THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS. 215 



Last summer I stopped at a small town in 

 northern Virginia. A young man at the same 

 hotel had two setters and a black-and-tan terrier. 

 I experimented extensively with these three dogs 

 during my stay, and deduced therefrom some 

 conclusions which were inevitable. The hotel 

 veranda opened on the street and was a place of 

 resort for gentlemen of leisure about town. 

 There was also a side entrance through a large 

 yard. I have frequently observed the dogs lying 

 asleep on the veranda, when the owner would 

 enter the side yard on a flagstone walk, often 

 in the midst of conversation of a dozen men. 

 The terrier would recognize the footsteps of his 

 master, would utter a low sound, and then spring to 

 his feet and rush at once in the direction whence 

 he heard the steps. The setters invariably 

 seemed to know what it meant — would raise their 

 heads and lash their tails upon the floor, show- 

 ing evident signs of understanding the situation. 

 I have seen this terrier recognize the steps of 

 his master when the latter was accompanied by 

 two or three other persons. The delicate pre- 

 cision of his hearing was marvellous, and in no 

 instance, so far as I observed, was he deceived in 

 the approaching footsteps. I cannot believe that 



