Mr. Spectator at the Zoo
THE Spectator and the London Zoo, if we may apply the word to years not days, are twins. They were both born in 1828, the Zoo, whose birthday falls this week, on April 27th, being the elder by a few months only. They therefore started life with at least one interest in common ; and the Spectator was not slow to become aware of the existence of its twin.
A month after he was born, Mr. Spectator got news, probably through the Zoological Society,, of a Strange Siamese Lizard, " a disgusting reptile domesticated in Rangoon," of which he writes : " This lizard, like the ferret, never lets-go its hold without tearing out a piece of the flesh with its teeth. It utters a cry much resembling the cackling of a hen, followed by a clear sound of tuk-kee, which cry may be heard at the distance of a quarter of a mile." In November, the Zoological Society is mentioned by name, Mr. Spectator noting, under " News of the Week," that " the King has presented to this Society a pair of remarkable dogs, brought from the mountainous parts of Nepaul about two months since. They are of the stiff mastiff breed, having an extremely pendulous lower lip, with singularly small eyes. These, together with a specimen of that rare animal, the chinchilli, the only one ever brought alive to this country, with some curious foxes, presented by the Hudson's Bay Company, are now attracting the attention of the naturalist, at the Society's garden in the Regent's Park." This lively interest in the Society's garden at the Regent's Park has, as our readers know, survived. We have no doubt that, if we were to look up the issue of June, 1837, we should find the arrival of the first orang-utan duly chronicled, with some remarks as to this Outlandish Hairy Red Ape's curious habit of looking uncommonly like Homo sapiens when he eats. Similarly, London's first) hippopotamus, arriving in the year 1850, must undoubtedly have evoked a comment. To-day Mr. Spectator still visits and writes about the Society's garden whenever he has an excuse to do so.
Of course he made a point of going on his twin's birthday.
We—to resume the editorial manner—do not perhaps see eye to eye with the Zoo on all points nowadays. Like the little boy whose favourite Zoo animal was the cat in the gatekeeper's lodge, because it was not behind bars, we feel a sense of guilt in watching tigers and timber wolves ceaselessly turning and twisting in their small, inadequate dens. We think the Zoo would do well to exclude the great soaring birds, eagles, ravens, altogether from their lists. The sight of such exquisite little creatures as the Javanese Fairy Bluebird, the Ruby-throated Warbler, or the Golden Hangnest—birds whose very plumage holds the colours of the open skies and of glowing tropic sunsets—in cages only a foot or two long does not 'gladden us as it is intended to ; it depresses us immeasur- ably. - But, on the other hand, we should be the first to congratulate the authorities for what they have done and are still doing to make the lives of the creatures under their care healthier and happier. If birds, beasts, reptiles, and fishes find life bearable anywhere in captivity they do so at the London Zoo: • - The improvements within recent years have been great. The monkeys now recline in an atmosphere of ultra- yiolet rays and in consequence have become even more intolerably insolent than ever ; they know we are suffering from an inferiority complex as we look at them. The fish, as a contributor described recently in these columns, live in beautiful rock-pools where sharks and secretly barbed may-flies are unknown. Since then the reptiles have been moved into comparatively palatial quarters ; alligators lounge all day in an Egyptian heat-wave, with the Blue Nile—or a very fair likeness of it—winding away -into the distance beyond them. Tree monitors and iguanas—creatures which Mr. Spectator, writing in 1828, might have described as reptiles of a most foul and odious aspect—luxuriate in humid river-beds and have nothing to do but eat, sleep, and bite each other's tails. The Komodo Dragon looks contented enough ; no amount of study can suggest to us what is in this utterly loathsome _reptile's mind. And now it is the birds' turn.
The sun-loving birds have been cleared -out of their old slums and are now in process of being moved into an airy bright house where they can use their wings and sing, when the English sun is not shining through their top- lights, in the blue glow of powerful electric lamps directed with an effect of tropical sunlight on white walls. Some of these birds are already installed; bulbuls, tanagers, and barbels flit and perch in a great roomy cage-but cage is an' unfair word for it—with a little lake below them in the sand. Toucans with their huge yellow beaks have room to flop top-heavily about and look wise to their hearts' content. The racket-tailed Drongo—a most disreputable-tailed Drongo this one—sits and makes bubbling blackbird music in his throat. Soon the-outdoor aviaries will be completed, and the hardier jungle birds will be seen sparkling like moonstones and emeralds and ''opals in the London daylight. Every comfort is being prepared for them. But there are still those rows of small dull cages down the sides of the indoor aviary where the Solitary Cuckoo from Uganda, those lovely atoms the American bluebirds, and a host of others live with scarcely room for a clear stretch of their wings. We hope this new bird house is only one of the first results of a completely new outlook in the treatment of captive birds.
We can, however, and will, end on a note of optimism. It, is only within a very few years that all these changes for the better have been made ; such a rate of progress - makes it clear that the Zoo animals are in good hands. ;The scheme for a recuperating ground, a little open jungle in Hertfordshire, which is under way now, should lift a heavy burden from the lives of the larger animals. It ;will keep them fit and give them that taste of freedom- ' alas, that it is only a taste, but even so, we may suppose that they will enjoy it to the full while it lasts—without which many might become morose, and languish. It will, at least, give them a new world to explore and a respite from the everlasting stare of those appalling bipeds with buns. And who knows, it may even give the inhabitants of " Tring and Lilly Hoo " something to think about on dark nights as the Sussex bear has so merrily been doing this spring. In the event of anything - so untoward occurring, Mr.. Spectator would like to add his considered advice to that which was made public recently in regard to the bear ; if you meet a tiger roaming bout one night on the Roman road to Wendover, do not attempt to corner it. It will bite you.
Previous page
