OBSERVATIONS ON THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 533 



and yelping with him ; then he stops, remains a little behind 

 after having got the others out of the way, and, turning his head 

 from moment to moment, looks to see if the door has been opened, 

 for we generally go to it to see who has come. In that case the 

 feigned attack is successful, and the dog, who has evidently meant 

 to give the alarm so as to have the door opened, comes in at once 

 and claims a place at the table. He has accomplished his end, for 

 the door is usually shut without paying attention to his having 

 got in. I have frequently witnessed this stratagem, and when, 

 during my kitchen dinner, I suddenly hear the dogs yelping after 

 the brach-hound has begun, I am pretty sure that nobody is in 

 sight. 



I have forgotten where I found the next story of an old dog 

 who was also very sagacious. Hunting-dogs, when they grow old, 

 become rheumatic, or are at least debilitated with pains. We know, 

 too, that they crave heat, and get as near the fire as possible — a 

 craving which increases as they grow older. One such dog, older 

 than the others, and slower in getting into the lodge on return- 

 ing from the hunt, was often crowded away from the fire by the 

 other livelier dogs getting all the best places before him. Find- 

 ing himself thus turned out in the cold, he would dash toward 

 the door barking, when the others, supposing it was an alarm, 

 would rush away too, while the old rheumatic went to the fire 

 and selected a place to suit him. 



It is not necessary to dwell upon the intelligence shown by 

 such acts. But it is hardly contestable that the old animal, who 

 knows how to play such tricks upon his less experienced compan- 

 ions, deceives them by his intonations, while he is well aware that 

 no enemy is approaching the house ; but he does it scientifically, 

 by the inflections of his voice, as a man speaking to other men 

 would do in announcing the arrival of an imaginary enemy. 



Inarticulate cries are all pretty much the same to us ; their 

 inflections, duration, pitch, abruptness, and prolongation alone 

 can inform us of their purpose. But experience and close atten- 

 tion have shown us the connection of these variations with the 

 acts that accompany or precede them. Animals evidently un- 

 derstand these inflections at once. We can not better compare 

 the language of animals than with what takes place in a pleasant 

 sport, a kind of pantomime of the voice or language which many 

 youth doubtless understand, and which I venture to refer to 

 here to aid in more easily conceiving of the communication of 

 thought among animals by sounds which seem to us all alike. 

 When I was engaged in hospitals, the evenings in the guard- 

 room were sometimes enlivened by the presence of a companion 

 who excelled in humorous mimicry. He would represent a man 

 in liquor who had stopped at a fountain that flowed with a gentle 



