ASS AND ZEBRA.

It is strange that one of the most sagacious of animals should have supplied us with a by-word for "a fool." Coleridge was conscious of this when, in writing his address to a young ass's foal,[239] he exclaimed—

"I hail thee, brother, spite of the fool's scorn."

How well has he expressed his love for "the languid patience" of its face.

In warmer climes the ass attains a size and condition not seen here, though when cared for in this rougher climate, the donkey assumes somewhat of the size and elegance he has in the East. But who can bear his voice? Surely Coleridge was very fanciful when, in any condition of asshood, he could write—

"Yea, and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant, harsh bray of joy would be, Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast."

The wild ass, as it roams over the plains of Asia, or is seen in the Zoological gardens along with the gracefully-shaped and prettily-striped zebra, must be admired by every one.

Collins and the Old Donkey of Odell, Cowper's Messenger at Olney.

In July 1823, William Collins, R.A., visited Turvey, in Bedfordshire. His son remarks—"Besides the attractions presented to the pencil by the natural beauties of this neighbourhood, its vicinity to Olney, the favourite residence of the poet Cowper, gave it, to all lovers of poetry, a local and peculiar charm. Conspicuous among its inhabitants at the time when my father visited it was 'old Odell,' frequently mentioned by Cowper as the favourite messenger who carried his letters and parcels. The extreme picturesqueness and genuine rustic dignity of the old man's appearance made him an admirable subject for pictorial study. Portraits of him, in water-colours and oils, were accordingly made by my father, who introduced him into three of his pictures. The donkey on which he had for years ridden to and fro with letters, was as carefully depicted by the painter as his rider. On visiting 'old Odell' a year or two afterwards, Mr Collins observed a strange-looking object hanging against his kitchen wall, and inquired what it was. 'Oh, sir,' replied the old man, sorrowfully, 'that is the skin of my poor donkey. He died of old age, and I did not like to part with him altogether, so I had his skin dried, and hung up there.' Tears came into his eyes as he spoke of the old companion of all his village pilgrimages. The incident might have formed a continuation of Sterne's exquisite episode in the 'Sentimental Journey.'"[240]

In his picture of "The Cherry-Seller," painted for Mr Higgins of Turvey House, old Odell and his donkey are chief figures.

Gainsborough kept an Ass.

The Rev. William Gilpin, in his "Forest Scenery," refers to the picturesque beauty of the ass in a landscape Berghem often introduced it; "and a late excellent landscape-painter (Mr Gainsborough), I have heard, generally kept this animal by him, that he might have it always at hand to introduce in various attitudes into his pictures. I have heard also that a plaster cast of an ass, modelled by him, is sold in the shops in London."[241]

Irishman on the Ramsgate Donkeys.

In former times, when excise officers were not so sharp, there was a good deal of smuggling carried on at Ramsgate. Sir Thomas Dick Lauder[242] tells an anecdote of an Irishman there, who being asked to name the hardest wrought creature in existence, replied, "Och! a Ramsgate donkey, to be sure; for, faith, afthur carrying angels all day, be the powers he is forced to carry speerits all night."

Ass's Foal.

Douglas Jerrold and a company of literary friends were out in the country. In the course of their walk they stopped to notice the gambols of an ass's foal. A very sentimental poet present vowed that he should like to send the little thing as a present to his mother. "Do," replied Jerrold, "and tie a piece of paper round its neck, bearing this motto, 'When this you see, remember me.'"[243]

Ass.

A judge, joking a young barrister, said—"If you and I were turned into a horse and an ass, which would you prefer to be?"—"The ass, to be sure," replied the barrister. "I've heard of an ass being made a judge, but a horse never."[244]

Ammonianus, the grammarian, had an ass which, as it is said, when he attended the lectures upon poetry, often neglected his food when laid before him, though at the same time he was hungry, so much was the ass taken with the love of poetry.[245]

Warren Hastings and the Refractory Donkey.

The fondness of the first Governor-General of India for horse exercise, and indeed for the horse itself, was quite oriental, as his biographer relates.[246] He was a fine rider, and piqued himself on his abilities in this way.

"Nothing pleased him," continues Mr Gleig, "more than to undertake some animal which nobody else could control, and to reduce it, as he invariably did, to a state of perfect docility. The following anecdote, which I have from my friend Mr Impey, himself an actor in the little drama, may suffice to show the extent to which this passion was carried. It happened once upon a time, when Mr Impey was, with some other boys, on a visit at Daylesford, that Mr Hastings, returning from a ride, saw his young friends striving in vain to manage an ass which they had found grazing in the paddock, and which one after another they chose to mount. The ass, it appears, had no objection to receive the candidates for equestrian renown successively on his back, but budge a foot he would not; and there being neither saddle nor bridle, wherewith to restrain his natural movements, he never failed, so soon as a difference of opinion arose, to get the better of his rider. Each in his turn, the boys were repeatedly thrown, till at last Mr Hastings, who watched the proceedings with great interest, approached.

"Why, boys," said he, "how is it that none of you can ride?"

"Not ride!" cried the little aspirants; "we could ride well enough, if we had a saddle and a bridle; but he's such an obstinate brute, that we don't think even you, sir, could sit him bare-backed."

"Let's try," exclaimed the Governor-General.

Whereupon he dismounted, and gave his horse to one of the children to hold, and mounted the donkey. The beast began to kick up his heels, and lower his head as heretofore; but this time the trick would not answer. The Governor-General sat firm, and finally prevailed, whether by fair means or foul, I am not instructed, in getting the quadruped to move wheresoever he chose. He himself laughed heartily as he resigned the conquered thistle-eater to his first friends; and the story when told, as told it was, with consummate humour, at the dinner-table, afforded great amusement to a large circle of guests.

Northcote, the Royal Academician, an Angel at an Ass.

Fuseli, the artist, was a most outspoken man. His biographer[247] says that he never concealed his sentiments with regard to men, even to their faces.

"Every one knows," writes Mr Knowles, "who is acquainted with art, the powers which Northcote displays when he paints animals of the brute creation. When his picture of 'Balaam and the Ass' was exhibited at the Macklin Gallery, Northcote asked Fuseli's opinion of its merits, who instantly said, 'My friend, you are an angel at an ass, but an ass at an angel.'"

Sydney Smith's accomplished Donkey, with Francis Jeffrey on his Back.

Lady Holland[248] gives the following picture of her father's pet donkey:—

"Amongst our rural delights at Heslington was the possession of a young donkey which had been given up to our tender mercies from the time of its birth, and in whose education we employed a large portion of our spare time; and a most accomplished donkey it became under our tuition. It would walk up-stairs, pick pockets, follow us in our walks like a huge Newfoundland dog, and at the most distant sight of us in the field, with ears down and tail erect, it set off in full bray to meet us. These demonstrations on Bitty's part were met with not less affection on ours, and Bitty was almost considered a member of the family.

"One day, when my elder brother and myself were training our beloved Bitty with a pocket-handkerchief for a bridle, and his head crowned with flowers, to run round our garden, who should arrive in the midst of our sport but Mr Jeffrey. Finding my father out, he, with his usual kindness towards young people, immediately joined in our sport, and to our infinite delight, mounted our donkey. He was proceeding in triumph, amidst our shouts of laughter, when my father and mother, in company, I believe, with Mr Horner and Mr Murray, returned from their walk, and beheld this scene from the garden-door. Though years and years have passed away since, I still remember the joy-inspiring laughter that burst from my father at this unexpected sight, as, advancing towards his old friend, with a face beaming with delight, and with extended hands, he broke forth in the following impromptu:

'Witty as Horatius Flaccus, As great a Jacobin as Gracchus; Short, though not as fat as Bacchus, Riding on a little jackass.'

"These lines were afterwards repeated by some one to Mr —— at Holland House, just before he was introduced for the first time to Mr Jeffrey, and they caught his fancy to such a degree that he could not get them out of his head, but kept repeating them in a low voice all the time Mr Jeffrey was conversing with him.

"I must end Bitty's history, as he has been introduced, by saying that he followed us to Foston; and after serving us faithfully for thirteen years, on our leaving Yorkshire, was permitted by our kind friend, Lord Carlisle, to spend the rest of his days in idleness and plenty, in his beautiful park, with an unbounded command of thistles."

Sydney Smith on the Sagacity of the Ass; a Lady scarcely so wise as one.

The Rev. Sydney Smith[249] writes to Colonel Fox in October 1836:—

"My Dear Charles,—If you have ever paid any attention to the habits of animals, you will know that donkeys are remarkably cunning in opening gates. The way to stop them is to have two latches instead of one. A human being has two hands, and lifts up both latches at once; a donkey has only one nose, and latch a drops, as he quits it to lift up latch b. Bobus and I had the grand luck to see little Aunty engaged intensely with this problem. She was taking a walk, and was arrested by a gate with this formidable difficulty: the donkeys were looking on to await the issue. Aunty lifted up the first latch with the most perfect success, but found herself opposed by a second; flushed with victory, she quitted the first latch, and rushed at the second; her success was equal, till in the meantime the first dropped. She tried this two or three times, and, to her utter astonishment, with the same results; the donkeys brayed, and Aunty was walking away in great dejection, till Bobus and I recalled her with loud laughter, showed her that she had two hands, and roused her to vindicate her superiority over the donkeys. I mention this to you to request that you will make no allusion to this animal, as she is remarkably touchy on this subject, and also that you will not mention it to Lady Mary!"

Lady Holland relates a practical joke of her father's, which the witty canon carried out at his rectory of Combe Florey. "Opposite was a beautiful bank, with a hanging wood of fine old beech and oak, on the summit of which presented themselves, to our astonished eyes, two donkeys with deers' antlers fastened on their heads, which ever and anon they shook, much wondering at their horned honours; whilst the attendant donkey boy, in Sunday garb, stood grinning and blushing at their side. 'There, Lady ——! you said the only thing this place wanted to make it perfect was deer; what do you say now? I have, you see, ordered my game gamekeeper to drive my deer into the most picturesque point of view. Excuse their long ears, a little peculiarity belonging to parsonic deer. Their voices, too, are singular; but we do our best for you, and you are too true a friend of the Church to mention our defects.' All this, of course, amidst shouts of laughter, whilst his own merry laugh might be heard above us all, ringing through the valley, and making the very echoes laugh in chorus."

Asses' Duty Free!

During the debate on Sir Robert Peel's tariff, the admission of asses' duty free caused much merriment. Lord T., who had just read "Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation," remarked that the House had, he supposed, passed the donkey clause out of respect to its ancestors.—"It is a wise measure," said a popular novelist, "especially as it affects the importation of food; for, should a scarcity come, we should otherwise have to fall back on the food of our forefathers."—"And, pray, what is that?" asked an archæologist.—"Thistles," replied Lord T.[250]

Thackeray and the Egyptian Donkey.

When the English author landed at Alexandria, there were many scenes and sounds to dispel all romantic notions; among these "a yelling chorus of donkey boys shrieking, 'Ride, sir!—donkey, sir!—I say, sir!' in excellent English. The placid sphinxes, brooding o'er the Nile, disappeared with that wild shriek of the donkey boys. You might be as well impressed with Wapping as with your first step on Egyptian soil.

"The riding of a donkey is, after all, not a dignified occupation. A man resists the offer first, somehow as an indignity. How is that poor little, red-saddled, long-eared creature to carry you? Is there to be one for you and another for your legs? Natives and Europeans, of all sizes, passed by, it is true, mounted upon the same contrivance. I waited until I got into a very private spot, where nobody could see me, and then ascended—why not say descended at once?—on the poor little animal. Instead of being crushed at once, as perhaps the writer expected, it darted forward, quite briskly and cheerfully, at six or seven miles an hour; requiring no spur or admonitive to haste, except the shrieking of the little Egyptian gamin, who ran along by asinus's side."[251]

Best to let Mules have their own Way.

Dr John Moore, in crossing the Alps, found they had nothing but the sagacity of their mules to trust to. "For my own part," he says, "I was very soon convinced that it was much safer on all dubious occasions to depend on theirs than on my own. For as often as I was presented with a choice of difficulties, and the mule and I were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate than he, I insisted on his taking my track, I never failed to repent it, and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had begun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first.

"It is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making their way down such dangerous rocks. They sometimes put their heads over the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious circumspection every possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on that which, upon the whole, is the best. Having observed this in several instances, I laid the bridle on the neck of my mule, and allowed him to take his own way, without presuming to control him in the smallest degree. This is doubtless the best method, and what I recommend to all my friends in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions."[252]

Zebra.—"Un âne rayée."

a frenchman's "double-entendre."

When, in 1805, Patrick Lattin, an officer of the Irish Brigade, was residing in Paris, a M. de Montmorency, whose Christian name was Anne, made his appearance, announcing that he was enabled to return to France, in consequence of the First Consul having scratched his name on the list of émigrés. "A present donc," observed Lattin, "mon cher Anne, tu es un Zèbre—un âne rayée."[253]