voice, but also that very often there is great virtue in a
vigorous outcry. With an insistent staccato neigh, the hungry
horse jars the dull brain of its laggard master, and prompts him
to "feed and water the stock." But how different is the cry of a
lost horse, which calls for rescue. It cannot be imitated in
printed words; but every plainsman knows the shrill and prolonged
trumpet-call of distress that can be heard a mile or more,
understandingly.

And think of the vocabulary of the domestic chicken! Years of life
in fancied security have developed a highly useful vocabulary of
language calls and cries. The most important, and the best known,
are the following:

"Beware the hawk!"--"Coor! Coor!" "Murder! Help!"--"Kee-
_owk_! Kee-_owk_! Kee-_owk_!" "Come on"--"Cluck!
Cluck! Cluck!" "Food here! Food!"--"Cook-cook-cook-cook!"
Announcement, or alarm--"Cut-cut-cut-_dah_-cut!" But does
the wild jungle-fowl, the ancestor of our domestic chicken,
indulge in all those noisy expressions of thought and feeling? By
no means. I have lived for months in jungles where my hut was
surrounded by jungle-fowl, and shot many of them for my table; but
the only vocal sound I ever heard from their small throats was the
absurdly shrill bantam-like crow of the cock. And even that led to
several fatalities in the ranks of _Gallus stanleyi_.

Domestic cattle, swine and fowls have each a language of their
own, and as far as they go they are almost as clear-cut and
understandable as the talk of human beings. Just how much more is
behind the veil that limits our understanding we cannot say; but