The Wit of the Wild 



r 



stead of a modern notion, the product of news- 

 paper enterprise, as most of us consider it. 



You see that I am leaving aside here the 

 varied utterances, tones and inflections by which 

 the higher animals really converse with one an- 

 other. That is speech, not advertising. And 

 I wish to add another prefatory word, though 

 perhaps it is needless namely, that of course 

 we must not suppose that the animals think of 

 these announcements in our sense of the word 

 " advertisement," but are moved by various im- 

 pulses, some instinctive, some physical, some ac- 

 cidental, even though they may desire to obtain 

 the effect they more usually succeed in getting 

 than do human advertisers. 



Take the case of the rattlesnake. When he 

 shakes his castanets above the horrid coil where 

 deadly fangs await his enemy, he says as plainly 

 as the motto on Paul Jones's flag, " Don't tread 

 on me ! " All and sundry hear and heed. 



He keeps quiet enough when not aroused by 



fear. I remember camping once in a villainous 



sage-brush desert in southern Idaho. I had 



taken off my boots, put on a pair of moccasins, 



^ 104 ^ 



