and inflicted so many other wounds upon him
that he died shortly afterwards. Of course
she must have told him.

Whatever we may think of the superior
sagacity of the monkey, the dog, the elephant,
the horse, and other animals, there are no
creatures who can compete with birds in the
power of acquiring portions of human
language. We do not allude only to the
"universal linguist"—the parrot; for the
jackdaw, the raven, the magpie, the starling, and
the crow, have all been found capable of
various degrees of accomplishment in this
way. More wonderful than these, or at least
it seems so, from being the only known
instance on record, was the canary possessed
by an English lady some few years since,
which she had taught to utter several words
and short sentences; and who, at the end of
a song, continually added—" Pretty little
Dickée, dear "—the accent being laid upon
the last syllable, so as to produce the effect of
metrical euphony, in accordance with the
close of his vocal melody. Lord Brougham
among others, went to hear the phenomenon:
"It's not a bird!" said his lordship—"it is
a bit of clock-work." Presently the canary
cracked a hemp-seed, then drank a little
water; and, it was said, winked an eye at the
noble and learned lord; but birds often do
this while drinking. Ancient writers tell of
the thrush, the nightingale, and even the
partridge, being known to utter words; and
Pliny relates a story of a hen who articulated
some words so clearly that the omen found
occupation for the augurs. We suppose this
roopy hen was held in high and sacred honour
till the day of her death.

The acquirement of any fragments of
human language by the lower animals—or,
to speak more correctly, their power to imitate
certain human sounds of speech—is quite
a distinct question from that of the natural
language they really possess, by which they
express themselves, and are understood by their
relatives and others of their kind. This is
carried to a much finer degree than may be
supposed. When two birds of the same species are
addressing each other, in song, from a distance,
"the responses are continued with distinctness
and without distraction, their attention never
being diverted by the multiplicity of sounds
that strike the ear from birds of another
species, which are singing close at hand." It
is also worthy of notice, and of memory also,
that when two birds are engaged in
alternately pouring forth a lyrical effusion to
each other, one bird never interrupts another.
"A thrush, blackbird, or redbreast," says Mr.
Jonathan Couch, to whose extremely interesting
and instructive book* we are indebted for
these observations, " may be seen to stretch
forward the head, and direct the ears to catch
the notes which come to it from some distant
songster of its own species; nor will any effort
be made to return a sound until the
competitor is known to have ended his lay." The
same thing holds good even in cases of
warlike and angry challenge. The antagonists
wait as patiently as the heroes in Homer, till
each has concluded his sonorous, high-sounding
challenge, and the narrative of his birth
and education. Mr. Couch once noticed
three cocks, "of superior size and majesty,"
who were engaged in answering each other
from distant quarters in regular succession,
as understood by the three; but when
at last a number of inferior individuals, of no
"name and breed," thought fit to join their
voices, and interrupt the order and correct
usages of Chanticleer-war, the three great
heroes immediately ceased crowing, and
haughtily withdrew and joined their hens, in
disdain of such low interference.

* Illustrations of Instinct, by Jonathan Couch, F.R.S.

There is evidently a common understanding,
among all creatures, of certain primitive
sounds. The cry of alarm, of pain, of rage,
and the sounds of conciliation and calming,
pitying and caressing, are, more or less,
understood by nearly the whole living family
of the earth. The use and perception of
minute and elaborate gradations and inflections
can alone constitute a language; and
we are in no condition to deny that other
creatures possess something of this kind
besides ourselves. Certain naturalists think
that the humming of the bee, though a
confused monotone to our ears, may to the bee's
organ of hearing represent an orderly
" succession of drummings." These are the real
grounds of a belief that the creatures we are
in the habit of calling " dumb animals," have
an intelligible language suited to their several
states; the question of how far they understand
such words of human speech as they
may contrive to articulate, may be quietly
left, with the admission that most probably
it is a mere imitation of sounds; and that, of
such words as we use to them (the meaning of
which it is evident they comprehend) the
modulations of the voice, i.e. the sounds, are
the chief medium of instructive intelligence
or sympathy.

As to the power of imitation, it is very great
in some creatures besides those who have
the common reputation for it. We once saw
a parrot imitate actions. The bird belonged
(and is probably still living) to a popular
fairy-land dramatist of the present day. On
seeing anybody take off his coat, the parrot
presently bent forward in precisely the same
attitude, and gave an imitation of the act
with its wings, the effect of which was
extraordinary from the fact of the wings being
"fixtures," while the bird seemed to draw
its body out of them, as it protruded its
shoulders. There is an account, in " London's
Magazine of Natural History," of a blackbird
who imitated the crowing of a cock so well
that he continually set all the cocks crowing
who were within hearing. He did not,
however, invariably complete his crow, but