We can only perceive the language of beasts by attending to the particular cries they make, and to the influence which these cries have upon the feelings and actions of their associates. Brutes by uttering certain sounds, are enabled to communicate their feelings to every individual of the same species. SMELLIE. THE language, or the peculiar sounds made by beasts, birds and even insects, expressive of their wants, fears, anger or desires, are very distinct from each other, and to those who have paid attention to them, are very interesting. A common cock and the pheasant have notes of exultation or defiance others of fear or warning, and a third of complacency or gallantry, when the hens are called to partake of food. The swallow utters its note of love in the pairing season- —screams at seeing an enemy, and greets its young with a tone of affection extremely pleasing. The goose hisses when angry, cackles when happy and has a note of alarm. The duck also expresses its different feelings, by sounds. These may all be called domestic birds. Others which conceal their nests carefully, feed their young not only silently, but with considerable stealth, fearful that their retreat should be discovered and invaded. When, how ever, the young have left the nest and can fly from danger, the food is brought to them, and received with notes of pleasure and gratification. I have often watched young fly-catchers, soon after they have quitted their nest, perched on the top of a gate, or on the dead branch of a tree, attended by the parent birds, who merrily dart after flies and small moths, and feed their brood with them. These receive it with all the little blandishments of love, quivering their wings, and exhibiting evident marks of satisfaction. The old birds utter "an inward wailing note," as Mr. White calls it, when their young are in danger. The black-bird* screams when alarmed, sings when pleased, and has a peculiar note when suddenly surprized. A gentleman at Grantham has a Blackbird which frequents his orchard, and which crows and chuckles as fowls do. It was bred in a nest in a bush close to his hen-house. Starlings which are restless, sociable birds, have notes which resemble those of song birds, but they are difficult to hear. They are low and plaintive. * A Goldfinch was lately (October, 1843,) brought to a birdstuffer at Margate, which had been for the long period of eighteen years in its cage, and its plumage shewed, except in the wing feathers, few marks of age. I had also the opportunity lately of ascertaining the longevity of a blackbird. The Lodge Keeper of the Queen Dowager's Lodge in Bushy Park had one of these birds in a cage during a period of seventeen years. When I saw it, it was nearly blind, and had every appearance of old age. At other times they utter a note like a sudden snap, and when they congregate in the evening they chatter with satisfaction, or sometimes use an elongated note, especially in the breeding season. I have been assured that so thickly do these birds assemble at their roosting places in some localities, that more than a thousand have been killed by firing shots into the bushes, or low trees, on one night only. But the most extraordinary bird I ever met with was my favourite Magpie. He expressed his anger, wants, pleasure and gratitude in the most marked and distinct manner. When he saw one or two favourites, he would make a noise resembling a kiss, and shew his delight in a way not to be misunderstood. When angry he was vociferous, and scolded at the sight of any one he disliked. His laugh was so hearty, joyous and natural, that no one who heard it could help joining in it, and he talked quite as distinctly as any human being. Poor bird! like most favourites, he came to an untimely end, and we missed him as we should have done one of the inmates of the family. The call of the Partridge when separated from its associates is very peculiar, but when the retreat of its young is invaded, its cries are piercing or rather a sort of scream. When they have been scattered by a sportsman, The mother's call Is heard repeated oft, a plaintive note! Mournful she gathers in her brood, dispersed But the language of the Dog is, perhaps, the most expressive of any animal, and to this he adds the language of the eyes. Much of this is acquired, no doubt, by associating with man, from whom he learns to obey signals, and certain words of command. He modulates his tones according to circumstances, whether of anger, pleasure, grief, or warning, howls on hearing discordant sounds, whines for admission when shut out of a room or house, and looks with the fondest love and affection at his master. He shews his gratitude in a way not to be mistaken, and nothing can shake his fidelity and attachment. A kennel might have been seen at Brussels, placed in a particular situation, for a dog which could never be induced to quit the spot, where his master had been murdered. There are also instances on record of dogs frequenting the doors of prisons, to which their masters had been committed, and waiting patiently from day to day in expectation of their release. The Cat has several different and significant tones, most of them harsh and unpleasing. It shews attachment by purring and gentle mewings, and its fondness for those who have been kind to it is sometimes very great. A cat is said to have descended a chimney in order to get at her imprisoned master. Elephants, horses, cows, pigs, and indeed almost all quadrupeds have different tones in which they express their several wants and feelings. It would be endless to particularize the whole of them, but I may mention the sheep. It has been asserted that in a large flock of these animals, the tones of each are so distinct, that the lambs readily recognize the voice of their respective mothers. When they have been separated, even for a short time only, they evince the greatest joy at meeting again. In immense forests where animals of different sexes separate, or are few in number, and where their calls would not be heard, an extraordinary facility has been afforded them of finding each other. This many of them do, as the pinemartin, civet, skunk, and other musky animals, by rubbing themselves against trees, thus leaving a scent, by which they are traced by their congeners to great distances, and through almost interminable forests. Except for this provision of nature, it is evident that many animals would have great difficulty in tracing each other, and thus the notus odor of each species serves instead of language, or the usual calls. A curious instance |