SOME RAMBLES OF A NATURALIST. 475 



never yet failed to find some trace, at least, of that object to observe 

 which I took the walk. 



Whenever I have seen a mink in my meadow-rambles, I have been 

 impressed with the fact that all animals that fear man are as much on 

 the lookout for him, and try as sedulously to avoid him, as they do any 

 of their natural enemies. If they do so, is it at all strange that we so 

 seldom see them when we go bungling about their haunts ? We prob- 

 ably never take a walk in the woods that we are not watched by many 

 creatures which we do not see ; and many a squeak or whistle which, if 

 heard at all, is attributed to some bird, is a signal-cry of danger made 

 by some one animal which, having seen us, takes this method of warn- 

 ing its fellows. I have more than once tested this in the case of the 

 mink. Mooring my boat near where I had reason to believe these 

 animals had their nests, and remaining perfectly quiet and in hiding, 

 I have usually been rewarded by seeing the minks moving about as 

 soon as their confidence was restored by the absence of all signs of life 

 in or about the boat. They would come out of their burrows, or from 

 under large roots, and dive into the water, or it might be that they 

 carried a mussel from the shore to their retreat. 



Any act of this kind, free from the restraint of fear, is in the case 

 of all animals the most interesting and instructive, and, were our op- 

 portunities of this kind more frequent, our knowledge of animal life 

 would soon be largely increased. 



During the spring and summer of 18T4 especially, and at all favor- 

 able opportunities since, my out-door studies were largely confined to 

 particular phases of bird-life, rather than to their habits generally. 

 Most prominent among these was that of singing, and its relation to the 

 other utterances of birds, for I had been long under the impression, and 

 since am fully convinced, that a bird's song bears just the same relation- 

 ship to its various chirps, twitters, and calls, that singing with man- 

 kind bears to ordinary conversation. Careful observation will enable 

 any one to see clearly that every bird has a considerable range of utter- 

 ance. Observe two birds immediately after mating, and what a laugh- 

 able caricature of a newly-married couple — say on their wedding-jour- 

 ney — are their actions and their low, ceaseless twittering ! They also 

 have their petty vexations and their little quarrels, in which the femi- 

 nine voice is ever the louder and more rapid in its utterance, and its 

 owner enjoys the precious privilege of the last word. 



But it may be urged that to constitute language, or something akin 

 to it, these chirps and twitters must be shown to convey ideas. Can 

 one bird tell another anything ? it will be asked. To this I answer 

 that, if any one has watched a colony of brooding krakles, or paid close 

 attention to a flock of crows, he has probably satisfied himself upon this 

 point. Crows have twenty-seven distinct cries, calls, or utterances, 

 each readily distinguishable from the other, and each having an un- 

 mistakable connection with a certain class of actions ; some of which, 



