CHAPTER X.

"LIVE LIONS," PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE.

"Wee have also parkes and enclosures for all sorts of beasts and birds which wee vse, not only for view or rarenesse, but likewise for dissections; that thereby wee may take light what may bee wrought upon the body of man."

THE good time coming foreshadowed by Lord Bacon in that remarkable fragment the "New Atlantis" is gradually drawing nigh. Our various scientific and philosophical societies give us an almost exact realization of the ideal "Soloman's House," with its different means and appliances for ascertaining the "causes and secret motions of things, and the enlarging of the bounds of Humane Empire, to the effecting of all things possible;" while the united gatherings of their members at the meetings of the British Association, correspond precisely with those "circuits or visits of diuerse Principall Citties of the Kingdome" when new inventions and discoveries were made public. In respect to actual achievements we have of course still to discover the "Water of Paradise," "souereigne for health and prolongation o. life;" and with all our skill in horticulture we still fall short of making "diuerse plants rise by mixtures of earthes without seeds," and of making one "tree or plant turne into another." But with the exception of conceits like these, which the progress of knowledge has exploded, we have already in a thousand ways far outstripped the boldest imaginings of the great philosopher.

In respect to the study of Natural History the "preparations and instruments of Soloman's House are pretty much the same as we have ourselves. The "particular pooles, where wee make trialls upon fishes," are fairly represented, no doubt, by the Aquarium, with a little advantage perhaps on our side. And so with respect to "parkes and enclosures for all sorts of beasts and birds," excepting that in this case the end we propose stops short of the lofty purpose suggested by Lord Bacon, and relates mainly

218

DEATH OF A FAVOURITE.

to the gratification of curiosity and the enlargement of our knowledge of the animal creation. It so happens, however, that although none of the animals exhibited in our Zoological Gardens are obtained with a special view to "dissection," there are very few of them, after all, that escape the knife at last. No sooner do they cease to be of service for “view,” than there are a dozen or more Fellows and Professors eager to have a hand in them, and sometimes the disclosures which are thus made are not a little curious. For example, there was Tom, the favourite Seal in the Regent's Park Gardens: nobody could conjecture at first what it was that had shortened his days, and deprived the Gardens of one of their greatest attractions. But when the poor fellow came to be dissected, it was found that the coats of his stomach were bristling with fish-hooks! The reader may be sure that not only Tom's successor in the Seal pond, but all the ichthyophagi of the establishment have benefited by the discovery, and that no fish are now served out which have not first been carefully freed from cold steel.

The Regent's Park Gardens have long been a favourite resort of ours, and there are few places where the student of Natural History can gratify himself with the sight of so many of the living curiosities of animal life. Holiday place as it is, therefore, we may well pay it a visit, and look for a while at some of its more curious and interesting occupants; not confining ourselves to those of the present time merely, but remembering our high distinction of "looking before and after," recalling for a time some of the "lions" of days gone by, and anticipating the probable "lions" of the future.

The Fish House, which contains more wonders than all the rest of the Gardens together, we may dismiss very summarily. Not a sentence need be spent on the Anemones, Serpulæ, Hermit Crabs, and their allies, though the cases containing them are at all times besieged by an eager crowd of visitors anxious to make acquaintance with these little dwellers in the deep.

In the fresh-water tanks no fish attracts more attention than that ruthless fellow the Pike, which rests so quietly that it looks like a painted fish in a painted Aquarium, although pining apparently for the still shady coverts in which it delights to nestle by the pool or riverside. Not that the fellow very readily succumbs to the effects of confinement; for one of them has lived

THE PHYSICIAN OF FISHES.

219

here in the Fish House for upwards of five years. The Jack are at all times a truculent race, and the specimens here in the tanks fully sustain the character-blear-eyed, and sinister-looking as any that ever seized thirsty calf by the nose, ravaged a fish-pond, or made off with an angler's tackle. Neither in spirit nor in appetite do they seem to be much affected by their captivity. It is necessary to cover the tank containing them with a net to keep them from jumping over the sides at night; and when feeding-time comes round, they are always ready, be the meal fish, or frogs, or birds, or, as is sometimes the case, a half-grown rat.

We have seen it stated somewhere that a young Pike here, in the Fish House, having been maltreated by an elder of its own species, was completely cured of its ailments by the attentions of a couple of Tench. There can be little doubt, however, that it was a made-up story. The Tench has long had the reputation of being "the physician of fishes," as good old Isaak Walton expresses it, especially of the Pike, although there is no evidence whatever to countenance the wide-spread belief in its healing virtues. Mr. Couch, who is a great authority on all matters ichthyological, is inclined to the opinion that it has originated from a passage in the "Chronicle" of Hollinshead, who, speaking of the Pike, says that, "when the fishmonger hath opened his side, and laid out his rivet unto the buier, for the better utterance of his ware, and cannot make him away at that present, he laieth the same againe into the proper place, and sowing up the wound, he restoreth him to the pond where Tenches are, who never cease to sucke and licke his greeved place, till they have restored him in healthe, and made him readie to come again to the stall when his turne shall come about." And so, argues Mr. Couch, this nibbling of the fat of a wound that would have healed as well without it, has in all probability given rise to an opinion which naturalists, content to copy from each other, have perpetuated to the present time.

Not long ago the Fish House just missed an addition to its live stock which would have proved a wonder of the first magnitude. It was a fine specimen, three feet long, of the famous Fishing Frog or Angler (Lophius piscatorius), which was captured near Weymouth, and at once sent off to the Gardens; but unfortunately the journey was too much for it, and it made its appearance in the Fish House, dead. But such a "lion,"

220

ANGLING EXTRAORDINARY.

even though a dead one, was not to be thought lightly of; and so long as the olfactory nerves of the visitors were able to endure it, the monster was made to display his strange proportions. The Angler well deserves the name of Wide Gab, by which it is known to the fishermen north of the Tweed, for surely never was another such a mouth seen either in bird or beast or fish. This remarkable fish has much the appearance of a huge Tadpole ; its head being of enormous size, measuring across the widest part more than the entire length of the animal, while its body tapers away to a tail of the most modest dimensions.

The most remarkable character of the creature, and the one which has suggested the name of "Angler," is the presence of two long, slender, and flexible appendages which spring from the top of the nose, and are dilated at the extremity into a glittering silvery expansion, that acts as the bait with which the monster attracts his unsuspecting prey. It goes to work in a very wary and sagacious fashion, crouching close to the ground, and then by the action of its pectoral fins stirring up the sand or mud. Hidden by the obscurity which it has produced, it elevates its fishing-rods, moves them in various directions, and twiddles about the shining baits at the extremity; the small fish in the neighbourhood, attracted by the moving objects, come close to examine or seize them, when the monster springs upwards with his cavernous mouth wide distended, and in a moment they are gone. There is no mistake about it, that if an ogre of this sort could be neatly caged in the Fish House, and induced to go through his performance in presence of the visitors, it would be the most successful "hit" the Zoological Society had ever made.

And yet not the most successful perhaps after all, for here is another, and withal a more practicable one. What would you say now to a Singing Fish? It is true we have lately had a "Talking Fish;" but that was a mere hoax, the so-called "fish" being a seal, and the "talking" a mere unintelligible and only occasional bark or grunt. What we propose is a real bonâ fide vocalist belonging to the finny tribes. It would take immensely. Singing Mice and Talking Canaries have had their day; but a Singing Fish!

Mr. Edward Newman has an interesting paper on the subject ofthese Musical fishes of the East in the "Zoologist" for last year;

MUSICAL FISHES.

221 and he brings together a variety of evidence in proof of the opinion that such piscine vocalists do really exist. Sir Emerson Tennant, Dr. Buist, and other persons who have actually heard the performance are brought forward as witnesses; and from the accounts they give it would appear that in all probability there are several species of fish that are gifted with these vocal powers. One of them is described as producing a sound like the gentle thrills of a musical chord, or the faint vibrations of a wineglass when its rim is rubbed with a wet finger, not one sustained note, but a multitude of tiny sounds, each clear and distinct in itself, the sweetest treble mingling with the lowest bass. Another is said to make long, distinct sounds like the protracted booming of a distant bell, the dying cadence of an Eolian harp, the note of a pitch-pipe or pitch-fork, or any long drawn-out musical note. A third species produces a loud, monotonous, singing sound, which rises and falls and sometimes dies away, or assumes a low, drumming character.

There is obviously no lack of variety in the vocal accomplishments of these oriental fish; and if the Zoological Society would only set to in earnest to procure a good chorus of them, it would not only put an end to the scepticism with which some old-fashioned people still persist in regarding the story, but afford to the world a new musical entertainment of a character that no one had ever dreamt of before.

On the banks of one of the ponds devoted to the Water-fowl we come across a fine specimen of that little aquatic beauty, the Mandarin Duck (Aix galericulata), which, decked out in his bridal attire, is sitting placidly amongst the grass while Mr. Wolf or one of his brother-artists takes his portrait. It is well worth taking, for this bird is the very prince of ducks, and is celebrated for the elegance and conspicuous beauty of its plumage. It is the male alone, however, which is thus adorned, and in this respect it affords a capital illustration of that almost universal law of nature, that when in the matter of adornment there is any difference at all between the sexes, the gaiety and show is all on the part of the males. In respect to the Mandarin Duck this difference is very obvious, for while the lady is plain and unadorned to a fault, the gentleman comes out in flaming colours, and is the observed of all observers. But let there be no mistake about it; this resplendent livery is put on after