^ESTHETICISM AND RELIGION IN ANIMALS. 475 



admiration and fondness of parading their finery are the peacock 

 and the bird of paradise. 



The decoration of its boudoir by the bower bird, as described, 

 by Mr. Gould in his History of the Birds of New South Wales, 

 indicates a decided and discriminative preference for bright and 

 variegated objects, and evinces no small amount of aesthetic feel- 

 ing and artistic taste in selecting and arranging them. The bower 

 is built of sticks and slender twigs gracefully interwoven, so that 

 the tapering points meet at the top, and adorned with the rose- 

 colored tail feathers of the inca cockatoo and the gay plumes of 

 other parrots, tinted shells, bleached bones, rags of divers hues, 

 and whatever gaudy or glittering trinkets may please the bird's 

 fancy. Sometimes the space in front of the bower is covered with 

 half a bushel of things of this sort, laid out like a parterre with 

 winding walks, in which the happy possessor of the garnered 

 treasures struts about with the pride and pleasure of a connoisseur 

 in a gallery of paintings, or a bibliophile who has his shelves 

 filled with incunabula and other rare editions. These objects 

 have often been brought from a great distance, and are of no pos- 

 sible use to the bird except as they gratify its love of the beautiful 

 and appeal to what we call in man the aesthetic sense. Its con- 

 duct can be explained in no other way ; for the bower is not a nest 

 in which eggs are laid and hatched and young ones reared ; it is a 

 salon or place of social entertainment, and thus serves a distinctly 

 ideal purpose. 



The singing of birds, as a means of sexual attraction, implies 

 a certain appreciation of melody. Indeed, many of them do not 

 confine themselves to the songs of their species, but learn notes 

 from other birds and snatches of tunes from musical instruments. 

 Canaries can be taught a variety of airs by playing them repeat- 

 edly on a piano or on a hurdy-gurdy. They listen with attention 

 and imitate the strains which take their fancy. If harmony or 

 the concord of sweet sounds, as distinguished from melody or the 

 simple succession of sweet sounds, does not enter into bird music, 

 the same may be said of the music of primitive man and of all 

 early nations. Savages, like feathered songsters, sing in unison, 

 but not in accord. 



Not only do some species of monkeys, like the chimpanzees and 

 sokos, get up concerts of their own in the depths of the forest, but 

 dogs, which are generally supposed to be decidedly unmusical, also 

 discriminate between tunes and express their preferences or aver- 

 sions in an unmistakable manner. A friend of mine, who had a 

 magnificent St. Bernard dog, was fond of playing the violoncello. 

 The dog used to lie quietly in the room with closed eyes, and ap- 

 peared to pay no attention to the music until his master struck 

 up a certain tune, when the dog immediately and invariably sat 



