many of the lower animals do present such evidences is a fact
beyond dispute, as I will endeavor to show in the following chapter.



CHAPTER VII

REASON


The simplest and truest definition of reason is, I take it, the
intelligent correlation of ideation and action for definite purposes
not instinctive. The casual observer and a very large majority of the
creationists deny the presence of reason in the lower animals, and group
all psychical manifestations that are to be observed in animals lower
than man under the head of instinct, forgetting that almost every
instinctive habit must have been, in the beginning, necessarily the
result of conscious determination.

Instinct is, in a certain sense, a process of ratiocination, though its
immediate operations may not be due to reason. Instinct involves mental
operations; if it did not, it would be simply reflex action. It is
heredity under a special name; the father transmits his mental
peculiarities as well as his corporeal individualities to his offspring.
The experiences of thousands of years leave their imprint on the
succeeding generations, until deductions and conclusions drawn from these
experiences no longer require any special act of reason in order to bring
about certain results. These results, which were, at first, the outcome
of special acts of ratiocination, or accidental happenings leading to the
good of the creature or creatures in which they occurred, finally became
habitual and instinctive.

These special acts of ratiocination are of daily, of hourly, occurrence
in the lives of countless myriads of the lower animals, and escape our
observation because of the obtuseness of our senses. Every now and then,
however, the observer is able to chronicle such an act of reason, and
thus adduce the proposition that if the creature or creatures were
continually placed in surroundings requiring a like act of reason, that
act would eventually become habitual and instinctive on the part of that
creature or those creatures. I have witnessed hundreds of acts of
intelligent ratiocination in the lower animals that were not called
forth by experience and which had not a single faculty of heredity. For
instance, several years ago I noticed that one of the combs in a
beehive, owing to the extreme heat, had become melted at the top and was
in great danger of falling to the floor. The bees had noticed this
impending calamity long before I had, and had already set about averting
it. They rapidly threw out a buttress or supporting pillar from the comb
next to the one in danger, and joined it firmly to it, thus shoring it
up and preventing its fall in a most effectual manner. When they had
made everything strong and secure, they went to the top of the comb and
reattached it to the ceiling of the hive. After this had been done to
their satisfaction, they removed the shoring pillar and used the wax
elsewhere. In this instance, there was an immediate adaptation of
themselves to surrounding circumstances, in which they averted and
prevented an utterly unforeseen and unheard-of catastrophe by means as
effectual as they were intelligent. Could man do more or reason better?
Here was an experience which had not happened to them in hundreds and
hundreds of generations, perhaps; which, perhaps, had never happened to
them before, and yet, when it did happen, their quick intelligence
readily grasped the situation, and they at once set about remedying the
evil.[77]

  [77] Compare Huber, Vol. II. p. 280; see also Chap. IV. of this work.

A mud-dauber wasp built a nest in my room, and used an open ventilating
window as an entrance and exit. On one occasion this window happened to
be closed, and the wasp, not noticing the clear glass, flew against it
with great violence. She fell to the floor stunned, but when she had
recovered from the effects of the blow, she flew here and there about
the room as if looking for another exit. Finally, she discovered a small
crevice in the casing, through which she at once crawled. She then went
back and forth through this crack until she had become thoroughly
familiar with the new road. She never again essayed the window, though
it was left open the entire summer.

In this instance the wasp was taught by a single experience to seek out
a new road. This experience was wholly new to her, consequently, she
must have used correlative ideation for definite purposes in formulating
her method of procedure. Although ants, bees, and wasps have highly
developed memories, and seem to be likewise in possession of that
peculiar function of the mind called by some psychologists "unconscious
memory," through which they are, probably, enabled to transmit
impressions of comparatively recent experiences to their offspring, I
hardly think that the mud-dauber was influenced in her actions by any
such inherited instinct. Such a conclusion seems to be unwarranted by
the facts in the case. Mud-daubers may have bumped their heads against
windows ever since windows came into existence, but not with sufficient
frequency to cause them to possess an instinct that taught them to avoid
windows.

Again, the ground wasp, whose hole between the bricks of a pavement I
stopped with a wad of paper, and which learned to go down into the
sulcus between the bricks and to pull the paper in the direction of its
long axis in order to remove the obstruction, must have used correlative
ideation in order to grasp the problem that was set her to solve.

From certain observation I am inclined to believe that psychical traits
which are the result of thousands of years of experience before they
become part and parcel of the human _psychos_ may become psychic
actualities in ants, bees, and wasps in the course of a few generations.
The facility with which these creatures adapt themselves to new
environments--in which their very organisms, physical and psychical, are
changed to a certain extent--is abundant proof of the truth of this
conclusion. All experiments with the Hymenoptera amid changed
surroundings indicate an intelligent adaptation of themselves to such
environment.

The ant is the only animal, except man, which has slaves and domestic
animals. Their intelligence is so highly developed that they make a
perfect success in rearing their cattle and capturing their slaves. The
cattle of the ants are of the order _Aphididæ_. The herdsmen of these
aphidian cattle can be seen patrolling the shrubs on which the aphides
are grazing. On them devolves the care of the herds. They bring them out
in the morning and carry them back at night. They gather the eggs of the
aphides, carry them into a specially built nursery, attend them
carefully until the young aphides are hatched out, and then carry them
to the shrubs most liked by them for food. Some strange sense enables
them to recognize one another--an ant of the same species, but coming
from another nest, is immediately recognized as a stranger, and at once
attacked. If the eggs of one ant colony are hatched out in another of
the same species, the young ants are at once known to be strangers and
intruders. This far transcends our intelligence. What mother could
recognize her infant if it were born in the dark and she had never seen
it? Again, if the larvæ of ants are removed, hatched outside of the
nest, and then returned, the ants at once recognize them as kinsmen and
receive them into the nest.

When we take into the consideration that an ant's brain has gray matter
analogous to the gray matter found in the cortex of the human brain, we
should not feel surprised when we find striking evidences of
ratiocination in these little creatures. The better creatures are able
to communicate ideation or thought, the stronger and more frequent are
the evidences of their possession of reason. Ants can undoubtedly
communicate; how and in what manner, it is not generally agreed.

Some time ago I crushed an ant in a path usually taken by the
inhabitants of a nest (which was situated in a hollow tree) in their
journeys to and fro. A soldier ant came along presently, and, smelling
the blood[78] of her murdered companion, was seized by a sudden terror
and fled away into the nest. She soon returned, however, with thirteen
other soldier ants, and made a careful examination of the body and its
surroundings. Her companions also examined the corpse, and, having
satisfied themselves that their comrade was dead, and that her murderer
was not to be found, returned to the nest. Soon afterwards a large
worker ant, guarded by two soldier ants, came out, and, proceeding to
the body, picked it up, carried it down the tree and away beneath the
grass, where I lost sight of them.

  [78] In order to avoid technicalities I think it best to use synonyms
  with which the general student is familiar. The non-technical reader
  will know at once what is meant by the "blood" of the ant.--W.

In this instance there is every evidence of complex reasoning; the
discoverer of the murder hurried away into the nest, where she gave the
alarm; the police of the community--the soldier ants--went immediately
to the scene of the tragedy, made an examination, and then returned and
gave in their report; the undertaker, in the shape of the large worker
ant, then went out, got the body, carried it away and buried it; the two
soldier ants followed the body to the grave in order to protect it from
cannibal ants.

It has been my good fortune to have witnessed several pitched battles
between large bodies of ants. In a battle between some black ants and some
yellow antagonists of another species, I saw many evidences of intelligent
communication. The yellow ants had a commissariat and an ambulance corps;
and I frequently saw them drop to the rear during the battle, and partake
of refreshments or have their wounds attended to. The blacks, which
composed the attacking army, were in light marching order, and had neither
of these conveniences and necessary adjuncts. The yellow ants frequently
sent back to their village for reënforcements; the ants that had been out
on hunting expeditions when the battle was joined were notified as soon as
they arrived at the nest, and immediately hurried off to join in the fray.
The blacks had discovered a herd of aphides belonging to the yellows, and
had sought to surprise the guards and steal the herd; hence the battle. I
am glad to report that the black horde was defeated by the brave yellow
warriors and had to decamp, leaving many of its number dead upon the field
of battle.

On another occasion I saw an army of red ants besieging a colony of
small black ants. The object of the red ants was the theft of the pupæ
or young of the black ants. These pupæ they take to their own nest and
rear as slaves, the enslaved ants to all appearances becoming entirely
satisfied with their condition, and working for their masters willingly
and without demur. The besieged ants evinced a high degree of reason and
forethought, for, as soon as the presence of the besiegers was noticed,
strong guards were posted in all of the approaches to the nest, both
front and rear. The red ants sent a detachment to surprise the colony
from the rear; but they found that surprise was impossible, for they
were met by a strong party of their gallant foes which vigorously
opposed them. The red ants were, however, eventually victorious, and
sacked the town, carrying away with them a large number of pupæ.

I cheerfully bear witness to the fact that the great myrmecologist,
Huber, was correct in his description of his experiment with the black
slave.[79]

  [79] Huber, _The Natural History of Ants_, p. 249; quoted also by
  Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p. 83; Romanes, _Animal
  Intelligence_, p. 65; Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_, p. 369 _et seq._

  Our species of blacks and reds differ but very little in form and
  habits from their European kin; so the experiment may be easily
  performed by any one at all interested in this remarkable instance of
  "slave master, and master slave."--W.

Like Huber, I put some of these red slave-owners into a glass jar in
which I placed an abundance of food. Notwithstanding the fact that this
food was easy of access, being in fact immediately beneath their jaws,
they would not touch it! I then placed a black slave in the jar; she at
once went to her masters, and, after thoroughly cleansing them with her
tongue, gave them food. These red ants would have starved to death in
the midst of plenty, if they had been left to themselves.

This, at first glance, would seem to indicate an utter absence of reason
in these red slave-owners. Such a conclusion, however, is by no means
true. The facts indicate mental degeneration. So utterly subservient
had they become to the ministration of the slaves, that they had even
lost the faculty of feeding themselves!

Here, we have an example of degeneration in the mentality of an animal
incident to the enervating influence of slavery. Sir John Lubbock's
remarks anent the four genera of slave-making ants are so interesting
that I may be pardoned for quoting them entire. Says he:--

"These four genera" (_Formica sanguinea_, _Polyergus_,
_Strongylognathus_, _and Anergates_) "offer us every gradation from
lawless violence to contemptible parasitism.

"_Formica sanguinea_, which may be assumed to have comparatively
recently taken to slave-making, has not yet been materially affected.

"_Polyergus_, on the contrary, already illustrates the lowering tendency
of slavery. They have lost their knowledge of art, their natural
affection for their young, and even the instinct of feeding. They are,
however, bold and powerful marauders.

"In _Strongylognathus_ the enervating influence of slavery has gone
further, and told even on the bodily strength. They are no longer able
to capture their slaves in open warfare. Still they retain a semblance
of authority, and, when aroused, will fight bravely, though in vain.

"In _Anergates_, finally, we come to the last scene of this sad history.
We may safely conclude that in distant times their ancestors lived, as
so many ants do now, partly by hunting, partly on honey; that by
degrees they became bold marauders, and gradually took to keeping
slaves; that for a time they maintained their strength and agility,
though losing by degrees their real independence, their arts, and many
of their instincts; that gradually even their bodily force dwindled away
under the enervating influence to which they had subjected themselves,
until they sank to their present degraded condition--weak in body and
mind, few in numbers and apparently nearly extinct, the miserable
representatives of far superior ancestors, maintaining a precarious
existence as contemptible parasites of their former slaves."[80]

  [80] Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, pp. 88, 89.

This is truly a wonderful picture of mental and physical degeneration
incident to the enervating influences of slavery. That it is a true one,
an abundance of data most emphatically declares. The influence of
slavery on the human race (the masters) shows very plainly that man
himself quickly, comparatively speaking, loses his stamina when
subjected to it.

This fact is but another proof of the kinship of all animals, and the
similarity, nay, the sameness, of mind in man and the lower animals;
mind is the same in kind, though differing in degree.

When an animal is placed amid new and unfamiliar surroundings
necessitating the evolvement of intelligent action in order to meet the
necessities of such environment, such an animal evinces ratiocination.
I have seen many instances of such action on the part of ants. The
following data concerning the natural history of the honey-making ant
(_Myrmecocystus mexicanus_) are taken from my note-book.

During the summer of 1887 I spent several weeks in New Mexico, and while
there had the great good fortune to discover a colony of honey-making
ants. I found these ants in a little valley debouching out of Huerfanos
Park, a government reservation, I believe, at that time. The nest was
situated on the sandy shore of a small creek, and was a perfect square
of three or four feet, from which all grass, weeds, etc., had been
carefully removed. Around three sides of this square, viz., north, east,
and west, a column of black soldier ants continually patrolled night and
day.

Near the southeast corner of this open space the entrance to the nest
was situated. The south side of the square was not guarded, but was left
open for the entrance and exit of the hundreds of dark yellow workers
which were engaged in bringing food to the village. No sooner was a
burden put down than it was seized by black workers, which then carried
it into the nest. At no time did I see a black worker bringing food to
the centre of the square, nor did I ever see a yellow worker carrying
food into the nest; the blacks and the yellows never interfered with one
another's business.

To test the reasoning powers of these ants, I partially disabled a
centipede and threw it into the square a short distance from the patrol
line. For a moment or two the line was broken by the warriors hurrying
out to do battle with the squirming intruder. But only for a moment or
two, for orders were issued by some ant in authority (so it seemed, and
so I believe), and the line was established, though somewhat thinned by
the absence of soldiers. The messenger was sent to headquarters and
reënforcements were sent out, and soon the line was as strong as ever,
though hundreds of soldiers were warring with the centipede. The latter
was soon killed, and its body was removed piecemeal by the yellow
workers, which carried the fragments far beyond the boundaries of the
square.

Again, with my hunting-knife I dug a deep trench across the border of
one side of the square. The ants seemed dazed at first, but rapidly
adapted themselves to their new surroundings. They extended their patrol
line until it embraced the entire trench; then a countless horde of
yellow workers went to work, and in a day's time filled up the deep
excavation level with the surrounding surface! The patrol was then
reëstablished on the old line as though nothing had occurred to
interrupt the ordinary routine of the colony. Before leaving the valley
I dug up the nest and examined the peculiar individuals whose enforced
habits give to these interesting ants the name of "honey-makers." Each
one of these curious creatures was confined in a separate cell, the
entrance to which was very small. Here they lived in absolute seclusion,
being fed by the black workers with pollen, the nectar of flowers,
tender herbs, etc.

Through some wonderful chemical process this food was turned into a
delicious honey, the flavor of which (I ate of it freely) was distinctly
winy and aromatic.

Apparently, they had no anal orifices, these passages probably having
been obliterated. These imprisoned honey-makers were merely animated
bags of honey, and were kept by the other ants solely for the purpose of
furnishing a never failing supply of sweet and wholesome food.[81]

  [81] Compare Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 111 _et seq._ At the
  time when these details were written in my note-book I was
  unacquainted with Captain Fleeson's and Mr. Edwards's observations,
  nor had I read Romanes's work on _Animal Intelligence_. I had heard of
  _Myrmecocystus_, of course, but knew nothing of its natural history.
  Comparison will show that my observations differ from those of the
  gentlemen mentioned above. I saw nothing whatever of the web described
  by Captain Fleeson: the honey-making _solitaires_ were simply confined
  in cells, where they rested on the bare ground; they were not perched
  upon "a network of squares, like a spider's web." The "outside"
  workers observed by me were not black, but very dark yellow, while the
  "inside" workers were bright yellow in color.--W.

The rapidity with which these ants set to work to fill in the trench
made by my hunting-knife showed that they recognized, at once, the
calamity that had befallen them, and that they used rational methods in
remedying the evil.

The fact that they have evolved the idea of setting aside certain
members of the colony as honey-makers, and that there is a distinct
recognition of a division, or divisions, in the labor of the inhabitants
of the nest, evinces very high psychical development.

In a colony of _Termes_, or white ants, so-called, there are five kinds of
individuals. _First_, the workers. These do all the work of the nest,
collecting provisions, waiting on the queen, carrying eggs to the
nurseries, feeding the young until they are old enough to care for
themselves, repairing and erecting buildings, etc. _Second_, the nymphs.
These differ in nothing from the workers, except that they have
rudimentary wings. _Third_, the neuters. These are much less in numbers
than the workers, but exceed them greatly in bulk. They have long and very
large heads, armed with powerful mandibles, and are the sentinels and
soldiers of the colony. These neuters are blind. _Fourth_ and _Fifth_, the
males and females. These are the perfect insects, capable of continuing
the species. There is only one each in every separate society. They are
exempted from all labor, and are the common father and mother of the
community.

Termes inhabit tropical countries, and the first establishment of new
colonies takes place in this way: In the evening, at the end of the dry
season, the males and females, having arrived at their perfect state,
emerge from their nest in countless thousands. They have two pairs of
wings, and with their aid mount immediately into the air. The next
morning they are found covering the ground, and deprived of their wings.
They then mate. Scarcely a single pair in many millions escape their
enemies--birds, reptiles, beasts, fishes, insects, especially the other
ants, and even man himself. The workers, which are continually prowling
about their covered ways, occasionally meet one of these pairs. They
immediately salute them, render them homage, and elect them father and
mother of a new colony. All other pairs not so fortunate perish.

As soon as they are chosen king and queen, or rather, father and mother,
they are conducted into the nest, where the workers build around them a
suitable cell, the entrances to which are large enough for themselves
and the neuters or soldiers to pass through, but too small for the royal
pair. Thus they remain in prison as long as they live. They are
furnished with every delicacy, but are never allowed to leave their
prison. The female soon begins to oviposit--the eggs, as fast as they
are dropped, being carried away into the nurseries by the workers. As
the queen increases in dimensions, they keep enlarging the cell in which
she is confined. Her abdomen begins to extend until it is two thousand
times the size of the rest of the body, and her bulk equals that of
twenty thousand workers. She becomes one vast matrix of eggs. I once saw
a queen which measured three and one quarter inches from one extremity
of her body to the other. There is continual oviposition, the queen
laying over eighty thousand eggs in twenty-four hours, or one egg every
second. As these females live about two years, they will lay some sixty
million eggs.

In the royal cell there are always some soldiers on guard and workers
administering to the royal pair. The activity and energy of these
workers is truly wonderful. In New Mexico, where I found a family of
insects closely resembling true _Termes_, I once had an opportunity of
observing this extraordinary energy. I broke off a portion of their
dome-shaped nest, and in an incredibly short time they had mended the
breach and restored their domicile to the same condition it was before I
had molested it. If you attack a termite building and make a slight
breach in its walls, the laborers immediately retire into the inmost
recesses of the nest and give place to another class of its inhabitants,
the warriors. Several soldiers come out to reconnoitre, they then retire
and give the alarm. Then several more come out as quickly as possible,
followed in a few moments by a large battalion. Their anger and fury are
excessive. If you continue to molest them, their anger leaps all bounds.
They rush out in myriads, and, being blind, bite everything with which
they come in contact.[82] If, however, the attack is not continued, they
retire into the nest, with the exception of two or three which remain
outside. The workers then appear and begin to repair the damaged wall.
One of the soldiers remaining outside acts as overseer and superintendent
of construction. At intervals of a minute or two it will strike the wall
with its mandibles, making a peculiar sound. This is answered by the
workers with a loud hiss and a marked acceleration in their movements.
Should these ants again be disturbed, the laborers would vanish, and the
warriors would take their places, ready and willing to fight to the death
in defence of their community.[82]

  [82] Compare Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_.

While it is undoubtedly true that instinct can be highly differentiated,
so that in its action it seemingly approaches reason, it is also equally
true that instinct, fundamentally, is but a blind impulse. The impulse
to fight on the part of these soldier termites is, unquestionably,
instinctive, but the psychical habitudes which originate division and
partition of labor, which set apart certain individuals (in no wise
different from their fellows) as officers and overseers, which, beyond
peradventure, are able to incite the laborers to greater effort by
commands that are clearly understood and intelligently obeyed, surely
such psychical characteristics cannot be embraced in the category of
instinctive impulses--mere blind followings-out of inherited
impressions!

Instinct is the bugbear of psychology and does more to retard
investigation than any other factor. As long as people of the creationist
stamp wield the instinct-club, just so long will they be unable to grasp
the idea of intelligent ratiocination in the lower animals. A company of
men rebuilding a wall which has been overthrown by a tempest are said to
be governed and directed by reason, while a company of ants doing
precisely the same thing, and with just as much intelligence, are said to
be directed by instinct![83]

  [83] It is often the case that animals find themselves amid
  surroundings in which they are required to evince original ideation
  and fail so to do. But, is man any different? How often do we find
  ourselves checkmated and puzzled by trivial circumstances, which, on
  being explained, are seen to be exceedingly simple!--W.

In the neighborhood of Hell's-Half-Acre, a desolate and rocky valley a
short distance from Hot Springs, Arkansas, in 1887, I discovered several
communities of harvester ants, and closely and carefully observed their
habits. The first time I noticed them was early in the spring, when they
seemed to be engaged in planting their grain. They were bringing out the
little grass-seeds by the hundreds and thousands, and carrying them some
distance from the nest, where they were dropped on the turf. It is
possible that these ants were only getting rid of spoiled grain, but I
think not, for several of the seeds secured and planted by me germinated.
I observed them again in about a month, and the grass was growing finely
on the plat where they had deposited the seeds. Not a single stalk of any
other kind of grass and not a single weed were to be seen in this model
grain-field. The ants had evidently removed every plant that might
interfere with the growth of their grain.

I saw them again in August when they were reaping the crop and storing
the grain away in their nests. The ants would climb the grass-stems
until they came to the seeds; these they would then seize in their
mandibles, outer sheath and all, and, by vigorously twisting them from
side to side, would separate them from the stalk; they would then crawl
down and carry them into the nest. I did not notice here the roads and
pathways so generally found leading to the nests of the Texas variety of
the harvester. Around the nests the surface of the ground was smooth and
bare, but there were no highways or roads leading to them.

Among the workers I saw some ants whose heads and mandibles were very
large. These ants never engaged in any of the agricultural pursuits of
their sisters; they were the soldiers and the sentinels of the community.
One nest migrated while I had them under observation, and I had the
pleasure of witnessing the behavior of these fearless little warriors
when on the march. The ants were moving nearer to their grain-fields,
and were carrying with them their young, etc. The route, from the old
home to the new, was patrolled on either side by soldiers. Every now
and then I saw one of these individuals rush aside, elevate herself on
her hind legs, shake her head, and clash her mandibles. She acted as if
she saw some danger menacing the marching column and would ward it off.
Others climbed little twigs or tufts of grass and scanned the surrounding
country from these elevated and commanding positions. Others hurried up
the laggards and stragglers, and even carried the weak and infirm.

These ants winnow or husk the grain after it has been carried into the
nest. All during the harvesting I observed workers bringing chaff from the
nest and carrying it some distance away. It is said by Texan observers
that the harvesters of that state bring the grain to the surface and dry
it, if, perchance, it becomes wet. I have never observed this myself, but
accept it as an established fact.[84]

  [84] I believe that these observations on the presence of the
  harvester ant in Arkansas are unique; at least I have been unable to
  find any data corroborative of this fact. How did a fecundated queen
  arrive at a spot so far from her usual habitat?--W.

The faculty of computing is among the very last of the psychical habitudes
acquired by man, and is an evidence of high ratiocinative ability. Many of
the savage races are unable to count above three,--some not above
five,--thus demonstrating the truthfulness of the above assertion. Yet I
believe that it can be clearly shown that some of the lower animals and
many of the higher animals are able to count.

The mason wasps, or mud-daubers, build their compartment houses generally
in places easily accessible to the investigator; therefore the experiments
and observations which I am about to detail can be duplicated and verified
without difficulty. These interesting members of the Hymenoptera, the
_avant-couriers_ of the social insects, can be seen any bright day in
August or September busily engaged on the margins of ponds, ditches, and
puddles in the procurement of building materials. They will alight close
to the water's edge, and, vibrating their wings rapidly, will run hither
and thither over the moist clay until they arrive at a spot which, in
their opinion, will furnish suitable mortar. Quickly biting up a pellet of
mud, they moisten it with saliva, all the while kneading it and rolling it
between maxillæ and palpi. When it has reached the proper consistency they
bear it away to some dry, warm place, such as the rafters of an outhouse
or a garret, and there use it in the construction of their adobe or mud
nests.

There may be dozens of these nests in the process of construction, and
arranged on the rafters, side by side, yet these busy little masons
never make the mistake of confounding the houses; after securing mortar
they invariably return, each to her own structure. This statement can be
easily verified. While the insect is engaged in applying the mortar,
take a camel's-hair brush and quickly paint a small spot on her
shoulders with a mixture of zinc oxide and gum arabic; then mark the
nest. The marked wasp will always return to the marked nest.

As soon as the cells are completed, the wasp deposits an egg in each,
and immediately begins to busy herself about the future welfare of the
coming baby wasps. Just here these remarkable creatures show that they
possess a mental faculty which far transcends any like act of human
intelligence; they are able to tell which of the eggs will produce males
and which females. Not only are they able to do this, but, seemingly
fully aware of the fact that it takes a longer time for the female larvæ
to pupate than it does the male larvæ, they provide for this emergency
by depositing in the cells containing female eggs a larger amount of
food. It is in the procurement and storage of this food-supply that
these insects give unmistakable evidence of the possession by them of
the faculty of computing.

The knowing little mother is well aware of the fact that as soon as the
egg hatches the young grub will need food, and an abundance of food at
that; so, before closing the orifice of the cell, she packs away in it
the favorite food of her offspring, which is spiders. She knows that in
the close, hot cell the spiders, if dead, would soon become putrid and
unfit for food: therefore, she does not kill them outright, but simply
anæsthetizes them by instilling a small amount of poison through that
sharp and efficacious hypodermic needle, her sting.[85]

  [85] As a matter of fact I have kept Argiope under observation in this
  anæsthetized condition for _thirteen weeks_.--W.

Each variety of masons uses a different spider; the common blue mason is
partial to the beautiful Argiope, which, banded as it is with gray and
yellow, is a very conspicuous object when seen on its glistening,
upright web.

The wasp larva, as soon as it emerges from the egg-membrane, finds fresh
and palatable food before its very nose, and at once begins to eat.

In the case of the male larvæ, five spiders are deposited in each cell,
while eight are always placed in the female compartments.[86] If one or
more spiders are removed from the cell, the mother wasp does not appear
to notice that her food-supply has been tampered with; she completes her
quota, five for the males and eight for the females, and then closes the
cell, no matter if there remains in the compartment one, two, or three
spiders. Her count calls for five or eight, as the case may be, and,
when she has put on top of the egg the requisite number according to her
count, her responsibility ceases.

  [86] Compare Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_, pp. 231, 232, habits of
  _Epipone spinipes_ in regard to small grubs.

I have never known a mud-dauber to make a mistake in her computation,
although I have endeavored to puzzle this little arithmetician time and
again. If a wad of paper be placed in a cell after two or three spiders
have been deposited, thus partially filling it, the insect knows at once
that something is wrong, and will proceed to investigate. She will
remove the spiders on top of the paper, will extract the wad, and will
then proceed with her count. On the other hand, if several spiders be
taken out when the count calls for only one or two more, the wasp does
not appear to notice that the cell is almost empty; she finishes her
count as if everything were correct, and then seals up the opening with
mud.

The quail lays some twelve or fifteen eggs, and seems to be aware of the
fact that some of her eggs are missing when several have been removed
from the nest. When one of these birds has laid six or eight eggs, if
two or three be removed she will abandon the nest and deposit the
remainder of her eggs elsewhere. This behavior on the part of the bird
has been attributed to her sense of smell; she, detecting the presence
of an enemy by the scent of his hand left behind in the nest, recognizes
the danger, and therefore abandons the nest. But numerous experiments
along this line teach me that smell has nothing to do with it whatever.
I have removed eggs with a long iron ladle, the bowl of which I had
carefully refrained from touching, and also with sticks freshly cut in
the wood, and yet the birds would invariably abandon their nests. On the
contrary, when all, or nearly all, the eggs have been laid, several may
be removed either with the ladle or with the naked hand, and yet the
bird will not abandon her nest. She seems to be able to count up to six
or eight; beyond this latter number her faculty of computing does not
extend. After the full laying has been deposited in the nest and the
process of incubation has become established, a large number of the eggs
may be removed, and yet the bird will continue to set until the
remaining eggs have been hatched out.

The faculty of computing seems to be present in other birds to some
extent; the domesticated guinea-fowl and the turkey sometimes possess it
in a marked degree, though in most of these fowls domestication has
almost entirely eradicated it. The domestic barnyard hen has had her
nest robbed for such a long period of time that she has lost the faculty
of counting. But even this meek provider of food for mankind is able, in
some instances, to count one: she will not lay in her nest unless a
nest-egg be left to delude her. The nest-egg may be wholly factitious
and made of china, marble, chalk, stone or iron painted white; the hen
does not seem to care so long as it bears some resemblance to an egg.

That the turkey-hen can count, the following instance occurring under
my own observation would seem to indicate. The bird had a nest in my
garden in which she had deposited three eggs. One day another turkey,
seized with a desire of ovipositing, spied this nest and laid an egg
therein. The original owner of the nest came along soon after the
interloper had left her egg; she examined the nest carefully, and turned
the eggs with her beak. Finally she thrust her beak through the shell of
an egg and bore it far from the nest before dropping it on the ground.
Now, as far as I could tell, the eggs were alike, but the sharper and
more discriminating eyes of the turkey undoubtedly saw, on close
examination, some peculiarity in color or shape in the stranger's egg,
and therefore bore it away and destroyed it. I believe, however, that
her attention was arrested at first by the unexpected number of eggs in
the nest, and that she was enabled to detect the stranger's egg only
after much inspection and comparison.

Many animals have been taught to count, but none of them show that they
fully appreciate the value of numerical rotation. Of course, in the vast
majority of trained animals, the seeming appreciation is only a trick
founded on the sense of smell, sight, touch, or taste.

An instance recently came under my personal observation in which a dog,
a high-bred collie, seemingly evinced an abstract idea of numbers. The
animal in question received an injury a year or so ago through which
she became permanently and totally blind. Recently she gave birth to a
litter of six puppies, all of which were uniform in size and markings.
Immediately after the birth of the puppies, the dog's owner had mother
and young removed from the dark cellar in which they then were, and
carried to a warm and well-ventilated room in his stables.

In the darkness of the cellar one of the puppies was overlooked and left
behind. As soon as the mother entered the box in which her young had
been placed, she proceeded to examine them, nosing them about and
licking them. Suddenly she appeared to become very much disturbed about
something; she jumped out of the box and then jumped back again, nosing
the puppies as before. Again she jumped from the box and then made her
way toward the cellar, followed by her astonished owner, who had begun
to have an inkling as to what disturbed her. She had counted her young
ones, and had discovered that one had been left behind. Sure enough, the
abandoned puppy was soon found and carried in triumph to the new home.

So astonished was the gentleman[87] at this blind creature's
intelligence that he resolved to experiment further; he removed another
puppy and walked away with it in his arms. It was not long before the
blind mother showed her distress so plainly, that I begged him to
return the puppy, which, having been returned to her, she caressed for a
moment or so, and then gave herself up to the chief function of
maternity, suckling her young.

  [87] Karl Becker, Esq., St. Louis, Mo.

It is beyond reason to suppose that this dog discovered the absence of
her young one through her sense of smell. Granted that to the maternal
nose each puppy had an individual and particular odor (which I do not
believe), it is hardly possible, nay, it is impossible, that the dog's
sensorium had recognized and retained these different scents in the
short time which had elapsed since their birth. It is much more
reasonable to suppose that the dog knew that she had given birth to six
young ones, and that she had counted them when they had been removed to
their new home. Again, it is a well-known fact that a dog can retain
only one scent at a time; hence, this fact alone would militate somewhat
against the idea that the sense of smell was the detecting agent in this
case. Nor could it have been the sense of touch; the mother could not
have possibly familiarized herself with the individual form of each
puppy in so short space of time. It is folly to suppose that each young
one had a distinctive taste or flavor; hence the sense of taste must
also be eliminated. Thus, by exclusion, there remains but one faculty,
the faculty of computing, to account for the dog's actions.

Several years ago there lived in Cincinnati a mule which was employed
by a street railway company in hauling cars up a steep incline. This
animal was hitched in front of the regular team, and unhitched as soon
as the car arrived at the top of the hill. It made a certain number of
trips in the forenoon (I have forgotten the number, but will say fifty
for the sake of convenience), and a like number in the afternoon,
resting for an hour at noon. As soon as the mule completed its fiftieth
trip, it marched away to its stable without orders from its driver. To
show that it was not influenced by the sound of factory whistles and
bells, the following remarkable action on the part of this animal is
vouched for by the superintendent of the line, who gave me these data.
On a certain occasion, during a musical festival, this mule was
transferred to the night shift, and the very instant it completed its
fiftieth trip it started for the stables. It took the combined efforts
of several men to make it return to its duty. At night there were no
bells or whistles to inform the creature that "quitting-time" had come;
it thought the time for rest and food had arrived as soon as it had
completed its fifty trips.[88]

  [88] These data were given to me at a certain club banquet where I had
  no facilities for noting them down. I have endeavored to locate the
  superintendent in question, but without success; I believe, however,
  that he gave the facts just as they occurred.--W.

My meals are always served at regular appointed hours, which never vary
throughout the year; and, since my cook "prides herself" on her
punctuality, they are always served on the stroke of the clock. The
moment the bell rings, my cat, a large and very intelligent male, takes
up a position at the door, and is generally the first to enter the
dining room. A few moments before meal-time, Melchizedek (for he is of
royal blood and bears a royal name) becomes uneasy, jumping from chair
to floor or from floor to chair, and sometimes mewing gently. The moment
the bell rings, he is all animation, and shows by his actions that he
fully understands its meaning. He never mistakes the sound of the
dressing-bell for that of the tea-bell, though the same bell is used.
This cat may not be able to count, but that he notes the passage of time
I do not for an instant doubt.

Some monkeys give unmistakable evidences of the possession by them of
the computing faculty. In 1889 I made the acquaintance of a very
intelligent chimpanzee which could count as high as three. That this was
not a trick suggested by sensual impulses I had ample opportunity of
satisfying myself. The owner of the animal would leave the room, no one
being present but myself, and when I would call for two marbles, or one
marble, or three marbles, as the case might be, the monkey would gravely
hand over the required number. Romanes mentions an ape that could count
three, the material used in his experiment being straws from the
animal's cage.

The fact that monkeys can count does not appear so remarkable when it is
agreed by the best authorities that they are capable of understanding
human speech.[89]

  [89] Romanes, _Mental Evolution in Man_, p. 369; Darwin, _Descent of
  Man_, p. 87; Whitney, _Enc. Brit._, "Philology," Vol. XVIII. p. 769,
  quoted by Romanes, _super_.

Returning for a moment to insects, we find that bees and ants give many
evidences of intelligent correlative ideation and action for definite
purposes not instinctive. In regard to bees, Huber's experiment with the
glass slip proves conclusively, in my opinion, that these creatures
_reason_. This experiment is so interesting that it will bear recital.

Huber placed a slip of glass in front of a comb that was under
construction. The bees, as if perfectly aware of the fact that it would
be difficult to affix the comb to the slippery surface of the glass,
curved it at a right angle around the slip of glass and fastened it to
the wooden wall of the hive![90]

  [90] Huber, Vol. II. p. 230; quoted also by Kirby and Spence, _loc.
  cit. ante_, p. 582.

It is folly to suppose that bees have an instinctive knowledge of glass,
hence we are forced to conclude that they were governed in this instance
solely by reason.

Furthermore, as the inner surface of the comb was concave, and the outer
surface convex, the bees made the cells on the former much smaller, and
those on the latter much larger, than usual!

"How, as Huber asks, can we comprehend the mode in which such a crowd of
laborers, occupied at the same time on the edge of the comb, could agree
to give it the same curvature from one extremity to the other; or how
could they arrange together to construct on one face cells so small,
while on the other they imparted to them such enlarged dimensions?"[91]

  [91] Kirby and Spence, _loc. cit. ante_, pp. 582, 583.

Surely, no "variation of instinct," however complex, can possibly
account for such a deviation from the normal!

It is hardly necessary to give more evidence as to the presence of
reason in the psychical organisms of the lower animals; I believe that I
have clearly demonstrated that some of them do make use of intelligent
ratiocination. To prove that this view, _i.e._ that the lower animals
reason, is widely held, I need only point to the works of such men as
Darwin, Büchner, Forel, Huber, Lubbock, Hartmann, Kirby and Spence, and
dozens of others.[92]

  [92] Darwin, _Descent of Man_; Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, _Mental
  Evolution in Animals_, _Mental Evolution in Man_; Lubbock, _Senses,
  Instincts, and Intelligence of Animals_, and _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_;
  Hartmann, _Anthropoid Apes_; Büchner, _Geistesleben der Thiere_;
  Huber, _Natural History of Ants_, etc.

We have seen that the lower animals seem to possess very near, if not
quite, all of the _fundamental_ psychical habitudes of the highest
animal of all--_Homo sapiens_; we will now proceed to study certain
psychical attributes in the possession of the lower animals which man
has lost in the process of evolution. These attributes will be embraced
under the heading of Auxiliary Senses.



CHAPTER VIII

AUXILIARY SENSES


When we come to examine the methods by which, or through which, many of
the lower animals protect themselves from their enemies, we soon
discover that some of these means are very wonderful indeed. It is not
my purpose to discuss instinctive protective habits in this chapter; I
wish rather to call attention to two _senses_,[93] which are to be
observed in certain of the lower animals, and which man and some of the
higher animals have lost in the process of evolution. I refer to
tinctumutation, the "color-changing" sense, and the sense of direction,
or, as it is commonly and erroneously termed, the "homing instinct."
Neither of these faculties is instinctive, but they are, on the
contrary, true senses, just as hearing, or taste, or smell is a sense.
Careful dissections and repeated experiments have shown me, beyond
peradventure, that these two psychical habitudes have their centres in
the brains (ganglia) of animals which possess them.

  [93] I believe that I am the first to claim the _sensual_ importance
  of tinctumutation and the sense of direction or the "homing sense."
  Heretofore they have been regarded, by all authorities as far as I
  know, as instinctive in character.--W.

The chromatic function--and I use this term to designate the faculty of
changing color according to surroundings--is possessed by a number of
the lower animals. The chameleon is the best known of all the
tinctumutants (_tinctus_, color, and _mutare_, to change), though many
other animals possess this faculty in a very marked degree. In order to
understand the manner in which these changes or modifications of color
take place, one must know the anatomy of the skin, in which structure
these phenomena have their origin. The frog is a tinctumutant, and a
microscopic study of its skin will clearly demonstrate the structural
and physiological changes that take place in the act of tinctumutation.
The skin of a frog consists of two distinct layers. The epidermis or
superficial layer is composed of pavement epithelium and cylindrical
cells. The lower layer, or _cutis_, is made up of fibrous tissue,
nerves, blood-vessels, and cavities containing glands and cell elements.
The glands contain coloring matter, and the changes of color in the
frog's skin are due to the distribution of these pigment-cells, and the
power they have of shrinking or contracting under nerve irritation. The
pigment varies in individuals and in different parts of the body. Brown,
black, yellow, green, and red are the colors most frequently observed.
The color-cells are technically known as _chromatophores_. If the web
of a frog's foot be placed on the stage of a microscope and examined
with an achromatic lens, the chromatophores can readily be made out.
Artificial irritation will immediately occasion them to contract, or, as
is frequently the case, when contracted, will occasion them to dilate,
and the phenomena of tinctumutation may be observed _in facto_. Under
irritation the orange-colored chromatophores, when shrunk, become brown,
and the contracted yellow ones, when dilated, become greenish yellow.
When all the chromatophores are dilated, a dark color will predominate;
when they are contracted, the skin becomes lighter in color. Besides the
pigment-cells just described, Heincke discovered another kind of
chromatophore, which was filled with iridescent crystals. They were only
visible, as spots of metallic lustre, when the cells were in a state of
contraction. He observed these latter chromatophores in a fish belonging
to _Gobius_, the classical name of which is _Gobius ruthensparri_.[94] I
have seen this kind of color-cell in the skin of the gilt catfish, which
belongs to a family akin to _Gobius_. The skin of this fish retains its
vitality for some time after its removal from the body of the living
animal, and the chromatophores will respond to artificial irritation for
quite a while. In making my observations, however, I prefer to dissect
up the skin and leave it attached to the body of the fish by a broad
base. A few minims of chloroform injected hypodermatically rendered the
animal anæsthetic, and I could then proceed at my leisure, without being
inconvenienced by its movements. The causation of tinctumutation is now
definitely known. The theory that light acts directly on the
chromatophoric cells has been proved to be incorrect. Even the theory
that light occasions pigmentation is no longer tenable. I have, time and
again, reared tadpoles from the eggs in total darkness, yet they differ
in no respect from those reared in full daylight. The chromatophores
were as abundant and responded to irritation as promptly in the one as
in the other. The distinguished Paul Bert declared that the young of the
axolotl could not form pigment when reared in a yellow light. Professor
Semper, on the contrary, declares Bert's axolotls to be albinos, and
states that albinism is by no means infrequent in the axolotl; also that
Professor Kölliker, of Würtzburg, reared a family of white axolotls in a
laboratory where there was an abundance of light, and that he (Semper)
never succeeded in rearing an albino, though there was less light in his
laboratory than in that of Kölliker, and his axolotls came from the same
stock. Bert made the mistake of confounding albinism with the phenomenon
of etiolation in plants; in fact, he gives the name "etiolation" to the
albinism noticed in his axolotls.[95]

  [94] Semper, _Animal Life_, p. 93.

  [95] _Ibid._, p. 88 _et seq._

There is a marked difference between the functions of the chlorophyll
bodies found in plants and the chromatophores found in animals. The
former play one of the most important rôles in the drama of plant life,
inasmuch as they subserve a vital function, while the latter act a minor
part, because they serve only as an instrument or means of protection.

Light is of great importance in its influence on chlorophyll, which is a
microscopic, elementary body on which the vital strength of the plant
depends, while it is not at all necessary to the chromatophores,--cell
bodies secreting pigmentary matter for the purpose of protection. Of
course, when animals are subjected to darkness for very long periods of
time, the chromatophores are modified, and, sometimes, are wholly
obliterated. They follow a well-known natural law, which declares that,
when a function of an organ is no longer of any use to an animal, both
organ and function become rudimentary, and finally disappear.

Many animals live for generations in total darkness before losing their
pigment. I, myself, have seen black beetles in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky,
in the neighborhood of Gorin's Dome, which is far within the depths of
the cave. As beetles rarely range over a hundred yards from their place
of birth, these insects must have been born in the cave and reared in
the dark.

When speaking of light, if not otherwise specified, I mean diffused
daylight which carries no heat rays. I believe that heat is a prominent
factor in the production of color; the discussion of this point,
however, does not properly belong to the subject under consideration.

Some experiments on newts, made by myself several years ago, show that
the absence of light does not influence pigmentation,--that is, through
several generations. My animals were kept under observation from the
extrusion of the eggs until full maturity had been reached, and great
care was taken to make experiments as accurate and as conclusive as
possible.

Those reared in total darkness or in a red light were always
dark-colored; those reared in a yellow light[96] were almost but not
quite as dark; while those reared in white ironstone crocks and in
diffused daylight were very much lighter, being pearl-gray in color.
This apparent (for the microscope showed that it was only apparent)
absence of color in the last-mentioned specimens was due to
tinctumutation.

  [96] Vide Dewar, "The Physiological Action of Light," _Nature_, p.
  433, 1877; quoted also by Semper, _loc. cit. ante_, Notes, p. 423. I
  do not think that the absence of the slight amount of color in the
  animals reared under the yellow light was due to the "optic current"
  of Dewar. The microscope showed that the chromatophores were just as
  large and just as numerous, and that they contained as much pigment,
  as those reared under the red light. The apparent absence of color was
  due to tinctumutation.--W.

In most viviparous animals the embryo is developed in almost or absolutely
total darkness, yet when it is born it has bright colors. Kerbert has
found in the cutis of the embryonic chick, about the fifteenth day,
certain pigment-cells. These cells have entirely disappeared by the
twenty-third day. It is probable that little, if any, light can reach the
chick through the shell and membranes, yet pigment-cells develop and
disappear again.[97]

  [97] Karl Semper, _Animal Life_, p. 422.

A butterfly emerges from the cocoon arrayed in all the colors of the
rainbow; yet it was developed, while in the _pupa_ state, in total
darkness. It is not necessary to mention further instances; we readily see
that pigmentation in animals is not necessarily dependent on light.
Neither is tinctumutation the result of the direct influence of light on
the chromatophores. Light, however, if not the direct, is the indirect
cause of this phenomenon. Lister, in 1858, showed that animals with
imperfect eyesight were not good tinctumutants, notwithstanding the fact
that they had the chromatophoric function. He showed, by his experiments
on frogs, that the activity of the chromatophores depended entirely on the
healthy condition of the eyes,--that is, so far as the phenomenon of
tinctumutation was concerned. So long as the eyes remained intact and
connected with the brain by the optic nerve, the light reflected from the
surrounding objects exerted a powerful influence on the chromatophores.
As soon as the optic nerve was severed, the chromatophores ceased to
respond to the influence of light and color, no matter how bright and
varied they were. The deductions drawn from these experiments are not to
be controverted or denied. The chromatophores are influenced by light
reflected from objects and transmitted _via_ the optic nerve to the brain;
from this organ the impression or irritation goes to the nerve governing
the contractile fibres of these pigment-holding glands.[98]

  [98] Karl Semper, _Animal Life_, p. 95.

Pouchet followed Lister, and confirmed his conclusion by experiments on
fishes and crabs. He remarked that the plaice--a fish with a white
under-surface and a party-colored back--had the chromatophoric function
highly developed. Among a number of specimens which appeared pale on the
white, sandy bottom, he met "one single dark-colored fish, in which, of
course, the chromatophores must have been in a state of relaxation; and
this specimen was as distinct from its companions as from the bottom of
the aquarium. Closer investigation proved that the creature was totally
blind,[99] and thus incapable of assuming the color of the objects
around it, the eyes being unable to act as a medium of communication
between them and the chromatophores of the skin."[100] Thus far Pouchet
had only confirmed Lister's observations, although it is highly probable
that he was unaware of Lister's experiments. But he went a step further.
There are two ways in which cerebral impressions may be transmitted from
the brain to the skin: one, by way of the spinal cord and the pairs of
nerves arising from it and known as spinal nerves; the other, by two
nerves running close to the vertebral column--the sympathetic nerves.

  [99] Mr. Gordon Rett has recently called my attention to a blind
  "angel fish" which shows, most conspicuously, a lack of
  tinctumutation. This fish was made blind for experimental
  purposes.--W.

  [100] Karl Semper, _Animal Life_, pp. 95, 96.

Pouchet cut the spinal cord close to the brain, yet the chromatophores
still responded to light impression, showing that they did not receive
the message through the cord and spinal nerves. He then divided the
sympathetic nerves, and the chromatophores lost at once the power of
contraction; he thus demonstrated that the sympathetic nerves were the
transmitters of the optical message, and not the cord.

This discovery of Pouchet is, psychologically, of great importance,
though he failed to recognize it as such. He was satisfied with its
anatomical and physiological significance.

When we remember that the actions of the sympathetic nerves are almost,
if not entirely, reflex in character, we at once see the psychological
importance of this discovery. This fact makes the phenomenon of
tinctumutation an involuntary act on the part of the animal possessing
the chromatic function, and thus keeps inviolate the fundamental laws of
evolution, which, were the facts otherwise, would be broken.[101]

  [101] This simple fact of involuntary action renders the sensual
  nature of the function all the more apparent.--W.

By a series of experiments on frogs I have confirmed the conclusion of
Pouchet _in toto_, and have even solved, so I believe and unhesitatingly
assert, the puzzling problem of the physiological _modus operandi_ of
the wonderful phenomenon of tinctumutation.

For a very long time I believed that this function was a distinct sense,
and, five years ago, I set to work in search of the sense's centre.
After many dissections I found it (in the frog) lying immediately below
the optic centres and closely connected with them. Nerve-fibres of the
sympathetic can easily be traced and can be seen to penetrate this
centre. When this centre is artificially stimulated either with the
point of a needle or with a mild electric current, tinctumutation can be
incited at will.

Again, when this centre is destroyed (which can be done without injury
to the optic centres), the chromatophoric function ceases--the
phenomenon of tinctumutation is no longer observable.

That the sympathetic nerves are the carriers of the messages from the
optic nerve and the color-changing centre, can be demonstrated by other
means than by excision of the nerve. Atropine, to a certain extent,
paralyzes the sympathetic when given in sufficiently large doses, and
injections of this drug beneath the skin of a frog render the division
of the sympathetic unnecessary. The chromatophores will not respond to
light impressions if the animal be placed thoroughly under the influence
of atropine.

A large number of the lower animals possess the chromatophoric function.
Several years ago, I placed in a large cistern several specimens of gilt
catfish. This is a pond fish and is quite abundant throughout the middle
United States. It is of a beautiful golden yellow color on the belly and
sides, shading into a lustrous greenish yellow on the back and head.

Several months after these fish had been placed in the cistern, it
became necessary to clean the latter, and the fish were taken out. They
were of a dusky drab color when first taken out, but soon regained their
vivid tints when placed in a white vessel containing clear water. They
had evidently changed color in order to harmonize with the black walls
and bottom of the cistern.

Certain katydids are marked tinctumutants. I took one from the dark
foliage of an elm and placed her on the lighter-colored leaves of a
locust. She could be easily seen when first placed on the locust; in a
few moments, however, she had faded to such an extent that she was
barely noticeable.

The larvæ of certain moths, beetles, and butterflies also possess the
chromatophoric function. The chromatophores in the larva of _Vanessa_
are very numerous, and this grub is a remarkably successful
tinctumutant; the same can be said of the larvæ of certain varieties of
_Pieris_.

The power of changing color so as to resemble, in coloring, surrounding
objects is evidently one of Nature's weapons of defence. In some animals
it is developed in a wonderful manner. Wherever it is found it becomes
to the animal possessing it a powerful means of defence by rendering it
inconspicuous, and in some instances wholly unnoticeable.

After nine years of careful, systematic, and painstaking investigation,
I am prepared to affirm that, besides the senses, sight, smell, taste,
touch, hearing, and tinctumutation, certain animals have yet another
sense, the sense of locality, or of direction, commonly called the
"homing instinct." This remarkable function of the mind is not an
instinct any more than the sense of sight or smell is an instinct, but
is, on the contrary, a true sense; for I have demonstrated by actual
experiment that it has a centre in the brains (ganglia) of some of the
animals possessing it, just as the other senses have their centres. And,
since this centre has been found in certain species, and that, too, in
creatures very low in the scale of animal life, it is reasonable to
infer that it is present in the brains (ganglia) of all those animals
which evince the so-called "homing instinct."

In the process of civilization certain of the five senses in man become
dull and blunted; thus, the sense of smell in the Tagals of the
Philippine Islands is much more acute than it is in the civilized
European, and what is true of the sense of smell is also true of the
other senses, save that of touch, in all primitive peoples. This last
sense seems to be much more acute in civilized man than it is in
savages. This, for certain psychical reasons, unnecessary to detail
here, is a necessary result of evolutionary growth and development.[102]

  [102] Compare Tyler, _Anthropology_; De Quatrefages, _The Human
  Species_; Peschel, _The Races of Man_; Lombroso, _L'Uomo Delinquente_;
  Ellis, _The Criminal_; the writer, "Criminal Anthropology," _N. Y.
  Medical Record_, January 13, 1894.

As far as I have been able to learn, after much research in natural
history, the anthropoid apes do not show that they possess the sense of
direction in a marked degree; thus we see that the immediate ancestors
of pithecoid man had already begun to lose this sense, which in man is
entirely wanting, and the absence of which should not be a matter of
surprise in the slightest degree, but rather a result that should be
expected.

Evidences of this sense are to be observed in animals of exceedingly low
organization. On one occasion, while studying a water-louse, as I have
already described elsewhere in this book, I saw the little creature swim
to a hydra, pluck off one of its buds, then swim a short distance away
and take shelter behind a small bit of mud, where it proceeded to devour
its tender morsel. In a short while, much to my surprise, the louse
again swam to the hydra, again procured a bud, and again swam back to
its hiding-place. This occurred three times during the hour I had it
under observation. The louse probably discovered the hydra the first
time by accident; but when it swam back to the source of its food-supply
the second time and then returned again to its sheltering bit of mud, it
clearly evinced conscious memory of route and a sense of direction.

The common garden-snail is a homing animal, and it will always return to
a particular spot after it has made an excursion in search of food. In
front of my dwelling there is a brick wall capped by a stone coping; the
overhanging edge of this coping forms a moist, cool home in summer for
hundreds of snails. Last summer I took six of these creatures, and,
after marking their shells with a paint of gum arabic and zinc oxide, I
set them free on the lawn some distance away from the wall. In course of
time, four of them returned to their homes beneath the stone coping; the
other two were probably killed and eaten by blackbirds, numbers of which
I noticed during the day feeding on the sward.

The centre of the sense of direction in snails is located at the base of
the cephalic ganglion (brain); this ganglion lies immediately between
and below the "horns" (eye-stalks), and is composed of several
circumscribed and well-marked accumulations or corpuscles of nerve-cells
and nerve-filaments.

This sense centre can easily be destroyed without inflicting injury on
the circumjacent sense centres. Whenever this is done, the snail loses
its sense of direction and locality, and cannot find its way back to its
home when it is carried thence, and deposited amid new surroundings. It
is not killed by the mutilation, for I have seen marked snails in which
this sense centre had been destroyed, alive and apparently in good
health, several weeks after having undergone this operation; they found
temporary homes wherever they chanced to be.

The limpet is likewise a homing animal, and invariably returns to its
home after journeys in search of food. Lieutenant L----, an officer in
the British navy, once told me that he had repeatedly had specimens of
this animal under observation for months at a time, and that they always
had particular spots, generally depressions in rocks, which they
regarded as homes, to which they would always return after excursions in
search of sustenance. Romanes makes a similar statement.[103]

  [103] _Animal Intelligence_, pp. 28, 29.

Some beetles have their homing sense highly developed; thus, in Mammoth
Cave, the blind beetle (_Adelops_) has its particular home, and will
always return to it even when it is set free at a considerable distance.
Notwithstanding the fact these insects are blind, and that darkness
reigns in this immense cavern, they have periods of rest corresponding
with the diurnal rest-periods of kindred species living in daylight;
hence, it is easy to study their habits at home and abroad.

I have frequently marked these beetles and then set them free some
distance away from their domiciles; they would hide themselves at once
beneath stones or clods of earth, but as soon as they had recovered from
their fright they would turn towards home, and would not stop, if left
unmolested, until they arrived at their particular and individual homing
places. Truly a most wonderful exhibition of the homing sense!

At first, these beetles are, probably, directed and governed by their
sense of direction alone, but as soon as they arrive among familiar
surroundings, memory comes to their aid.

The agile flea is another "homesteader," and if marked, its favorite
resting-place on a dog or cat can easily be determined. After feeding,
it will invariably return to a certain spot in order to enjoy its nap in
peace; for, strange as it may seem, fleas are sound sleepers, and, what
is more, seem to require a great deal of sleep.[104]

  [104] All insects have periods of rest, during which they seem to be
  in a state of slumber. Their sleep may not be the physiological
  slumber of mammals, yet it effects a like purpose in all
  probability.--W.

Ants are, of the entire insect world, probably the most gifted
home-finders. Time and again have I tested them in this, sometimes
taking them what must have been, to these little creatures, enormous
distances from their nests before freeing them. Of course the ants
experimented with were marked, otherwise I could not have watched them
successfully. When an ant is taken into new surroundings and set free,
it at first runs here and there and everywhere. As soon, however, as it
regains its equanimity and recovers from its fright, it turns toward
home. At first it proceeds slowly, every now and then climbing tall
blades of grass, and from these high places viewing the surrounding
country in search of landmarks. As soon as it arrives among scenes
partially familiar to it, it ceases to climb grass-blades or weeds, and
accelerates its pace. When it arrives among well-known and accustomed
surroundings it runs along at its utmost speed, and fairly races into
its nest.

The burying beetle has a regular abode, to which it invariably returns
after performing the offices of mortician to some defunct bird, beast,
or reptile. This insect grave-digger, by the way, is remarkably expert
at its business, and will bury a frog or a bird in a very short time.
As soon as it has buried the dead animal and deposited its eggs, it
returns to its domicile beneath some log or stone.

Some snakes likewise are exceedingly domestic, and have their regular
dens, to which they resort on occasions. The homing sense seems to be
rather highly developed in them, for they can find their way back to
their dens from great distances. I have had under observation for the
past three years a garden snake, locally known as a "spreading viper";
this snake was brought to me by a friend[105] when it was only a foot
long, so I have known her (for it is a female) ever since her infancy.
Owing to some antenatal accident, this reptile has a malformed head, so
that I can readily recognize her at a distance of fifteen, twenty, or
even thirty feet. Last year she reared her first brood of young, which I
was fortunate enough to see with her on several occasions. Her den is on
my lawn; and in the autumn of last year she conducted her brood to it,
where they hibernated until spring. If I remember correctly, on the 29th
of March she came out of her den accompanied by a dozen of her progeny,
all but four (two pairs) of which I killed.[106] Snakes subserve a very
useful purpose in the economy of nature, but it is well to keep them in
limits, for, when very numerous, they become dangerous to young birds,
especially after they have passed the second year.

  [105] Silas Rosenfield, Esq., Owensboro, Kentucky.

  [106] The above was written in the summer of 1897. This interesting
  specimen was killed by a day-laborer who had been temporarily employed
  to assist the gardener. An autopsy revealed a bony tumor of the right
  orbital arch, which, from a little distance, looked like a horn.--W.

With the exception of the anthropoid apes all mammals possess the homing
sense in a higher or lower degree; this is true also of birds.
Experiments with the nesting robin show conclusively that this bird can
find its way back to its nest when carried fifty miles from its home and
then set free among wholly unknown surroundings. The well-known exploits
of the carrier-pigeon are so familiar that they scarcely need comment.
On May 3, 1898, two carrier-pigeons, en route for Louisville, rested for
a time at Owensboro, Kentucky; these birds had been set free at New
Orleans, Louisiana. The duck and the goose sometimes have this sense
very highly developed. I once knew a goose to travel back home after
having been carried in a covered basket for the distance of eighteen
miles. A drake and duck have been known to return to their home after
being carried a distance of nine miles by railway. Instances of
home-returning by dogs, cats, horses, etc., are of such common
occurrence that I hardly need call attention to them; the following
instance is so unique, however, that I will present it:--

In the fall of 1861, a gentleman of Vincennes, Indiana, visited his
father at Lebanon, Kentucky; when this gentleman started to return
home, his father gave him a yoke of young steers, which he drove, _via_
Louisville, Kentucky, to Vincennes.

Shortly after his arrival at this last-mentioned town, the steers made
their escape, swam the river at Owensboro, Kentucky, 160 miles below
Louisville, Kentucky, and, in a week or so, were found one morning at
the gate of their old home at Lebanon. Directed by their homing sense
alone, these animals had made a journey of several hundred miles over
a route they had never seen!

Fishermen are aware that certain fish choose localities for
lurking-places, which they will share with no other fish. The black
bass, and brook trout, and sturgeon, and goggle-eye are familiar
examples of fish which have this habit.

On one occasion, I performed the following experiment: I took a black
bass from its home near a sunken stump, and, after passing a short piece
of thread through the web of its tail and knotting it, replaced it in
the river, two miles below its lurking-place. The next day I saw it in
its old home, clearly recognizable by the bit of thread which waved to
and fro in the clear water as the fish gently moved its tail!

In an examination of phenomena such as have been discussed in this
chapter, ay, throughout this book, we must lay aside the dogmatic
assertions of our superstitious ancestors, who, to paraphrase Roscoe,
"when awed by superstition, and subdued by hereditary prejudices, could
not only assent to the most incredible proposition, but could act in
consequence of these convictions, with as much energy and perseverance
as if they were the clearest deductions of reason, or the most evident
dictates of truth."[107]

  [107] Roscoe, _Life of Leo X._, p. 3.

It will take the human race many, many years to unlearn, and to recover
from the effects of the superstitious cult of the shaman, who exists,
not only among savages, but also in the most highly civilized races of
the world! Superstition is the antithesis of knowledge; in fact, it is
but another name for ignorance.

There is yet another exceedingly interesting psychical trait to be
noticed in the lower animals, especially in insects; I refer to the
instinctive habit, letisimulation (_letum_, death, and _simulare_, to
feign). The word "instinctive" must not be used, however, when this
stratagem is to be observed in the higher animals other than the
opossum; for many of these animals sometimes make an occasional and a
_rational_ use of it, as I will endeavor to show in the next chapter.



CHAPTER IX

LETISIMULATION


The feigning of death by certain animals for the purpose of deceiving
their enemies, and thus securing immunity, is one of the greatest of the
many evidences of intelligent action on their part.[108] Letisimulation
(from _letum_, death, and _simulare_, to feign) is not confined to any
particular family, order, or species of animals, but exists in many,
from the very lowest to the highest. The habit of feigning death has
introduced a figure of speech in the English language, and has done much
to magnify and perpetuate the fame of the only marsupial found outside
of Australasia and the Malayan Archipelago. "Playing 'possum" is now a
synonym for certain kinds of deception. Man himself has known this to be
an efficacious stratagem on many occasions. I have only to recall the
numerous instances related by hunters who have feigned death, and have
then been abandoned by the animals attacking them. I have seen this
habit in some of the lowest animals known to science. Some time ago,
while examining the inhabitants of a drop of pond water under a
high-power lens, I noticed several rhizopods busily feeding on the
minute buds of an alga. These rhizopods suddenly drew in their hair-like
cilia and sank to the bottom, to all appearances dead. I soon discovered
the cause in the presence of a water-louse, an animal which feeds on
these animalcules. It likewise sank to the bottom, and, after examining
the rhizopods, swam away, evidently regarding them as dead and unfit for
food. The rhizopods remained quiet for several seconds, and then swam to
the alga and resumed feeding. This was not an accidental occurrence, for
several times since I have been fortunate enough to witness the same
wonderful performance. There were other minute animals swimming in the
drop of water, but the rhizopods fed on unconcernedly until the shark of
this microscopic sea appeared. They then recognized their danger at
once, and used the only means in their power to escape. Through the
agency of what sense did these little creatures discover the approach of
their enemies? Is it possible that they and other like microscopic
animals have eyes and ears so exceedingly small that lenses of the very
highest power cannot make them visible? Or are they possessors of
senses utterly unknown to and incapable of being appreciated by man?
Science can neither affirm nor deny either of these suppositions. The
fact alone remains that, through some sense, they discovered the
presence of the enemy, and feigned death in order to escape.

  [108] Instinct does not preclude intelligent ideation. In the lower
  animals death-feigning is undoubtedly instinctive; yet the recognition
  of danger, which sets in motion the phenomena of letisimulation, is
  undoubtedly due, primarily, to intelligent ideation in a vast majority
  of animals. Otherwise this earth would be a lifeless waste.--W.

There is a small fresh-water annelid which practises letisimulation when
approached by the giant water-beetle.[109] This annelid, when swimming,
is a slender, graceful little creature, about one-eighth of an inch
long, and as thick as a human hair; but when a water-beetle draws near,
it stops swimming, relaxes its body, and hangs in the water like a bit
of cotton thread. It has a twofold object in this: in the first place,
it hopes that its enemy will think it a piece of wood fibre, bleached
alga, or other non-edible substance; in the second place, if the beetle
be not deceived, it will nevertheless consider it dead and unfit for
food. I do not mean to say that this process of ratiocination really
occurs in the annelid; its intelligence goes no farther, probably, than
conscious determination. In the beetle, however, conscious determination
is merged into intelligent ideation, for its actions in the premises are
self-elective and selective.

  [109] _Dyticus marginalis._ Vide Furneaux, _Life in Ponds and
  Streams_, p. 325; foot-note for orthography.--W.

Letisimulation in this animal is by no means infrequent, for I have seen
it feign death repeatedly. Any one may observe this stratagem if he be
provided with a glass of clear water, a dyticus, and several of these
little worms. The annelid is able to distinguish the beetle when it is
several inches distant, and the change from an animated worm to a
seemingly lifeless thread is startling in its exceeding rapidity.

Even an anemone, a creature of very low organization indeed, has
acquired this habit. On one occasion, near St. John's, Newfoundland, I
noticed a beautiful anemone in a pool of sea-water. I reached down my
hand for it, when, presto! it shrivelled and shrunk like a flash into an
unsightly green lump, and appeared nothing more than a moss-covered
nodule of rock.

Very many grubs make use of this habit when they imagine themselves in
danger. For instance, the "fever worm," the larva of one of our common
moths,--the Isabella tiger-moth,--is a noted death-feigner, and will
"pretend dead" on the slightest provocation. Touch this grub with the
toe of your boot, or with the tip of your finger, or with a stick, and
it will at once curl up, to all appearances absolutely without life.

A gentleman[110] recently told me that he saw the following example of
letisimulation: One day, while sitting in his front yard, he saw a
caterpillar crawling on the ground at his feet. The grub crawled too
near the edge of a little pit in the sandy loam, and fell over,
dragging with it a miniature avalanche of sand. It immediately essayed
to climb up the north side of the pit, and had almost reached the top,
when the treacherous soil gave way beneath its feet, and it rolled to
the bottom. It then tried the west side, and met with a similar mishap.
Not discouraged in the least by its failure, it then tried the east
side, and reached the very edge, when it accidentally disturbed the
equilibrium of a corncob poised upon the margin of the pit, dislodged
it, and fell with it to the bottom. The caterpillar evidently thought
the cob was an enemy, for it at once rolled itself into a ball and
feigned death. It remained quiescent for some time, but finally "came to
life," tried the south side with triumphant success, and went on its way
rejoicing. This little creature evinced conscious determination and a
certain amount of reason; for it never tried the same side of the pit in
its endeavors to escape, but always essayed a different side from that
where it had encountered failure.

  [110] Mr. George Mattingly, Owensboro, Kentucky.

Many free-swimming rotifers practise letisimulation when disturbed or
when threatened by what they consider impending danger. If a "pitcher
rotifer" (_Brachionus urceolaris_) be approached with a needle point, it
will cease all motion and sink; the same is true of the "skeleton
rotifer" (_Dinocharis pocillum_) and numerous others of this large
family. Again, if a bit of alga on which there is a colony of "bell
animalcules" (_Vorticellæ_) be placed in a live box and then be
examined with a moderate power, they can be seen to feign death. The
rapidly vibrating cilia which surround the margin of the "bells" give
rise to currents in the water which can be easily made out as they sweep
floating particles toward the creatures' mouths and stomachs. If the
table on which the microscope rests be rapped with the knuckles, the
colony will disappear as if by magic. Now, what has become of it? If the
microscope be readjusted, a group of tubercles will be observed on the
alga; these are the vorticellæ. They have simply coiled themselves upon
their slender stems, have drawn in their cilia, and are feigning death.
In a few seconds one, and then another, will erect its stem; finally,
the entire colony will "come to life" and resume feeding until they are
again frightened, when they will at once resort to letisimulation.

Death-feigners are found in four divisions of animal life; viz., among
insects, birds, mammals, and reptiles. Indeed, the most gifted
letisimulants in the entire animal kingdom are to be observed in the
great snake family. The so-called "black viper" of the middle United
States is the most accomplished death-feigner that I have ever seen; its
make-believe death struggles, in which it writhes and twists in seeming
agony and finally turns upon its back and assumes _rigor mortis_, cannot
be surpassed by any actor "on the boards" in point of pantomimic
excellence.

I do not know of any fish which has acquired this strategic habit, but
the evidence is not all in, and some day, perhaps, death-feigners may be
found even among fishes.[111]

  [111] Letisimulation, apparently, is not confined to animals; we see
  that certain plants have acquired a habit that is strikingly like
  death-feigning. We are apt to regard the plants as being non-sentient,
  yet there is an abundance of evidence in favor of the doctrine that
  vegetable life is, to a certain extent, percipient. Darwin has shown
  conclusively that plant life is as subject to the great law of
  evolution as animal life; he has also demonstrated, in his
  observations of insectivorous plants--the sun-dew (_Drosera
  rotundifolia_) especially--that these plants recognize at once the
  presence of foreign bodies when they are brought in contact with their
  sensitive glands;[A] he has likewise shown that plants, in the
  phenomenon known as circumnutation, evince a percipient sensitiveness
  that is as delicate as it is remarkable.[B] Hence, we need not feel
  surprised when we find, even in a plant, evidences of such a
  widespread stratagem as letisimulation. The champion death-feigner of
  the vegetable kingdom is a South American plant, _Mimosa pudica_. In
  the United States, where in some localities it has been naturalized,
  this plant is known as the "sensitive plant." A wild variety, _Mimosa
  strigilosa_, is native to some of the Southern States, but is by no
  means as sensitive as its South American congener. The last-mentioned
  plant is truly a vegetable wonder. At one moment a bed of soft and
  vivid green, the next a touch from a finger and, in the twinkling of
  an eye, it has changed into an unsightly tangle of seemingly dead and
  withered stems. In this case death-feigning seems absolutely
  successful as far as protection is concerned; for surely no
  grass-eating animal would touch this withered stuff, especially if
  there were other greens in the neighborhood. Death-feigning in plants,
  and kindred phenomena, are not due, however, to conscious
  determination; they are, in all probability, simply the result of
  reflex action.

    [A] Darwin, _Insectivorous Plants_, Chap. V. _et seq._

    [B] Darwin, _Power of Movement in Plants_, pp. 107-109.

Recently, I saw this stratagem perpetrated by a creature so low in the
scale of animal life, and living amid surroundings so free from ordinary
dangers, that, at first, I was loath to credit the evidence of my own
perceptive powers; and it was only after long-continued observation that
I was finally convinced that it was really an instance of
letisimulation.

The animal in question was the itch mite (_Sarcoptes hominis_), which is
frequently met with by physicians in practice, but which is rarely seen,
although it is very often felt, by mankind, especially by those
unfortunates who are forced by circumstances to dwell amid squalid and
filthy surroundings. _Sarcoptes hominis_ is eminently a creature of
filth, and is primarily a scavenger living on the dead and cast-off
products of the skin. It is only when the desire for perpetuating its
race seizes it that it burrows into the skin, thereby producing the
intolerable itching which has given to it its very appropriate name. It
is only the females that make tunnels in the skin; the males move freely
over the surface of the epidermis. The females make tunnels or
_cuniculi_ in the cuticle, in which they lay their eggs, and they can
readily be removed from these burrows with a needle. While observing one
of these minute _acarii_ through a pocket lens, as it crawled slowly on
the surface of the skin, I wished to examine the under surface of its
body. When I touched it with the point of a needle in attempting to
turn it upon its back, it at once ceased to crawl and drew in its short,
turtle-like legs toward its sides. It remained absolutely without motion
for several seconds, and then slowly resumed its march. Again I touched
it, and again it came to a halt, and took up its onward march only after
several seconds had elapsed. Again and again I performed this experiment
with like results; finally, the little traveller became thoroughly
chilled, and, after a fruitless endeavor to again penetrate the skin,
ceased all motion and died.

Many of the coleoptera are good letisimulants. The common tumble-bug
(_Canthon lævis_), which may be seen any day in August rolling its ball
of manure, in which are its eggs, to some suitable place of interment,
is a remarkable death-feigner. Touch it, and at once it falls over,
apparently dead. It draws in its legs, which become stiff and rigid;
even its antennæ are motionless. You may pick it up and examine it
closely; it will not give the slightest sign of life. Place it on the
ground and retire a little from it, and, in a few moments, you will see
it erect one of its antennæ and then the other. Its ears are in its
antennæ, and it is listening for dangerous sounds. Move your foot or
stamp upon the ground, and back they go, and the beetle again becomes
seemingly moribund.

This you may do several times, but the little animal, soon discovering
that the sounds you make are not indicative of peril to it, scrambles
to its feet and resumes the rolling of its precious ball. The habit of
making use of this subterfuge is undoubtedly instinctive in this
creature; but the line of action governing the use of the stratagem is
evidently suggested by intelligent, correlated ideation.

Some animals feign death after exhausting all other means of defence.
The stink-bug (_pentatomid_) or bombardier bug (not the "bombardier
beetle") has, on the sides of its abdomen near its middle coxæ ("hip
bone"), certain bladder-like glands which secrete an acrid,
foul-smelling fluid;[112] it has the power of ejecting this fluid at
will.

  [112] Comstock, _The Study of Insects_, p. 145.

When approached by an enemy, the stink-bug presents one side to the foe,
crouching down on the opposite side, thus elevating its battery, and
waits until its molester is within range; it then fires its broadside at
the enemy. If the foe is not vanquished (as it commonly is), but still
continues the attack, the bombardier turns and fires another broadside
from the opposite side. If this second discharge does not prove
efficacious (and I have rarely known it to fail), the little insect
topples over, draws in its legs, and pretends to be dead.

Many a man has acted in like manner. He has fought as long as he could;
then, seeing the odds against him, he has feigned death, hoping that his
antagonist would abandon him and cease his onslaughts. The stink-bug in
this seems to be governed and directed by _reason_, though the means
used for defence must come under the head of instinct. Many a blind,
instinctive impulse in the lower animals is, in all probability, aided
and abetted by intelligent ratiocination when once it has made its
appearance.

I have seen ants execute a like stratagem when overcome either by
numbers or by stronger ants. They curl up their legs, draw down their
antennæ, and drop to the ground. They will allow themselves to be pulled
about by their foes without the slightest resistance, showing no signs
of life whatever. The enemy soon leaves them, whereupon the cunning
little creatures take to their feet and hurry away.

The most noted and best known letisimulant among mammals is the opossum.
I have seen this animal look as if dead for hours at a time. It can be
thrown down any way, and its body and limbs will remain in the position
assigned to them by gravity. It presents a perfect picture of death. The
hare will act in the same way on occasions. The cat has been seen to
feign death for the purpose of enticing its prey within grasping
distance of its paws. In the mountains of East Tennessee (Chilhowee) I
once saw a hound which would "play dead" when attacked by a more
powerful dog than itself. It would fall upon its back, close its eyes,
open its mouth, and loll out its tongue. Its antagonist would appear
nonplussed at such strange conduct, and would soon leave it alone. Its
master[113] declared that it had not been taught the trick by man, but
that the habit was inherited or learned from its mother, which practised
the same deception when hard pushed.[114]

  [113] Mr. George Griffiths, Griffiths' Cove, Chilhowee, Blount County,
  Tennessee.

  [114] In the case of the cat and dog the use of this stratagem is not
  instinctive; it is the rational use of means to obtain a certain
  desired end. The fact that the dog "inherited the act" from its mother
  is not a proof of inherited instinct. Instincts are not formed in a
  single generation.--W.

Most animals are slain for food by other animals. There is a continual
struggle for existence. The carnivora and insectivora, with certain
exceptions, prefer freshly killed food. They will not touch tainted meat
when they can procure the recently killed, blood-filled bodies of their
prey. The exigencies of their surroundings in their struggle for
existence, however, often compel them to eat carrion.

Dogs will occasionally eat carrion, but sparingly, and apparently as a
relish, just as we sometimes eat odoriferous and putrid cheeses, and the
Turks, assafoetida.

Carnivora and insectivora would much prefer to do their own butchery;
hence, when they come upon their prey apparently dead, they will leave
it alone and go in search of other quarry, unless they are very hungry.

Tainted flesh is a dangerous substance to go into any stomach, unless it
be that of a buzzard. Heredity and environment have made this bird a
carrion-eater, hence, like the jackal, the hyena, and the alligator,
companion scavengers, it can eat putrid flesh with impunity. Other
flesh-eating animals avoid carrion when they can, for long years of
experience have taught them that decaying meat contains certain
ptomaines which render it very poisonous; hence, they let dead, or
seemingly dead, creatures severely alone. Again, these creatures can see
no object in mutilating an animal which, in their opinion, is already
dead.

In this discussion of the means and methods of protection that are to be
observed in the lower animals, I have brought forward only those in
which mind-element was to be discerned. Mimicry and kindred phenomena
hardly have a place in this treatise, for they are, undoubtedly,
governed and directed by unconscious mind, a psychical phase which, as I
intimated in the introductory chapter of this book, would be discussed
only incidentally.



CONCLUSION


Judging wholly from the evidence, I think that it can be safely asserted
and successfully maintained that mind in the lower animals is the same
in kind as that of man; that, though instinct undoubtedly controls and
directs many of the psychical and physical manifestations which are to
be observed in the lower animals, intelligent ratiocination also
performs an important rôle in the drama of their lives.[115]

  [115] Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_, p. 591.

The wielders of the instinct club bitterly deny that any of the lower
animals ever show an intelligent appreciation of new surroundings, that
they ever evince intelligent ratiocination. They close their eyes even
to the data collected by the chiefs of their tribe, Agassiz, Kirby,
Spence, _et al._, and go on their way shouting hosannas to omniscient,
all-powerful Instinct! When one of the lower animals evinces unusual
intelligence, or gives unmistakable evidences of reason, they account
for it by saying that "it is only instinct highly specialized, or, at
least, a so-called 'intelligent' accident."

So far from being "intelligent accidents" are the ratiocinative acts of
some of the lower animals (that is, lower than man), that I think that
it can be demonstrated analogically that some of these acts are incited
by one of the highest qualities of the mind--abstraction.

I do not mean that abstraction which renders the civilized human being
so immeasurably superior to all other animals, but rather that primal,
fundamental abstraction from which the highly specialized function of
man has been developed. The faculty of computing in animals is one
evidence of the presence of this psychical trait in its crude and
undeveloped state. The quality of abstraction in such ideation is not
very high, it is true, yet it _is_ abstraction, nevertheless.

Man possesses two kinds of consciousness--an active, vigilant,
coördinating consciousness (the seat of which is, probably, in the
cortical portion of the brain) and the passive, pseudo-dormant, and, to
a certain extent, incoherent and non-coördinating consciousness (the
so-called sub-liminal consciousness) whose seat is in the great ganglia
at the base of the brain (_optic thalami_ and _corpora striata_), and in
other ganglia situated in the spinal cord and elsewhere in the body. My
fox terrier has a brain which, in all essential details, does not differ
from that of man, and my observations teach me that his mind is the same
in kind as that of man as far as memory, emotions, and reason are
concerned; then why deny him the possession of abstraction in some
degree? I do not mean that abstraction which enables a man to soar into
realms of thought infinitely above any effort of ideation to be attained
by any of the lower animals, but abstraction in its embryonic state. I
am convinced, by actual experimentation, that this dog falls into "brown
studies" just as man does; may he not then claim one kind of
abstraction, if not another?

The elephant, unquestionably, is able to formulate abstract ideas, the
quality of which is very high, indeed. Jenkins wrote to Romanes as
follows:--

"What I particularly wish to observe is that there are good reasons for
supposing that elephants possess abstract ideas; for instance, I think
it is impossible to doubt that they acquire through their own experience
notions of hardness and weight, and the grounds on which I am led to
think this are as follows:--

"A captured elephant after he has been taught his ordinary duty, say
about three months after he has been taken, is taught to pick up things
from the ground and give them to his mahout sitting on his shoulders.
Now the first few months it is dangerous to require him to pick up
anything but soft articles, such as clothes, because things are often
handed up with considerable force.

"After a time, longer with some elephants than others, they appear to
take in a knowledge of the nature of the things they are required to
lift, and the bundle of clothes will be thrown up sharply as before,
but heavy things, such as a crowbar or a piece of iron chain, will be
handed up in a gentle manner; a sharp knife will be picked up by its
handle and placed on the elephant's head, so that the mahout may take it
by the handle. I have purposely given elephants things to lift which
they could never have seen before, and they were all handled in such a
manner as to convince me that they recognized such qualities as
hardness, sharpness, and weight."[116]

  [116] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, pp. 101, 102; see also Kemp,
  _Indications of Instinct_, pp. 120, 130.

Mr. Conklin, the celebrated elephant trainer, once told me that his
elephants not only recognized such qualities as weight, sharpness, and
hardness, but also _volume or dimension_.

The kinship of mind in man and the lower animals is indicated also by
the phenomenon of dreaming which is to be observed in both. When the
active consciousness is stilled by slumber, subconsciousness or
ganglionic consciousness remains awake, and sometimes makes itself
evident in dreams. I have repeatedly observed my terrier when under
dream influence, and have been able to predicate the substance of his
dreams from his actions. Like man, the dog is sometimes unable to
differentiate between his waking and dreaming thoughts; he confounds
the one with the other, and follows out in his waking state the ideas
suggested by his dreams.

This, with normal man, is always a momentary delusion; with the dog,
however, it may last for some little time. Thus, I have seen my dog
chase imaginary rats around my room after having been aroused while in
the midst of a dream. His chagrin when he "came to himself" and saw me
laughing was always strikingly apparent.

The brains of the lower animals are susceptible to the action of drugs,
whose effects on them are identical with the effects noticed when the
human brain is under drug influence. Alcohol, chloroform, ether, opium,
strychnine, arsenic, all produce characteristic symptoms when they are
introduced into the circulatory system of the lower animals. Even the
very lowest animalcules give this evidence as to the kinship of nerve
and ganglionic or brain elements in man and the lower animals.

I have repeatedly noticed the action of alcohol on rhizopods. When small
and almost inappreciable doses were exhibited, the little creatures
became lively and swam merrily through the water; but, when large doses
were given, they soon became stupefied and finally died. I have seen
drunken jelly-fish rolling and tacking through the alcohol-impregnated
water for all the world like a company of drunkards.[117] They soon
became sober, however, when they were placed in fresh water, but
remained listless and inert for some time afterward.

  [117] Compare Romanes, _Jelly-Fish, Star-Fish, and Sea-Urchins_, p. 227.

Coleoptera, hymenoptera, diptera, in fact, all insects exhibit the
characteristic effects of alcohol when under its influence. Horses,
dogs, cats, monkeys--all mammals are affected characteristically by
alcohol, and it not infrequently happens that they willingly become
drunkards.[118]

  [118] Lindsay, _Mind in the Lower Animals_, pp. 81-93.

Animals also appear to become cognizant of the fact that certain
substances are medicaments, and they will voluntarily search for and
take such substances when they are ill. Bees are perfectly aware of the
astringent qualities of the sap of certain trees, notably the dogwood
and wild cherry, and, when afflicted with the diarrhoea, can be seen
biting into, and sucking, the sap from the tender twigs of such trees.
Dogs, when constipated, will search for and devour the long, lanceolate
blades of couch-grass (_Triticum repens_); horses and mules, when they
have "scours," eat clay; cattle with the "scratches" have been seen to
plaster hoof and joint with mud, and then stand still until the healing
coating dried out and became firm; and elephants have been known, time
and again, to plug up shot holes in their bodies with moistened
earth.[119]

  [119] Romanes, Skinner, Sir R. Tennent, Bingley, Forbes, _et al._

Again, the recognition of the rights of property cannot be attributed to
instinct, neither can it fall under the head of "intelligent accidents,"
yet many animals lower than man recognize, to a certain extent, the
rights of property. For instance, in 1879, two very intelligent
chimpanzees were on exhibition at Central Park. One of these animals
claimed as her property a particular blanket, and, notwithstanding the
fact that there were other blankets in the cage in which they were
confined, always covered herself with this blanket. She would take it
away from her companion whenever she wished to use it. Again, two
turkeys on my place deposited their eggs in the same nest. The hen which
first built and used the nest regarded the spot as her individual home;
therefore, whenever she found the other hen's egg in the nest, she would
break it with her beak, and then carry it some distance away. This I
have seen her do repeatedly.

Many dogs, cats, and other animals regard certain rugs, cushions, etc.,
as their own property, and resent any interference with them. It seems
to me that in all such instances these animals regard themselves as
individuals; that they recognize the psychical as well as the physical
difference between the _Ego_ and the _Tu_ as soon as they begin to
recognize the rights of property.

Those who hold that instinct governs all actions of the lower animals,
usually claim that man is the only tool-user. This is a gross
mistake--elephants, when walking along the road, will break branches
from the trees and use them as fly-brushes;[120] these creatures also
manufacture surgical instruments, and use them in getting rid of certain
parasites;[121] monkeys use rocks and hammers to crack nuts too hard for
their teeth; these creatures also make use of missiles to hurl at their
foes;[122] chimpanzees make drums out of pieces of dry and resonant
wood;[123] the orang-utan breaks branches and fruit from the trees and
hurls them at its foes;[124] the gorilla and chimpanzee use cudgels or
clubs as weapons of offence or defence;[125] monkeys make use of sticks
in order to draw objects within their reach;[126] spiders suspend
pebbles from their webs in order to preserve stability,[127] etc.

  [120] Peal, _Nature_, Vol. XXI. p. 34; quoted also by Romanes.

  [121] Peal, _Nature_, Vol. XXI.

  [122] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 485 _et seq._

  [123] Lindsay, _Mind in the Lower Animals_, Vol. I. p. 410.

  [124] Wallace, _Malayan Archipelago_, p. 41.

  [125] Lindsay, _loc. cit. ante_, p. 413.

  [126] Belt, _Naturalist in Nicaragua_, p. 119.

  [127] Büchner, _Geistesleben der Thiere_, p. 318.

I could prolong this list to a much greater length, but think it hardly
necessary. I think that I have demonstrated that man is not the only
tool-user.

Even such dyed-in-the-wool creationists as Kirby and Spence are forced
to admit the presence of reason in insects.

"Such, then, are the exquisiteness, the number, and the extraordinary
development of the instincts of insects. But is instinct the sole guide
of their actions? Are they in every case the blind agent of irresistible
impulse? These queries, I have already hinted, cannot, in my opinion,
be replied to in the affirmative; and I now proceed to show that though
instinct is the chief guide to insects, they are endowed also with no
inconsiderable portion of _reason_."[128]

  [128] Kirby and Spence, _Entomology_, p. 591.

Studied both objectively and subjectively, insects present indisputable
evidence of reason. Not the higher abstract reason of the human being,
however, but reason in its primal, fundamental state.

The difference between instinct and reason is not generally understood,
and, as I believe that most readers can comprehend an illustration much
quicker than an explanation, I will use the former in order to bring out
this difference.

The hen which sits three weeks on a china egg is influenced by blind
impulse--instinct; while the turkey which discovers the eggs of her
rival in her nest, and destroys them, is directed by something
infinitely higher--by reason. The using of a common nest never occurs
among these birds in a wild state, neither is it of so frequent
occurrence among domesticated turkeys as to have formed an instinctive
habit.

Again, the honey-making ants which left their patrol line in order to
slay the wounded centipede may have been, and probably were, influenced
by instinct; another and wholly different psychical trait, however,
impelled them to fill up the trench dug with my hunting knife. This
accident could not have occurred, perhaps, to them in a state of nature,
or if by any possibility it had ever occurred before, the chances are
that such occurrences were few in number, and that they happened at long
intervals of time, thus precluding the establishment of an instinctive
habit. Nor do I think it possible for this action to come under the head
of "specialized instinct," for the same reason. By the very nature of
things there can be no such thing as an "intelligent accident"; the term
is itself a contradiction, therefore the performance of these ants must
be considered an act of intelligent ratiocination.

In this discussion of mind in the lower animals I have endeavored to
show that the psychical traits evinced by them indicate that their
mental organisms, taken as a whole, are the same in kind as that of
man.

       *       *       *       *       *



BIBLIOGRAPHY


Bates. _The Naturalist on the River Amazon._

Belt. _The Naturalist in Nicaragua._

Büchner. _Geistesleben der Thiere._

Carter. _Annals of Natural History._

Clark. _Mind in Nature._

Comstock. _The Study of Insects._

Darwin. _The Descent of Man_; _The Origin of Species_; _Insectivorous
Plants_; _Formation of Vegetable Mould_; _The Expression of the
Emotions_; _Power of Movement in Plants_.

Dewar. _Physiological Action of Light_, Nature, 1877.

Figuier. _Reptiles and Birds._

Furneaux. _Life in Streams and Ponds._

Gibson. _Sharp Eyes._

Haeckel. _History of Creation_; _Evolution of Man_.

Hartman. _Anthropoid Apes._

Hickson. _The Fauna of the Deep Sea._

Huber. _The Natural History of Ants._

Huxley. _The Study of Zoölogy._

Kemp. _Indication of Instinct._

Kirby and Spence. _Entomology._

Lindsay. _Mind in the Lower Animals in Health_; _Mind in the Lower
Animals in Disease_.

Lubbock. _Origin and Metamorphoses of Insects_; _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_;
_The Social Hymenoptera_; _The Senses, Instincts, and Intelligence of
Animals_.

Luys. _The Brain and its Functions._

Mantagazza. _Physiognomy and Expression._

Maudsley. _The Physiology of Mind_; _Body and Will_.

Miller. _Four Handed Folk._

Peschel. _The Races of Man._

Pettigrew. _Animal Locomotion._

Peal. _Nature_, Vol. XXI.

Quatrefages. _The Human Species._

Reclain. _Body and Mind._

Romanes. _Animal Intelligence_; _Mental Evolution in Animals_; _Mental
Evolution in Man_; _The Jelly-Fish, Star-Fish, and Sea-Urchin_.

Roscoe. _Life of Leo the Tenth._

Schmidt. _The Mammalia._

Schneider. _Thierische Wille._

Semper. _Animal Life._

Tuke. _Influence of the Mind upon the Body._

Van Beneden. _Animal Parasites and Messmates._

Wallace. _Island Life_; _The Malay Archipelago_.

Whitney. _Life and Growth of Language._

White. _A Londoner's Walk to Edinburgh._

Yarrell. _British Fishes._

       *       *       *       *       *



INDEX


A

ACINETA MYSTACINA, amoeba catches and devours an, 50.

ACTINOPHRYS, power of differentiation in A. Eichornii, 7;
  Brachionus captured by, 7;
  uric acid crystals and sand grains in an experiment with, 9;
  taste in, 9;
  sight in, 11;
  memory of locality in, 49, 52;
  lying in wait for, and devouring the young of, a _pythium_, 49;
  love of pastime in, 123;
  death-feigning by, 201;
  effect of alcohol on, 219.

ADELOPS, homing sense in blind, 196;
  author's experiments in demonstrating homing sense of blind, 196.

ALBINISM, axolotl affected by, 182;
  difference between etiolation and, 182, 184.

ALCIOPE, eyes of, 17.

ALGA, stentor feeding on spores of, 47.

AMOEBA, young acineta caught by, 51.

ANEMONE, Romanes' experiment with, 42;
  death-feigning by, 205.

ANERGATES, parasitic, 156, 157.

ANGLEWORM, differentiation between light and darkness by, 54;
  experiments with light on, 55;
  ocelli of, 55;
  Darwin's theory as to deafness in, 55;
  organs of audition in, 56;
  author's experiments with, 56;
  conscious choice in, 56;
  taste in, 56, 57.

ANT, memory of locality in the, 62;
  memory of friends (kindred) in the, 65;
  Huber's observations, 66;
  author's experiments with _Lasius niger_, 66;
  claviger beetles recognized and petted by, 73;
  gray matter in the brain of, 99;
  nerve-cells and nerve-filaments in the brain cortex of, 99;
  Lubbock's experiments (chloroform and alcohol) with, 99;
  sympathy evinced by, 100;
  parental care of worker ants for young, 103;
  love of amusement in the, 125;
  author's observations of _L. flavus_, 125, 126;
  _Claviger foveolatus_ fondled by, 126;
  Huber's observations of _pratensis_, 125;
  Lubbock's observations of _Beckia_, a pet of, 126;
  author's observations of _Podura_ in the nests of _F. fusca_ and
    _F. rufescens_, 126;
  evidence of reason in the, 152;
  funeral of an, 153;
  battle between, 153;
  author's verification of Huber's experiment with slave, 155;
  degeneration in, 155;
  Lubbock's summary of degeneration in, 156;
  homing sense in the, 197;
  death-feigning in the, 212.

ANTHROBIA, eyeless, 11.

APE, cat affectionately treated by an, 83.

APHIS, ants domesticate the, 73.

ARGIOPE, mason wasps for food prefer the spider, 170.

ATROPIA, sympathetic nerves paralyzed by, 191.

AXOLOTL, color-changing in, 184;
  Paul Bert's experiments with, 184;
  Semper's experiments with, 184;
  Kölliker's experiments with, 184.


B

BALANCERS, of _Tabanus atratus_, 34;
  of _Chrysops niger_, 33;
  of _Diplosis resinicola_, 33.

BASCANION CONSTRICTOR, recognition of individuals by, 75;
  bird decorates its nest with skin of, 127.

BASS, parental affection in, 138;
  homing sense in black, 200.

BECKIA, ants domesticate and pet, 126.

BIRD, memory of individuals in, 76, 77;
  gratitude in, 77, 93;
  homing sense in, 199.

BOMBARDIER BUG, death-feigning in, 211.

BRACHIONUS, actinophrys captures, 7.

BRACHIONUS URCEOLARIS, death-feigning in, 206.

BUMBLEBEE, revenge and anger in, 71;
  recognition of a certain dog by, 71.

BURYING BEETLE, homing sense in, 197.

BUTTERFLY, suitable food for larva selected by, 103;
  age of tropical, 137;
  Miranda's observations, 137, 138.


C

CALOTIS, third eye of, 27.

CANTHON LÆVIS, death-feigning in, 210.

CAPUCHIN MONKEY, surgical operation on a, 95;
  faith in man's ability to aid evinced by a, 96.

CARABIDÆ, auditory vesicles of, 37;
  memory of locality in, 64.

CAT, pride of offspring in a male, 142;
  idea of time shown by a, 177.

CATFISH, parental affection in, 138, 139.

CERAMBYX, sense of hearing in, 36;
  Will's experiment with, 36.

CHACMA, cat chosen as friend by, 83;
  author's test for memory of individuals in, 84.

CHAMELEON, educated, 75;
  recognition of individual by, 75.

CHICK, pigment cells in embryonic, 186, 187.

CHIMPANZEE, laughter and smiles evinced by, 89;
  faculty of computing in, 177;
  recognition of property rights by, 221.

CHRYSOPS NIGER, balancers of, 33;
  organs of hearing in, 33.

CICINDELIDÆ, auditory vesicles of, 37;
  memory of locality in, 64.

CLAVIGER FOVEOLATUS, ants make a pet of, 73.

COCCINELLÆ, peculiar assemblages of female, 126, 127.

COCK, friendship between a drake and a, 78;
  fondness for violin music in a, 122.

CONSCIOUSNESS, definition of, 43;
  time element in, 44;
  the probable location of active, 216;
  the probable location of the sub-liminal, 216.

CORYDALIS, auditory rods of, 30.

COW, dog the guardian and friend of a, 80.

CRAB, Pouchet's experiment on the chromatophores of, 189.

CRAYFISH, eyes of, 21;
  power of vision in, 23;
  pugnacity of, 23.

CRICKET, ears of, 31.

CYMOTHOE, eyes of fresh-water, 13.


D

DETERMINATION, the origin of conscious, 40.

DINOCHARIS POCILLUM, death-feigning in, 206.

DIPLOSIS RESINICOLA, balancers of, 33.

DIPTERA, ears of, 33;
  love of pastime in, 125.

DOG, cow chosen as a friend by a, 78;
  laughter in, 90;
  fondness for certain musical keys in the, 112;
  author's experiments with the, 113;
  origin of musical discrimination in the, 114;
  knowledge of the echo in the, 115;
  author's observations of an echo-loving, 115;
  parental affection in the, 141;
  abstract idea of numbers in the, 173, 174;
  phenomenon of dreaming in the, 218;
  medication by sick, 220.

DROSERA ROTUNDIFOLIA, insectivorous, 208.

DUCK, friendship between bantam cock and, 78;
  hawk attacked and killed by, 78;
  sense of direction in, 199.

DYTICUS MARGINALIS, auditory rods of, 30;
  death-feigning in a fresh-water annelid when approached by, 204.


E

EAGLE, recognition of individuals by, 76.

EAR, Dyticus, 30;
  corydalis, 30;
  grasshopper's, 31;
  Tabanus, 34.

EARWIG, method of incubation practised by, 105;
  care of young by, 105;
  M. Geer's experiment with, 105;
  love of offspring in, 106;
  author's experiments in testing parental affection in the, 136.

ECITON HAMATA, ants of the same species rescue an imprisoned, 100;
  Belt's experiments in testing the sympathy of, 101.

ELEPHANT, abstract ideation in the, 217;
  Conklin's testimony as to abstract ideation in, 218;
  mud used to stop bullet holes by, 220;
  a branch of a bush used as a fan by, 221.

EPIPONE SPINIPES, method of supplying larva with fresh food used by, 104;
  differentiation in the amount of food for male and female grub, 104.

ETIOLATION, definition of, 184, 185.

EUPLOCINÆ, length of life in tropical, 137.

EYE, flounder's, 9;
  plaice's, 9;
  sole's, 9;
  mole's, 10;
  fresh-water _Cymothoe's_, 13;
  OEquorea's, 15;
  sea-urchin's, 16;
  oyster's, 17;
  _Alciope's_, 17;
  snail's, 19;
  crayfish's, 21;
  _Gyrinus'_, 23;
  _Periophthalmus'_, 25;
  _Onchidium's_, 26;
  calotis', 27.


F

FISH, phosphorescent and pigmented, 13;
  parental affection in, 138;
  sense of direction in, 200.

FLEA, memory in the, 86;
  dancing and military evolutions by, 86;
  method of educating the, 87.

FLOUNDER, the origin of unilateral eyes in, 9.

FORMICA FUSCA, sympathy in, 100;
  species of _Podura_ domesticated by, 126.

FORMICA RUFA, sympathy evinced by, 102.

FORMICA RUFESCENS, pet beetles in the nest of, 126.

FORMICA SANGUINEA, slave-making habit in, 155;
  sympathy evinced by, 102;
  Lubbock's observations of a sick, 102.

FROG, tinctumutation in the, 182;
  chromatophores of, 182;
  Heincke's observations, 183;
  location of color-changing sense in, 190.


G

GADFLY, selection of suitable spot for oviposition by, 103.

GILT CATFISH, _gyropeltes_ make the toilet of, 130;
  color-changing in, 183;
  author's experiments on the color-changing function of, 191.

GOBIUS RUTHENSPARRI, tinctumutation in, 183.

GOGGLE-EYE PERCH, love of offspring in, 138;
  homing sense in, 200.

GOOSE, homing sense in the, 199.

GORILLA, use of cudgel by, 222.

GRASSHOPPER, ears of, 30.

GYRINUS, indifference to seasons shown by, 23;
  eyes of, 24.

GYROPELTES, health of gilt catfish dependent on, 130.


H

HELICONIDÆ, length of life in, 138.

HELIX POMATIA, love of amusement in, 123;
  author's observations, 124.

HEMIPTERA, organs of audition in, 29.

HOG, friendship between a dog and a, 81.

HONEY BEE, recognition of impending calamity by, 90;
  consternation and dismay manifested by, 90;
  remarkable engineering feat by, 91;
  joy evinced by, 91;
  grief shown by, 91, 92;
  Huber's experiment demonstrating reason in, 178.

HORSE, love of offspring in the, 143;
  seeking man's aid when in trouble, 144;
  self-medication by, 220.

HOUND, death-feigning by, 212.

HUMMING-BIRD, decorative instinct in, 128.

HYDRA, water-louse feeding on the buds of, 52.

HYDROZOA, nerve-tissue in, 41.

HYMENOPTERA, recognition of kindred in social, 69.


I

ICHNEUMON, method of ovipositing in the bodies of caterpillars used
  by, 104.

INSTINCT, definition of, 147, 148.


J

JAY, parental love in the, 142;
  battle between cat and, 143.

JELLY-FISH, anatomy, physiology, and psychology of, 4;
  nerve-ring in nectocalyx of, 5;
  "eyes" of, 5;
  manubrium or "handle" of, 5;
  sensitiveness of nervous system in, 5;
  pulsing of nectocalyx in, 5;
  intoxicated, 15;
  light sought by, 15;
  effect of the excision of the marginal bodies of, 52;
  conscious determination in, 52;
  effect of alcohol on, 219.


K

KATYDID, color-changing function in, 191, 192.


L

LAND TERRAPIN, memory of locality in, 65;
  homing sense in, 65;
  author's experiments with, 65.

LASIUS FLAVUS, author's experiments with, 67;
  slow in recognizing kin, 67;
  ants of the same species disinter buried, 101.

LASIUS NIGER, memory of kindred in, 66.

LEPIDOPTERA, organs of hearing in, 35.

LETISIMULATION, definition of, 202;
  origin of, 206.

LIMPET, homing sense in, 194;
  Romanes on the homing sense in, 195.

LIOTHE, fowls cleaned by, 129.

LIZARD, Ada Sterling's account of Kate Field's music-loving, 119;
  fondness for music in the tree, 119;
  Chilhowie "singing," 120;
  author's experiment with the piccolo on, 120.

LOBSTER, love of offspring in the, 137;
  battle between monkey and gravid, 137.

LOCUST, love of cleanliness in, 130;
  diamond mistaken for dewdrop by, 131;
  carnivorous tastes in the, 131;
  description of the toilet of a, 132.

LYCOSA, love of music in, 108;
  tameness of, 110.


M

MAMMOTH CAVE, eyeless spider of, 11;
  eyeless fish of, 11;
  homing sense in the beetles of, 196.

MANDRIL, a revengeful, 95.

MEDUSA, intoxicated, 15.

MELANOPLUS, reënforcing auditory ganglia of, 32.

MEMORY, its discussion under four heads, 60.

MIMOSA PUDICA, death-feigning by, 208.

MIMOSA STRIGILOSA, death-feigning by, 208.

MIND, definition of, 1.

MOLE, degeneration of sight organs in, 10.

MONERON, non-differentiation of nerve-cells in, 3;
  nervoid elements in, 3.

MONKEY, author chosen as a friend by, 82;
  a laughing, 89;
  sorrow and reproach manifested by, 97;
  faculty of computing in the, 177;
  use of hammer by a, 222.

MORPHOLOGY, its correlation with physiology, 2.

MOUSE, love of music in, 116;
  musical discrimination in, 117;
  Quigley's observations, 117;
  Benedick's experiments with, 117;
  author's observations and analysis of the song of "singing," 118;
  Ada Sterling's observations of music-loving, 118, 119.

MULE, idea of time evinced by a, 175, 176.

MYRIANIDA, eyes of, 17;
  reproduction in, 18.

MYRMECA RUGINODIS, memory of friends (kindred) in, 68;
  experiments with, 68.

MYRMECOCYSTUS, the honey-making, 157;
  natural history of, 158;
  author's experiments in testing the reasoning powers of, 158, 159;
  division of labor in a colony of, 161.


N

NECTOCALYX, marginal bodies in jelly-fish's, 51.

NERVE, transmission of impressions through, 41;
  the power of discrimination in, 41;
  the association of ideas (impressions) in, 43;
  memory in, 43.

NEWT, tinctumutation in, 186;
  author's experiments with, 186.


O

OEQUOREA, eyes of, 15.

OESTRUS EQUI, selection of foreleg of horse for oviposition by, 103.

ONCHIDIUM, cephalic eyes of, 26;
  dorsal eyes of, 26.

OPOSSUM, letisimulation in the, 202, 212.

ORANG-UTAN, laughter in the, 89;
  use of missiles by, 222.

OX, homing sense in the, 199, 200.

OYSTER, eyes of, 16.


P

PAPILIONINÆ, length of life in tropical, 137.

PERCH, love of offspring in the white, 138.

PERIOPHTHALMUS, habitat of, 25;
  peculiar mode of life of, 25;
  eyes of, 25;
  food of, 26.

PIGEON, love of music in the, 122;
  Lockman's account of a music-loving, 122;
  musical discrimination in, 122.

PIPE-FISH, parental affection in the, 139;
  Risso's observations, 139.

PLAICE, the origin of unilateral eyes in the, 9;
  absence of color-changing faculty in blind, 188;
  Pouchet's demonstration of the color-changing function of the
    sympathetic nerves in, 189.

PODURA, _F. fusca_ and _F. rufescens_ make pets of, 126;
  author's observations of, 126.

POLYERGUS, lowering tendency of slavery shown by, 155, 156.

PRIONUS, author's experiments in locating organs of hearing in, 36.


Q

QUAIL, domesticated, 111;
  love of caresses in, 111;
  love of instrumental music in, 111;
  fondness for the singing voice in, 112.


R

RAT, fondness for instrumental music in, 116;
  power of musical discrimination in, 116.

REASON, definition of, 147;
  difference between instinct and, 148.

RHIZOPOD, sense of direction in, 48;
  Carter's observations of, 49;
  memory in, 60.

ROBIN, homing sense in, 199.


S

SAND-WASP, memory of locality in, 62;
  author's experiments with, 63.

SARCOPTES HOMINIS, death-feigning in, 209.

SATIN BIRD, æstheticism in the male, 128;
  author's observations of, 128.

SEA-URCHIN, eyes of, 16.

SNAIL, eyes of, 19;
  visual powers of, 19;
  courtship of, 20;
  location of sense of direction in, 194;
  author's experiments with, 194;
  author's experiments in demonstrating homing sense in the, 194.

SNAKE, love of young in, 140;
  author's experiment in testing parental affection of, 140;
  sense of direction and "homing instinct" in, 198;
  author's observations of "homing instinct" in, 198.

SOLE, the origin of unilateral eyes in the, 9.

SONG-SPARROW, memory of individuals in, 77;
  parental affection in, 143.

SPANIEL, a laughing, 89.

SPIDER, memory in, 72;
  recognition of individuals by, 73;
  love of music in the, 108;
  author's experiments with piano on, 108;
  author's experiments with pipe organ on, 109;
  Reclain's observations on the love of music in, 109;
  decorative instinct present in, 110;
  peculiar web spun by, 110;
  parental affection in, 135;
  author's experiment in testing parental love of, 135;
  use of implement (pebble anchor) by, 222.

SQUIRREL, memory in the, 70.

STENTOR POLYMORPHUS, nervous system of, 46;
  observations of and experiments with, 47;
  conscious determination in, 47;
  ganglia of, 47.

STRONGALOGNATHUS, degeneration caused by the habit of slave-making in,
  155, 156, 157.


T

TABANUS ATRATUS, balancers of, 33;
  loss of equilibrium in, 33;
  anatomy of balancers of, 34;
  auditory hairs of, 34.

TERMES, kinds of individuals in a colony of, 161;
  number of eggs laid by queen of, 162;
  size of gravid queen, 162;
  New Mexican, 163;
  soldiers and workers of, 163;
  instincts and reasoning powers of, 164.

TERRIER, love of music in, 113;
  musical discrimination in, 113;
  abstract ideation in, 216.

TINCTUMUTATION, definition of, 182;
  location of color-changing sense centre in, 183.

TOAD, memory in the, 87;
  a performing, 87;
  parental affection in the Surinam, 140.

TRITICUM REPENS, sick dogs medicate themselves with, 220.

TURKEY, memory of individuals in the, 76;
  recognition of property rights by the, 221.


V

VANESSA, tinctumutation in the larva of, 192.

VIPER, death-feigning in the, 207.

VOLITION, definition of conscious, 39;
  physiological aspect of, 40.


W

WASP, memory in the, 62;
  author's experiments in testing memory in the, 63, 69;
  memory of kindred in the, 65, 69;
  memory of locality and of events in the, 85;
  knowledge derived from a single experience by a, 85;
  length of life in the mud-dauber, 138;
  evidence of reason in the mud-dauber, 149, 150;
  psychic actualities of easy acquirement in the ant, the bee, and
    the, 151;
  faculty of computing in the mason, 169;
  author's experiments in testing the computing faculty in the, 170;
  method of preparing food for the male and female grubs used by the
    mason, 170.

WATER-LOUSE, sense of direction in the, 194.

WREN, distress and grief evinced by, 93;
  recognition of individuals by, 93;
  gratitude shown by, 94.

       *       *       *       *       *



ECONOMICS.

BY
EDWARD THOMAS DEVINE, Ph.D.,

_General Secretary of The Charity Organization Society of the City of
New York; Sometime Fellow in the University of Pennsylvania; and Staff
Lecturer of the American Society for the Extension of University Teaching._

               *       *       *

16mo. Cloth. $1.00.

               *       *       *

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A HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY

WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO
THE FORMATION AND DEVELOPMENT OF
ITS PROBLEMS AND CONCEPTIONS.

By DR. W. WINDELBAND,
_Professor of Philosophy in the University of Strassburg._

Authorized Translation by JAMES H. TUFTS, Ph.D.,
_Associate Professor of Philosophy in the University of Chicago._

8vo. Cloth. $4.00, net.

               *       *       *

"The work commends itself to every student of philosophy."--_Boston
Transcript._

"As a book of reference it will not supersede Ueberweg's History, but it
is more readable and gives a much better view of the connection of
philosophic thought from age to age and of the logical relation of the
various schools and thinkers to each other. There is no other work
available in English which presents these aspects of a subject so well,
and both English and American students who do not read German will thank
Professor Tufts for giving them the book in their own language."--_Critic._

"No preceding history so fully occupies its field and answers its
purpose. It should have a place in the library of every student of
Philosophy."--_Chicago Tribune._

"We believe that this is as nearly perfect a book in the form of a
history of philosophy as has ever been produced."--_Boston Herald._

               *       *       *

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.





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