DO BEASTS HAVE IMMORTAL SOULS?
NOTHING is plainer than that animals do have memory. Every-day observation of the conduct of horses, dogs, cats, hens, etc., confirms this fact beyond a reasonable doubt. As illustrating this point, read the following interesting anecdotes:— “Any one who is accustomed to the ways of insects can tell by the manner in which a wasp leaves the nest whether it is an old or a young one. An old wasp crawls to the entrance of the nest, and at once darts off without any ceremony. A young one, however, when going out on its first expedition, acts in a very different manner. When it has emerged from the entrance, it turns round and examines the spot; it then takes to wing, but flies backward and forward in front of the nest, and always looking toward it as if taking notes of the bearings, and gradually increasing its distance, until it is out of sight. “Here, then, is a distinct exercise of memory as well as of reason, the creature impressing on its mind the appearance of the objects near its nest, and acting on the result of those impressions. Human beings act in just the same way when traversing for the first time a locality through which they will have to return. And yet, as I have already stated, the wasp has no true brains. “The late Mr. Stone remarked that he had seen bees act in a similar manner when their hive has been moved to a spot at any distance from that which it formerly occupied.” “Here is a good example of memory in the case of a domesticated bird:— “Our noble yellow-crested cockatoo was the especial pet of the eldest daughter of the house. The young lady married an officer, and was absent from the old house for nearly three years. Her anticipated advent on a visit to her father was of course talked about, and we may imagine the cockatoo pricked up her ears at the sound of her name. The moment the carriage stopped at the door, she flew down from her perch, and, before mamma or sister could greet her arrival, was outside the front door with, ‘Kiss me, my dear; kiss me, Sa; kiss me, Sa.’” “A gentleman who has kindly taken a great interest in the object of this work furnishes the following account:— “‘When I was a boy, my father bought from a neighboring farmer a gray Galloway pony, that was very vicious to all with whom he came in contact except myself. The way in which I acquired so much power over him was by feeding him with bread, and showing him other acts of kindness. “‘Some years afterward I left home, and when I returned to my father’s house, I found that “Donald” had been sold, and that all trace of him had been lost for about seventeen years. At that period, being resident in a village in a neighboring county, I saw an old white horse in a cart, and, thinking that it might be the same animal, I went up to him in the same way as I used to do in boyhood, and said “Donald.” He immediately turned his head to me, laid it on my shoulder, pawed the ground, rubbed his nose upon my arm, and showed the greatest possible affection. “‘The driver of the cart came out of a shop, and warned me to keep away from the horse, as he would bite me. I moved up the street, when Donald became restive, wrenched the reins out of the lad’s hands, followed me along the street, and it was not until I entered a house that, after much difficulty, he was induced to move away.’ “This is a really wonderful act of memory on the part of the horse, and not at all a bad one on the part of the man; and the incident affords a direct proof that memory is a common possession of man and beast. That the man should recognize the animal which he loved in his boyhood was a tolerably fair exercise of memory; but that the horse should recognize the man is even more astonishing. From boyhood to manhood, the lapse of seventeen years makes such changes in personal appearance that, as a rule, the man of thirty can scarcely be recognized even by those who knew him well as a boy of thirteen. Nor can the voice give any help in recognition, for the deep tones of the manly voice are as unlike the shrill sounds of a boy’s treble pipe as is the bearded face of the man to the smooth cheek of the boy. “Dress also makes a great difference in the appearance of a human being; and when we consider that the dress of a man is quite unlike that of a boy, we must appreciate the strength of memory which enables the horse to recognize his friend in spite of so many alterations.” That animals are possessed of feelings of generosity cannot be reasonably denied. Notice the following cases:— “‘A cat in a Swiss cottage had taken poison, and came, in a pitiful state of pain, to seek its mistress’ help. The fever and heat were so great that it dipped its own paws into a pan of water—an almost unheard-of proceeding in a water-hating cat. She wrapped it in wet linen, fed it with gruel, nursed it, and doctored it all the day and night after. It revived, and could not find ways enough to show its gratitude. One evening she had gone up-stairs to bed, when a mew at the window roused her. She got up and opened it, and found the cat, which had climbed a pear tree nailed against the house, with a mouse in its mouth; this it laid as an offering at its mistress’ feet, and went away. “‘For about a year it continued to bring these tributes to her. Even when it had kittens, they were not allowed to touch this reserved share; and if they attempted to eat it, the mother gave them a little tap—“That is not for thee.” After awhile, however, the mistress accepted the gift, thanked the giver with a pleased look, and restored the mouse, when the cat permitted her children to take the prey, which had served its purpose in her eyes. “‘Here was a refined feeling of gratitude, remembered for months afterward, quite disinterested, and placed above the natural instincts (always strong in a cat) toward her own offspring.” “The following anecdote was told to me by Mr. Swecker, the well-known artist. A friend of his had a couple of tame sea-gulls which ranged the garden freely, one wing of each being clipped, to prevent them from flying away. He had also a fine young cat, which struck up an oddly assorted friendship with the gulls. After a while, she evidently compassionated their crippled condition, and thought that it prevented them from hunting. So she set to work at hunting for them, and was in the habit of bringing them little birds and mice, which they ate with the solemn satisfaction of a gull at meals.” “The manager of a mill in Fifeshire was very much disliked by the watch-dog, probably because he had acted harshly to the animal. One very dark night he strayed from the path and fell over the dog. Perceiving the mistake which he had made, and that he could not recover himself, he gave himself up as lost, the dog being a very powerful one. The animal, however, was magnanimous enough to spare a helpless enemy, and to lay aside old grievances. Instead of seizing the prostrate man by the throat, the dog only licked his face and indicated his sympathy. Ever afterward, the man and the dog were great friends.”