festly to improve the life of the nation. If it fails, I confess I see nothing between revolution on the one hand and oligarchy on the other. For we are moving on present lines to oligarchy. As Aristotle says in the Politics, the test of an oligarchy is that its rule is vested in wealthy citizens, though inferior in numbers. This is our condition even to-day, it will be still more so to-morrow. At present the temper of the country is averse to dealing with the problem presented by this oligarchic power. It may possibly continue so, since, as I have said, the feeling of the country is not democratic. But if the present temper should not prove permanent, the means here suggested might well be adopted for ridding the country of an irritating power which few intelligent Conservatives can wholly approve, since it is a challenge to revolt, while yet preserving to the country an institution really liked by most Englishmen, and by none more than by those persons who, as John Stuart Mill put it, are Radicals because they are not lords.

I cannot end without suggesting that, before the Liberal party takes upon itself to deal with the House of Lords, it should attempt to put straight the House of Commons. The most superficial person can see that Parliamentary government is not gaining in the world. Alike in Europe and the United States the representative person, whether called Emperor, President, or Chancellor, is more and more accepted as the exponent of national purposes, and not the representative assembly. Indeed, were it not for the House of Commons, one might be tempted to say that there was no future for the representative assembly. But the House of Commons, to say the least, is not gaining ground. Were its roots not very deep in the nation's past, one could hardly look forward to its future with any sense of its permanent power or influence. Thoughtful men, seeing this fact of Parliamentary decadence, hesitate to entrust supreme and undivided power in the hands of such a body as the House of Commons. Therefore, if that House is to magnify its position, if it is to justify itself in the eyes of the nation, if it is to decline to admit the hitherto recognised claims of the House of Lords, it must begin to put its own house in order, and prepare itself to be what its demands imply-a fit supervisor of the administration. Not idle debates, not aimless rhetoric, not quibbling and petty platitudes, but bold and watchful vigilance, devotion to principle, control over finance, control over departments, great aims carried out by worthy means-these are methods which the country will demand from the House of Commons if that body is to be the guiding force of the State, as is presumably intended by those in the Liberal party who desire to raise the question of the House of Lords.

WILLIAM CLARKE.

SOME PRAIRIE CHUMS OF MINE.

IT

T has long been a puzzle to me, why no one has yet formally set forth the advantages of the Darwinian theory as a basis for sympathy with and affection for the so-called lower animals. Blood is proverbially thicker than water, and no better guarantee of friendship and mutual assistance could possibly be had than the recognition of Mowgli's jungle-cry, "We be of one blood, you and I," as no mere figure of speech, but a literal statement of fact.

The elder orthodox view based our obligation toward them simply on the ground of creation by the same Great Power, who in His wisdom had made them lower than us and dependent upon our bounty. This, however, is rather a remote connection, and a trifle mechanical, such as might exist between two bolts of fabric from the same loom. And it leaves conspicuously outside the pale of our sympathy the wolf, the hawk, and the mosquito, no one of whom-except at times. the last is in any way dependent upon our bounty, or even "useful." But now that we can regard them as bone of our bone and flesh of our flesh, what a sympathy and admiration we can feel for "Brer Wolf," far more than for that pulpy, thick-witted, orthodox ideal, the lamb. He lives by his teeth, it is true, and is hard on his enemies at times-like the rest of us-but he is good to his wife and children, loyal to his pack, and will fight to the death for his friends.

This point of view enables us to respect another animal, to applaud his daring and success, even when he is doing his best to prey upon us or our property. And if we will take the trouble to approach our animal cousins from this point of view, to get on calling terms with them, for one foeman worthy of our steel we shall discover twenty trusty allies with whom we may live on terms of cordial friendship and mutual helpfulness.

Animals are not half such bitter and mortal enemies one of another as we usually suppose, and there are few who would gain more than they could lose by the extermination of any other given species. Nor is man their worst enemy-though his civilisation may sometimes be-any more than he is his own, as the mendacious old proverb would have us believe. The more widely and closely one associates with animals, the fewer he finds that are repulsive and unattractive, and the fewer he would care to see exterminated.

Ninety per cent. of animals-including man-are good fellows.

It was my good fortune to be born into a family of animal-lovers. My father and his brothers, in their boyhood, had gathered in waif of feather after waif of fur, until a menagerie was accumulated, which was the delight of every urchin in the sleepy little Yorkshire town. Such tastes naturally led them to the colonies: Africa, New Zealand, the Americas opened and swallowed them up; and when our turn of the Wander Fever came, the chief charm of the adventure for the younger generation lay in the prospect of exchanging our family of rabbits, guinea-pigs, pet lambs, and pigeons for "real wild animals."

No sooner were we settled in the broad valley of the Father of Waters, who is best known by his Indian name Mississippi, than we began our mustering. Our first venture was in the direction of squirrels, and we soon had a fine assortment on hand, grey squirrels, fox-squirrels, flying-squirrels, ground-squirrels, and chipmunks. The ground-squirrels, known in the vernacular as "grinnies," we captured by the ruthlessly simple method of carrying water in a bucket from the creek and pouring it down their round little "waterproof " holes, until the burrow was full to the mouth, and its occupant came up, dripping and choking, literally "drowned out."

The

This amusement would, I think, have been discouraged by our more civilised elders, had it not been that "grinny" is a sad rogue among the crops; not that his "sma' request" would have been noticed in harvest-time, but that he insisted on taking it in seed-time. Indian corn is not sown, but carefully planted in rows, and the settlers allege that grinny and his larger relative gopher (pouched rat) will burrow straight down the whole length of a row in the loose soil, taking every grain. Not even soaking the grain in kerosene would discourage him, so that almost every county offers a reward for his little striped scalp, and many a day did we boys labour with a hoe and a bag of seed-corn slung round our waists, filling up the gaps in the rows made by his ravages. They were not satisfactory pets, as they could gnaw out of anything short of a tin deed-box, and were also shy and bad tempered; which, considering the method of their capture, was perhaps not unnatural.

The beauties of the family were the flying squirrels-little balls of soft, velvety, grey fur, with the great gentle black eyes of most

night feeders, and tiny delicate paws. Unfortunately, our enjoyment of them pretty nearly ended here. Not knowing that they were night animals by habit, we tried to make friends with them in the daylight, and our well-meant attentions were sharply repulsed, as our fingers and thumbs bore eloquent testimony for days. At best extremely shy and timid, even in the dark, to be waked out of their beautysleep in the glare of day, to play with clumsy-pawed hulks of giants was more than their little nerves could stand, and they did precisely what we all do when The Terror comes upon us-bit at everything they could reach.

According

Another misunderstanding had sadder consequences. to our Noachian standards of classification they were squirrels, and squirrels in all those compendia of misinformation yclept "Natural History for the Young" were unanimously declared to live upon nuts and grains. Accordingly they were supplied with a liberal diet of such dainties, together with bread, milk, and fruit, in blissful ignorance of the fact they were mainly insect-eaters. They drank the milk eagerly, though we could not tempt them them to touch any of the other things, and for a few days did very well on this and a nibble or two at the bread. Wearying, however, of this harmless but uninteresting diet, they held a council of war. Next morning, instead of five squirrels in the cage, only four were to be found. Search was made for a hole in the floor or walls, but none was to be found, and it was soon concluded that the missing one had managed to squeeze himself through between the bars, as the little fellows are extraordinarily supple, and when their wings are spread look no thicker than a fiveinch flounder. For two days the four were in excellent spirits; then they began to mope again—and lo! next morning there were only three. But the spirits of the three were hilarious. This excited suspicion, and a search was made. Under the bedding in one corner of the cage was found the gory head of one squirrel, and in the sleeping-box the partially devoured body of another. The murder was out. The poor little rascals had got so desperate on an exclusive milk diet --and any one who has been put on one will appreciate their feelingsthat, like shipwrecked sailors, they decided that it was expedient for one man to die for the people. It is not likely that they held any council of war on the matter-only men are cold-blooded enough to do that; it probably began in a quarrel, which the first sight of blood turned into a massacre. That ended the taming experiments on this branch of the squirrel family: the survivors were promptly set at liberty, and, though we caught many others afterwards, when cutting up hollow logs for firewood in the winter-time, we never attempted to keep them captive.

The statements of the average book of natural history as to the food range of squirrels are much in need of modification. Although

the bulk of their diet is nuts, acorns, and grains, yet they are by no means the blameless vegetarians they are usually stated to be. In fact, these merry little chatterers have their failings-are quite human, indeed. They are as fond of eggs as a darkey is of chickens, and even do not object to them after they are hatched, if the parent bird is at a safe distance. I have seen a red squirrel beaten within an inch of his life by a righteously indignant pair of our large American robins, who had caught him stealing their eggs, and when an individual is indiscreet enough to attempt the nests of larger birds, such as jays or crows, his life often pays the penalty. A pair of magpies have been seen to work together very cleverly in punishing such a pirate. His chief means of escaping their attack is by dodging round to the opposite side of the tree-trunk, a manoeuvre with which all squirrelhunters are most familiar. After the birds had missed one or two united swoops, they withdrew and took brief counsel. Then they separated, one remaining poised where he was, and the other sweeping round to the opposite side of the tree and again attacking bunny fiercely and with much noise. This he dodged as before, with a chuckle at his own agility and the easiness of the trick, which was just what the other bird was expecting, and swoop she came like a feathered thunderbolt on his unsuspecting head, knocking him from his perch to the ground, and half stunning him.

After this had been repeated three or four times and the squirrel, who never seemed to understand why the trick wouldn't work, was half dead, the well-meaning human observer interfered, thinking bunny had been punished enough. He ought to have looked to see whether it was eggs or young birds before disturbing the judicial proceedings of nature. However, the culprit was probably cured of egg-sucking -for several weeks.

Indeed, I grieve to say that the saucy little red squirrel, or chickaree (much the same animal as our European squirrel, minus the tufted ears), in spite of his engaging appearance and merry scoldings with tail waving over his head, is about as near an approach to that rara avis among animals, "a thoroughly bad lot," as any one I know. Under his air of infantile innocence and bonhomie he is treacherous, thievish, and cowardly. The birds all loathe him, for he sucks their eggs, kills their nestlings, and, when he finds neither, tears the nest to pieces out of "pure cussedness," besides taking possession of the larger ones for his own quarters whenever he dares. His larger brother-squirrels hate him cordially, for he lies awake at night devising elaborate burglaries upon their stores of nuts, harries their nests in their absence, and is even said to kill their young ones if he can catch them unguarded. Old hunters have assured me that he has a most unchristian habit, and a singularly senseless one for an animal, of sneaking up behind the big fox or grey or black squirrels, four or