8 4
Française,’ acknowledges that he was wrong in supposing this
when he wrote his earlier ‘Treatise on Wolf-hunting.’ The older
books knew better. The male wolf is by no means destitute of
paternal love. The famous sportsman, Colonel Thornton, in the
amusing account of his tour in France at the beginning of this
century, is very explicit on this subject, borrowing, no doubt, from
an older French authority. The male wolf, he says, if his mate
happens to die, ‘feeds the young cubs, defends them against every
enemy, and when they have acquired a little strength, he conducts
them into large cornfields and other situations not far from the
forest or thickets. He there places them in security while he
prowls in quest of food. He carries to them all he can catch,
such as sheep or other animals : but he first devours them himself,
and on his return to his cubs he disgorges the half-digested food,
which is swallowed by the cubs.’ M. de Canteleu confirmed this
ancient observation by repeated experiments, separating the she-
wolf from her cubs, leaving them alone with their father, ‘and to
my great astonishment,’ he says, ‘he fed them to perfection, dis
gorging the food for them as the mother does.’”—(.Blackwood's
Edinburgh Magazine, vol. cliii., ftp. 263-4.)
Innumerable illustrations might be given as to the
co-operation between the members of the same species
when associated in flocks or herds, and of the immense
value of that co-operation to the individuals. Mr. Francis
Galton says :—
“ It is essential to the safety of oxen living in a country infested by
large carnivora that they should keep closely together in herds.
. . . Cattle have to take care of themselves against the wild
beasts, and they would be infallibly destroyed by them if they had
not safeguards of their own, which are not easily to be appreciated, at
first sight, at their full value. We shall understand them better
by considering the precise nature of the danger that an ox runs when
he is alone. It is not simply that he is too defenceless, but that he is
easily surprised. A crouching lion fears cattle who turn boldly upon
him, and he does so with reason. The horns of an ox or antelope are
calculated to make an ugly wound in the paw or chest of a springing
beast, w'hen he receives its thrust in the same way that an over eager
pugilist meets his adversary’s ‘ counter ’ hit. . . . Cattle are
obliged in their ordinary course of life to spend a considerable
part of the day with their heads buried in the grass, where they
can neither see nor smell what is about them. A still larger part
of their time must be spent in placid rumination, during which they
cannot possibly be on the alert. But a herd of such animals, when