LANGUAGE OF F0"\TL3. 247 



therefore, best understood. At first, — the peacock, with his 

 gorgeous train, demands our attention ; but, like most of 

 the gaudy birds, his notes are grating and shocking to the 

 ear : the yelHng of cats, and the braying of an ass, are not 

 more disgustful. The voice of the goose is trumpet-like, 

 and clanking ; and once saved the Capitol at Eome, as grave 

 liistorians assert : the hiss also of the gander is formidable, 

 and fuU of menace, and " protective of his young." Among 

 tiucks, the sexual distinction of voice is remarkable ; for, 

 while the quack of the female is loud and sonorous, the 

 voice of the drake is inward, and harsh, and feeble, and scarce 

 discernible. The cock-turkey struts and gobbles to his 

 mistress in a most uncouth manner ; he hath also a pert and 

 petulant note when he attacks his adversary. "When a hen- 

 turkey leads forth her young brood, she keeps a watchful 

 eye ; and if a bird of prey appear, though ever so high in the 

 air, the careful mother announces the enemy with a little 

 inward moan, and watches him with a steady and attentive 

 look; but, if he approach, her note becomes earnest and 

 alarming, and her outcries are redoubled. 



No inhabitants of a yard seem possessed of such a variety 

 of expression, and so copious a language, as common poultry. 

 Take a chicken of four or five days old, and hold it up to a 

 window where there are flies, and it will immediately seize 

 its prey with little twitterings of complacency ; but if you 

 tender it a wasp or a bee, at once its note becomes harsh 

 and expressive of disapprobation, and a sense of danger. 

 Wlien a pullet is ready to lay, she intimates the event by a 

 joyous and easy soft note. Of all the occurrences of their 

 life, that of laying seems to be the most important ; for, no 

 sooner has a hen disburdened herself, than she rushes forth 

 with a clamorous kind of joy, which the cock and the rest 

 of his mistresses immediately adopt. The tumult is not 

 confined to the family concerned, but catches from yard to 

 yard, and spreads to every homestead within hearing, till at 

 last the whole village is in an uproar. As soon as a hen 

 becomes a mother, her new relation demands a new language; 

 she then runs clucking and screaming about, and seems 

 agitated as if possessed. The father of the flock has also a 

 considerable vocabulary ; if he finds food, he calls a favourite 

 concubine to partake ; and if a bird of prey passes over, with 



