The Naturalist in La Plata | Page 5

rodent inhabits a vast extent of country, north, west, and south of
the true pampas, but nowhere is he so thoroughly on his native heath as
on the great grassy plain. There, to some extent, he even makes his own
conditions, like the beaver. He lives in a small community of twenty or
thirty members, in a village of deep-chambered burrows, all with their
pit-like entrances closely grouped together; and as the village endures
for ever, or for an indefinite time, the earth constantly being brought up
forms a mound thirty or forty feet in diameter; and this protects the
habitation from floods on low or level ground. Again, he is not swift of
foot, and all rapacious beasts are his enemies; he also loves to feed on
tender succulent herbs and grasses, to seek for which he would have to
go far afield among the giant grass, where his watchful foes are lying in
wait to seize him; he saves himself from this danger by making a
clearing all round his abode, on which a smooth turf is formed; and
here the animals feed and have their evening pastimes in comparative
security: for when an enemy approaches, he is easily seen; the note of
alarm is sounded, and the whole company scuttles away to their refuge.
In districts having a different soil and vegetation, as in Patagonia, the
vizcachas' curious, unique instincts are of no special advantage, which
makes it seem probable that they have been formed on the pampas.
How marvellous a thing it seems that the two species of
mammalians--the beaver and the vizcacha--that most nearly simulate
men's intelligent actions in their social organizing instincts, and their
habitations, which are made to endure, should belong to an order so
low down as the Rodents! And in the case of the latter species, it adds
to the marvel when we find that the vizcacha, according to Water-house,
is the lowest of the order in its marsupial affinities.

The vizcacha is the most common rodent on the pampas, and the
Rodent order is represented by the largest number of species. The finest
is the so-called Patagonian hare--Dolichotis patagonica--a beautiful
animal twice as large as a hare, with ears shorter and more rounded,
and legs relatively much longer. The fur is grey and chestnut brown. It
is diurnal in its habits, lives in kennels, and is usually met with in pairs,
or small flocks. It is better suited to a sterile country like Patagonia than
to the grassy humid plain; nevertheless it was found throughout the
whole of the pampas; but in a country where the wisdom of a Sir
William Harcourt was never needed to slip the leash, this king of the
Rodentia is now nearly extinct.
A common rodent is the coypú--Myiopotamus coypú--yellowish in
colour with bright red incisors; a rat in shape, and as large as an otter. It
is aquatic, lives in holes in the banks, and where there are no banks it
makes a platform nest among the rushes. Of an evening they are all out
swimming and playing in the water, conversing together in their
strange tones, which sound like the moans and cries of wounded and
suffering men; and among them the mother-coypú is seen with her
progeny, numbering eight or nine, with as many on her back as she can
accommodate, while the others swim after her, crying for a ride.
With reference to this animal, which, as we have seen, is prolific, a
strange thing once happened in Buenos Ayres. The coypú was much
more abundant fifty years ago than now, and its skin, which has a fine
fur under the long coarse hair, was largely exported to Europe. About
that time the Dictator Rosas issued a decree prohibiting the hunting of
the coypú. The result was that the animals increased and multiplied
exceedingly, and, abandoning their aquatic habits, they became
terrestrial and migratory, and swarmed everywhere in search of food.
Suddenly a mysterious malady fell on them, from which they quickly
perished, and became almost extinct.
What a blessed thing it would be for poor rabbit-worried Australia if a
similar plague should visit that country, and fall on the right animal!
On the other hand, what a calamity if the infection, wide-spread,
incurable, and swift as the wind in its course, should attack the

too-numerous sheep! And who knows what mysterious, unheard-of
retributions that revengeful deity Nature may not be meditating in her
secret heart for the loss of her wild four-footed children slain by settlers,
and the spoiling of her ancient beautiful order!
A small pampa rodent worthy of notice is the Cavia australis, called cui
in the vernacular from its voice: a timid, social, mouse-coloured little
creature, with a low gurgling language, like running babbling waters; in
habits resembling its