Morgan says: "I find that the sounds emitted by young Chicks are decidedly instinctive – that is to say, they are inherited modes of giving expression to certain emotional states. And some of them are fairly differentiated. At least six may be distinguished: First, the gentle, piping sound expressive of contentment – for example, when one takes the little bird in one's hand. A further low note, a sort of double sound, seems to be associated with extreme pleasure, as when one strokes the Chick's back. Very characteristic and distinct is the danger note. This is heard on the second or third day. If a large Humble-bee, or a black Beetle, or a big lump of sugar, or in fact anything largish and strange, be thrown to them this danger note is at once heard. Then there is the piping sound, expressive apparently of wanting something. It generally ceases when one goes near them and throws some grain, or even only stands near them. My Chicks were accustomed to my presence in the room, and generally were restless, and continuously made this sound when I left them. Then there is the sharp squeak when one seizes a Chick against its inclination. Lastly there is the shrill cry of distress, when, for example, one of them is separated from the rest. I have very little doubt that all of these sounds have a suggestive value of emotional import for the other Chicks. Certainly the danger-note at once places others on the alert, and the pleasure-note will cause others to come to the spot where the little bird is when the note is sounded."
A good story is told by H. B. Medlicott to show what ideas wild pigs can express in sounds. "In the early dawn of a gray morning I was geologizing along the base of the Muhair hills in South Behar, when all of a sudden there was a stampede of many Pigs from the fringe of a jungle, with porcine shrieks of sauve-qui-peut significance. After a short run in the open they took to the jungle again, and in a few minutes there was another uproar, but different in sound and in action; there was a rush, presumably of the fighting members, to the spot where the row began, and after some seconds a large Leopard sprang from the midst of the scuffle. In a few bounds he was in the open, and stood looking back, licking his chaps. The Pigs did not break cover, but continued on their way. They were returning to their lair after a night's feeding in the plain, several families having combined for mutual protection; while the beasts of prey were evidently waiting for the occasion. I was alone, and though armed, I did not care to beat up the ground to see if in either case a kill had been effected. The numerous herd covered a considerable space, and the scrub was thick. The prompt concerted action must in each case have been started by a special cry. I imagine that the first assailant was a Tiger, and the case was at once known to be hopeless, the cry prompting instant flight, while in the second case the cry was for defense. It can scarcely be doubted that in the first case each adult Pig had a vision of a Tiger, and the second of a Leopard or some minor foe."
The structure of throats that talk and sing varies greatly, and scientists have yet much to learn about the adaptations of forms to purposes. Agassiz gives the following clear description of the throats of birds: "The proper larynx is very simple, destitute of vocal chords, and incapable of producing sounds; but at the lower end of the windpipe there is a second or inferior larynx, which is very complicated in structure. It is a kind of bony drum, having within it two glottises, formed at the top of the two branches of the windpipe, each provided with two vocal chords. The different pieces of this apparatus are moved by peculiar muscles, the number of which varies in different families. In birds which have a very monotonous cry, such as the Gulls, the Herons, the Cuckoos, and the Mergansers, there is but one or two pairs; Parrots have three; and birds of song have five." But there are still further items regarding special uses that make the question hard to solve.
Some throats that have apparently the same structure as far as the scalpel and microscope can distinguish have marvelously different powers of delivery. MacGillivray has pointed out that the Rook and the Hooded Crow seem to have just as complex an apparatus for their sepulchral utterances as the Nightingale and the Blackbird. But where loudness of sound is required without regard to range and quality there are some notable conformations, as in the Whooping Crane and the Howling Monkey. This Monkey has large cavities communicating with the glottis, and the air reverberates as it passes the larynx so the most deafening noises are produced.
Birds sing and other animals yell, roar, and snort, not for love-making purposes, but rather because of the joy of life that is in these creatures, and it manifests itself in this way as well as in the gambols of the Lambkin or the antics of the Monkey. The voice of the Mule is the sweetest sound in the world – to some other Mule. But it is sweeter still to the Mule that makes the joyful sound. Placzeck notes that a bird frequently sings lustily when he knows himself to be entirely alone. "In the spring-time of love, when all life is invigorated, and the effort to win a mate by ardent wooing is crowned with the joy of triumph, the song reaches its highest perfection. But the male bird also sings to entertain his mate during the arduous nest-building and hatching, to cheer the young and, if he be a domesticated bird, to give pleasure to his lord and the Providence that takes care of him, and in doing so to please himself. Lastly, the bird sings – by habit, as we call it – because the tendency is innate in the organs of song to exercise themselves." In other words, animals have the apparatus for making noises provided them in their organs of breathing, and because they have them they use them and are delighted with them, each in his own kind. Finding them a source of joy unto themselves it is not to be wondered at that they employ their voices in their love-making because they feel that what pleases themselves so much must not be without effect upon their loved ones.
THE AFRICAN LION
Amid the far-off hills,
With eye of fire, and shaggy mane upreared,
The sleeping Lion in his den sprang up;
Listened awhile – then laid his monstrous mouth
Close to the floor, and breathed hot roarings out
In fierce reply.
THE common opinion of the Lion from the remotest times is that he is King of Beasts, and a single glance at his face of majesty is sufficient to make us accept it. His roar is terrific, and the fact is well known that all animals tremble at the mere sound of his voice. The effect of it on his subjects is said to be indescribable. "The howling Hyena is stricken dumb, though not for long; the Leopard ceases to grunt; the Monkeys utter a loud, gurgling sound and mount to the highest tree-tops; the Antelopes rush through the bushes in a mad flight; a bleating flock becomes silent; the laden Camel trembles and listens no longer to his driver's appeal, but throws load and rider off and seeks salvation in flight; the Horse rears, snorts, and rushes back; the Dog, unused to the chase, creeps up to his master with a wail." But it is said we must not think that the Lion lets his roar re-echo through the wilderness at all times. His usual sounds are a deep growl and a long-drawn tone, like the mewing of a giant Cat. His real roar is uttered comparatively seldom, and many people who have visited countries inhabited by Lions have never heard it. It is the only one of its kind, and is surpassed in fullness of tone by the voice of no living creature except the male Hippopotamus, according to Pechnel-Loesche. "The Arabs have a pertinent expression for it: 'raad,' meaning thunder. It seems to come from the very depth of the chest and to strain it to the utmost."
This Lion is distributed all over Central and Southern Africa. They are regularly met with on the banks of the Blue and White Nile, and in the deserts of central and Southern Africa they are of common occurrence.
The Lion leads a solitary life, living with his mate only during the breeding season. Selous says that in South Africa one more frequently meets four or five Lions together than single specimens, and troops of ten or twelve are not extraordinary. His experience taught him that the South African Lion prefers feasting off the game some hunter has killed to exerting himself to capture his own prey. This is why he regularly follows nomadic tribes wherever they go; he regards them as his tributary subjects and the taxes he levies on them are indeed of the heaviest kind.
The Cubs are usually two or three and the Lioness treats them with great tenderness. They play together like Kittens. In well-managed zoological gardens Lions are now bred as carefully as Dogs; and even in circuses, where the animals have but little room and often insufficient nourishment, they are born and sometimes grow up. The cubs are at first rather clumsy. They are born with their eyes open and are about half the size of a Cat. Towards the