82 
THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY 
season, the contending songsters of the grove, and the va- 
riety of sound proceeding from every thing that has utter- 
ance, confuse and almost render inaudible the placid voice 
of the woodlark. It delights to fix its residence near little 
groves and copses, or quiet pastures, and is a very unob- 
trusive bird, not uniting in companies, but associating in 
its own little family parties only, feeding in the woodlands 
on seeds and insects. Upon the approach of man, it crouches 
close to the ground, then suddenly darts away, as if for a 
distant flight, but settles again almost immediately. This 
lark will often continue its song, circle in the air, a scarcely 
visible speck, by the hour together; and the vast distance 
from which its voice reaches us in a calm day, is almost 
incredible. In the scale of comparison, it stands imme- 
diately below the nightingale in melody and plaintiveness; 
but compass of voice is given to the linnet, a bird of very 
inferior powers. The strength of the larynx and of the 
muscles of the throat in birds, is infinitely greater than in 
the human race. The loudest shout of the peasant is but a 
feeble cry, compared with that of the golden-eyed duck, 
the wild goose, or even this lark. The sweet song of this 
poor little bird, with a fate like that of the nightingale, 
renders it an object of capture and confinement, which few 
of them comparatively survive. I have known our country 
birdcatchers take them by a very simple but effectual me- 
thod. Watching them to the ground, the wings of a hawk, 
or of the brown owl, stretched out, are drawn against the 
current of air by a string, as a paper kite, and made to 
flutter and vibrate like a kestrel, over the place where 
the woodlark has lodged; which so intimidates the bird, 
that it remains crouching, and motionless as a stone, on 
the ground; a hand-net is brought over it, and it is 
caught. 
From various little scraps of intelligence scattered 
through the sacred and ancient writings, it appears certain, 
as it was reasonable to conclude, that the notes now used 
by birds, and the voices of animals, are the same as uttered 
by their earliest progenitors. The language of man, with- 
out any reference to the confusion accomplished at Babel, 
has been broken into innumerable dialects, created or com- 
pounded as his wants occurred, or his ideas prompted; or 
obtained by intercourse with others, as mental enlargement 
or novelty necessitated new words to express new senti- 
ments. Could we find a people from Japan or the Pole, 
whose progress in mind has been stationary, without in- 
crease of idea, from national prejudice or impossibility of 
communication with others, we probably should find little 
or no alteration in the original language of that people; so, 
by analogy of reasoning, the animal, having no idea to 
prompt, no new want to express, no converse with others, 
(for a note caught and uttered merely, is like a boy mock- 
ing the cuckoo,) so no new language is acquired. With 
civilized man, every thing is progressive; with animals, 
where there is no mind, all is stationary. Even the voice 
of one species of birds, except in particular cases, seems 
not to be attended to by another species. That peculiar 
call of the female cuckoo, which assembles so many con- 
tending lovers, and all the various amatorial and caressing 
language of others, excites no influence generally, that I 
am aware of; with all but the individual species, it is a 
dialect unknown. I know but one note, which animals 
make use of, that seems of universal comprehension, and 
this is the signal of danger. The instant that it is uttered, 
we hear the whole flock, though composed of various spe- 
cies, repeat a separate moan, and away they all scuttle into 
the bushes for safety. The reiterated “ twink, twink” of 
the chaffinch, is known by every little bird, as information 
of some prowling cat or weasel. Some give the maternal 
hush to their young, and mount to inquire into the jeopardy 
announced. The wren, that tells of perils from the hedge, 
soon collects about her all the various inquisitive species 
within hearing, to survey and ascertain the object, and add 
their separate fears. The swallow, that shrieking darts in 
devious flight through the air, when a hawk appears, not 
only calls up all the hirundines of the village, but is instantly 
understood by every finch and sparrow, and its warning 
attended to. As nature, in all her ordinations, had a fixed 
design and foreknowledge, it may be that each species had 
a separate voice assigned it, that each might continue as 
created, distinct and unmixed: and the very few deviations 
and admixtures that have taken place, considering the lapse 
of time, association, and opportunity, united with the pro- 
hibition of continuing accidental deviations, are very 
remarkable, and indicate a cause and original motive. 
That some of the notes of birds are, as language, designed 
to convey a meaning, is obvious, from the very different 
sounds uttered by these creatures at particular periods: the 
spring voices become changed as summer advances, and 
the acquirements of the early season have ceased; the sum- 
mer excitements, monitions, informations, are not needed 
in autumn, and the notes conveying such intelligences are 
no longer heard. The periodical calls of animals, croaking 
of frogs, &c. afford the same reasons for concluding that 
the sound of their voices by elevation, depression, or mo- 
dulation, conveys intelligence equivalent to an uttered 
sentence. The voices of birds seem applicable in most 
instances to the immediate necessities of their condition; 
such as the sexual call, the invitation to unite when dis- 
persed, the moan of danger, the shriek of alarm, the notice 
of food. But there are other notes, the designs and motives 
of which are not so obvious. One sex only is gifted with 
the power of singing, for the purpose, as Buffon supposed. 
