THE PLAY OF ANIMALS. II7 



actions are common enough. For instance, my pug, who 

 is a sworn foe of cats, flies to the garden and all along 

 the fences if he hears the cry "St! cats!^' I am 

 doubtful, however, whether this is properly called play; 

 at any rate, it is quite different from the run-fever, 

 for now the pug runs with loud cries and sharp atten- 

 tion, while in the run-fever the dog moves off silent- 

 ly and looks neither to the right hand nor to the left. 

 Consequently, I look upon the latter as play purely for 

 the sake of the movement. Perhaps in a sense the same 

 may be said of the propensity some dogs have for taking 

 walks. A bulldog of very philosophical disposition that 

 I owned when I lived in Heidelberg, took regular, soli- 

 tary walks that threatened to be expensive to his master. 

 He would go off without his muzzle, a thing forbidden 

 by the authorities; could be seen strolling boldly past 

 the police office, climbing the Schlossberg, and enter- 

 ing the garden of the palace, where dogs are not allowed 

 unless led by some one. Of course, we do not know how 

 much weight to attribute to the attractions of digging 

 under the curbing, sniffing at corners, and other pleas- 

 ures of freedom, yet I am sure the dog delighted in the 

 walk for its own sake, and am not afraid of contradic- 

 tion on this point from those who know dogs. 



Last of all we must consider the monkeys. Their 

 movement plays may be divided into four groups: climb- 

 ing, leaping, swinging, and dancing. It is unnecessary 

 to describe the behaviour of caged monkeys, for even 

 the most careless sightseer stands long in front of a 

 monkey house in a zoological garden. I therefore con- 

 fine myself to some reports of their play when at lib- 

 erty, supposing the clambering about a ship to be free 

 motion. Captain Smith had an orang-outang three 

 months on board his vessel and allowed him perfect 



