266 



ON NATURAL OR INARTICULATE, AND 



But the vocabulary of the common cock and hen is, perhaps, the most ex- 

 tensive of any tribe of birds with which we are acquainted ; or rather, per- 

 haps, we are better acquainted with the extent of its range than with that of 

 any others. The cock has his watch-word for announcing the morning, his 

 love-speech, and his terms of defiance. The voice of the hen, v/hen she in- 

 forms her paramour that she is disburdened of an egg, and which he instantly 

 communicates from homestead to homestead, till the whole village is in an 

 uproar, is far diflferent from that which acquaints him that the brood is just 

 hatched ; and both again are equally different from the loud and rapid cries 

 with which she undauntedly assails the felon fox that would rob her of her 

 young. Even the little chick, when not more than four or five days old, ex- 

 hibits a harsher and less melodious clacking when offered for food what it 

 dislikes, than when it perceives what it relishes.* 



Before I quit this part of our subject it becomes me also to remark, that 

 even in various other tribes of animals than the three classes to which our 

 observations have hitherto applied, we occasionally meet with proofs of an 

 inferior kind of natural language, though it cannot with propriety be called 

 a language of the voice. And I may here observe, that among the few of 

 these three classes which we have already noticed as being destitute of a 

 vocal larynx, the bounty of nature has often provided a substitute. Thus 

 the wapiti (cervus Wapiti of Barton), though without the sonorous endow- 

 ment of the horse or ox, seems to have a compensation in an organ that con- 

 sists of an oblique slit or opening under the inner angle of each eye, nearly 

 an inch long externally, which appears also to be an auxiliary to the nostril; 

 for with this he makes a noise that he can vary at pleasure, and which is not 

 unlike the loud and piercing whistle that boys give by putting their fingers in 

 their mouth. f 



Among Insects, however, we find a still more varied talent of uttering 

 sounds, though possessed neither of lungs nor larynx, nor tlie nasal slit of the 

 wapiti. The bee, the fly, the gnat, and the beetle afford familiar instances 

 of this extraordinary faculty. The sphinx Airopos, a species of hawk-moth, 

 squeaks, when hurt, nearly as loud as a mouse; it has even the power, in 

 certain circumstances, of uttering a plaintive note, which cannot fail to ex- 

 cite deep commiseration. If a bee or wasp be attacked near its own hive, 

 the animal expresses its pain or indignation in a tone so different from its 

 usual hum, that the complaint is immediately understood by the hive within; 

 when the inhabitants hurry out to revenge the insult in such numbers, that 

 the offender is fortunate if he escape without a severe castigation. 



The cunning spider often avails himself of the natural tone of distress 

 uttered by the fly to make sure of him for his prey. He frequently spreads 

 out his webs or toils to such an extent that he cannot see from one end of 



island at a certain season of the year to produce and rear its young. This appears to be the grand inten- 

 tion which nature has in view; but in consequence of the observation just made, its presence here may 

 answer many secondary purposes ; among these I shall notice the following : The beneficent Author of 

 nature seems to spare no pains in cheering the heart of man with every thing that is delightful in the 

 summer season. We may be indulged with the company of these visiters, perhaps, to heighten, by the 

 novelty of their appearance, and pleasing variety of their notes, the native scenes. How sweetly, at the 

 return of spring, do the notes of the cuckoo first burst upon the ear ; and what apathy must that soul pos- 

 sess, that does not feel a soft emotion at the song of the nightingale (surely it must be " fit for treasons, 

 stratagems, and spoils"), and how wisely is it contrived that a genera! stillness should prevail while this 

 heavenly bird is pouring forth its plaintive and melodious strains, — stiainsthat so sweetly accord with 

 the evening hour! Some of our foreign visiters, it may be said, are inharmonious minstrels, and rather 

 disturb than aid the general concert. In the midst of a soft warm summer's day, when the martinis 

 gently floating on the air, not only pleasing us with the peculiar delicacy of its note, but with the elegance 

 of its meandering; when the blackcap is vying with tlie goldfinch, and the linnet with the woodlark, a 

 dozen swifts rush from some neighbouring battlement, and set up a most discordant screaming. Yet all 

 is perfect. The interruption is of short duration, and without it the long-continued warbling of the softer 

 singing birds would pall and tire the lisiening ear with excess of melody, as the exhilarating beams of 

 the sun, were they not at intervals intercepted by clouds, would rob the heart of the gayety they for a 

 while inspire, and sink it into languor. There is a perfect consistency in the order in which nature seems 

 to have directed the singing birds to fill up the day with their pleasing harmony. To an observer of those 

 divine laws which harmonize the general order of thirtgs, there appears a design in the arrangement of 

 lljis sylvan minstrelsy. It is not in the haunted meadow, nor frequented field, we are to expect the gratifi- 

 cation of indulging ourselves in this pleasing speculation to its full extent; we must seek for it in the 

 park, the forest, or some sequestered dell, half enclosed by the coppice or the wood." 

 ♦ See Wliite's Hist, of Selborne, vol. ii. p. 17. See Phil. Mag. No. 223, Nov. 1816, p. 392. 



