HEREDITARY INSTINCT-SYMPATHY-FASCINATION,

WITH ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES.

IN prefixing the term Hereditary Instinct to this article, I entertain no intention of hurling defiance in the face of the critic; but as it appeared to me to indicate the impression of my own mind upon the subject which I propose to investigate and discuss, in the simplest and most intelligible manner, I adopted it accordingly. Those who peruse the sequel will be enabled to judge of the correctness of its application, and I am most willing to abide by their decision.

If we look at animated nature, we shall find, that a feeling or notion of danger is implanted throughout creation at that early period of existence, when such an impression could not have originated from sight or experience, but must have been sympathetically communicated from the female to the growing fœtus in the womb. Or why does the fawn testify alarm, and fly from the tiger, the first time it beholds him, if it were not for a consciousness of danger imparted by sympathetic precept, as no opportunity of ocular instruction could have occurred? If the young animal just mentioned come in contact with the elephant, the ox, and the buffalo, its terrors are not excited; it testifies no alarm; it feels confident that no danger is to be apprehended from them; yet this correct knowledge or feeling of safety must have been imparted in the same manner as the impression of terror at the presence of the tiger had been conveyed.

Timid creatures, such as those of the antelope and deer tribes, for instance, are dreadfully excited by the presence of feline animals, from which, if possible, they fly in the utmost terror; and a similar observation may be applied to the hare, the rabbit, and the rat, the first time they become aware of the presence or proximity of the weasel. As far as relates to the rat, indeed, it may be said to see its mortal enemy but once; it endeavours to retreat or fly; the weasel instantly commences the pursuit, and as it is able to follow the rat into its subterranean retreat, the destruction of the latter becomes inevitable. It is interesting to witness the struggle between these two diminutive quadrupeds. I have been several times presented with an opportunity for this purpose. Some years ago, when riding from Gracedieu Park to Loughborough (Leicestershire), and very near to the former place, I heard the screaming of a rat, and instantly directing my attention to the quarter whence the noise seemed to proceed, I observed a very large rat pursued by a small weasel, and in a few seconds the inner angle of a high wall stopped the progress of the rat: he was thus confined in a corner, and instantly faced about to receive the attack in front, setting up his back and screaming loudly all the time. The battle seemed to be fiercely contested; it was for life on one side, and a supper on the other (evening was fast approaching). To those unacquainted with the nature of the animals (the tenacious gripe and invincible courage of the one, and the compulsory defence of the other), the advantage would have appeared in favour of the rat for the first few

seconds of the struggle: but the cries of the latter became weaker, as his strength decreased, till, with a feeble and convulsive lament, he rolled on his side; when it became perceptible that his sanguinary antagonist held him firmly by the side of the neck, whence he continued to drain the blood of his victim. I waited (in company with my friend, Mr. Thos. Walker, of Stanford Hills, near Loughborough) for a short space, during which the weasel kept his hold of the rat's neck (evidently sucking his blood), when I alighted, and proceeding towards the spot, the weasel suffered my near approach before it reluctantly quitted its prey; it paused at the distance of some twenty yards, and turned as if to ascertain whether I carried away its slaughtered prize. On examining the rat, I found that the weasel had seized it by the side of the neck, one of the fangs or canine teeth of the latter having apparently perforated the jugular vein, from which no doubt the fierce and sanguinary little quadruped was drawing the blood when I compelled it to retire. The rat had received no other wound. The weasel had evidently fastened on the rat by the side of the neck the very moment that the contact was sufficiently close for that purpose, and firmly kept its hold in defiance of all the rat's efforts to disengage it. Whether the weasel had received any hurt, whether the rat, by his long, thin, curved teeth, had been able to inflict any wound upon its invincible assailant, I am not able to determine, but in its retreat no symptom of injury became manifest. I am of opinion, that the moment the weasel made good his hold, the rat

was rendered incapable of biting; and therefore, if he were not lucky enough to wound his enemy at the very onset, he was incapable of effecting it afterwards.

It would evidently appear, that as the rat receives the knowledge of its natural and unrelenting enemy by that wonderful communication which I have called hereditary instinct, the modus operandi of which may be much more forcibly conceived than any form of words could image to the mind, so the weasel is taught, by a precisely similar process, the method of securing its prey with the least danger to itself. Nature has showed her kindness by arming it in a peculiar manner for the purpose. Any person who will take the trouble to examine the formation of the head, the jaws, and the teeth, of one of these animals, will easily perceive how admirably calculated they are for strength of gripe and persevering adhesion. The weasel uniformly seizes its prey in the manner already described. I have seen several hares and rabbits which have been killed by weasels; a wound in the side of the neck has been the only perceptible injury which they have received.

Fourteen years ago, as I was proceeding from the village of Newsham (Yorkshire) up to the moors in its immediate vicinity, in company with Mr. Swaby of that place, we observed a well-grown leveret bounce into the lane in very great alarm; it paused, listened, moved towards us in an unusual manner, quitted the lane, and re-entered the fields. There was something in its movements and appearance calculated to excite attention. Had the leveret been pursued by a dog, its motions would

have been less capricious; it manifested that kind and degree of terror which left little doubt on my mind as to the cause from which it arose. It became evident after the lapse of a very short space. A weasel appeared upon its track: hot in the pursuit, it came boldly into the lane, flung for the scent like a hound, and entered the enclosure at the same place through which the leveret had made its way. Having witnessed something of the kind several times previously, I was prepared for the sequel. Instead of continuing its course, the illfated leveret had stopped at the distance perhaps of one hundred and fifty yards from the hedge; and, rendered helpless by terror, thus allowed its fierce pursuer to overtake and seize it. As the speed of the hare is so much superior to that of the weasel, had the leveret continued its progress, leisurely, as I may say, it would have left its enemy at an immeasurable distance; but, instead of adopting, or rather of pursuing, the only mode which could ensure its safety, it sits down, suffers the approach of its destroyer, and receives its death uttering the most plaintive cries!

The rat possesses the will and the resolution to get away from the weasel if possible; and when he cannot effect his purpose (and it rarely happens that he can accomplish it), he turns and offers resistance the hare, on the contrary, though perfectly capable, by her extraordinary speed, to distance the weasel, loses all confidence, and after a short run she is terror-stricken; her powers of exertion seem to become paralyzed; she sits down, and in horror submits to her fate.

There appears something strange in the conduct