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