Reference was made at the close of the last article to the voice of the
dog, and his method of making his feelings and desires understood. It
is, of course, well known that this is an acquired habit, or
accomplishment. In a state of Nature the dog does not even bark; he has
acquired the art or knowledge from his companionship with man. Isaiah
compares the blind watchman of Israel to dogs, saying, "They are dumb;
they cannot bark." Again, to quote the argument of Dr. Gardiner: "The
dog indicates his different feelings by different tones." The following
is his yelp when his foot is trod upon.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: DOG YELPING.]
Haydn introduces the bark of a dog into the scherzo in his 38th
quartette. Indeed, the tones of the "voice" of the dog are so marked,
that more than any other of the voices of Nature they have been utilized
in music. The merest tyro in the study of dog language can readily
distinguish between the bark of joy--the "deep-mouthed welcome as we
draw near home," as Byron put it--and the angry snarl, the yelp of pain,
or the accents of fear. Indeed, according to an assertion in the
"Library of Entertaining Knowledge," the horse knows from the bark of a
dog when he may expect an attack on his heels. Gardiner suggests that it
would be worth while to study the language of the dog. Perhaps Professor
Garnier, when he has reduced the language of the monkey to "A, B, C,"
might feel inclined to take up the matter.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE OX.]
Next to the dog there is no animal in which there is more variation of
sound than in oxen: "Their lowing, though rough and rude, is music to
the farmer's ear save one who moans the loss of her sportive young; with
wandering eye and anxious look she grieves the livelong day." It is
specially difficult in the case of oxen to suppose that they have a
language; but it is impossible to doubt that the variations of their
lowing are understood of one another, and serve to express their
feelings if not their thoughts.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: COW LOWING.]
In the matter of exclamations, one knows how readily these may be
imitated upon the violin, or in the case of the deeper or more guttural
sounds, on the violoncello. The natural effect is greatly aided by the
sliding of the finger along the note, especially in the case of the
lowing of cattle; but there are other exclamations that are readily
reduced to music. Gardiner gives one or two interesting cases, and the
common salutation, "How d'ye do?" may be instanced. It usually starts on
B natural, and the voice rising to D ends on C; whereas, the reply,
"Pretty well, thank you," begins on D, and falling to A, ends again on
D. After a few attempts on the piano, the reader will be able readily to
form these notes for himself.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HORSE NEIGHING.]
The horse, on the other hand, is rarely heard, and, though having a
piercing whinny which passes through every semitone of the scale, it is
scarcely ever varied.
[Illustration: THE CHIRP OF THE GRASSHOPPER.]
The music of the insects has already been alluded to, and everyone will
agree with Gilbert White that "not undelightful is the ceaseless hum, to
him who musing walks at noon." The entomologist has laboured hard to
show us that the insect has no voice, and that the "drowsy hum" is made
by the wings; a fact which, being beyond all cavil, puts to the blush
the old-world story of Plutarch, who tells us that when Terpander was
playing upon the lyre, at the Olympic games, and had enraptured his
audience to the highest pitch of enthusiasm a string of his instrument
broke, and a _cicada_ or grasshopper perched on the bridge supplied by
its voice the loss of the string and saved the fame of the musician. To
this day in Surinam the Dutch call them lyre-players. If there is any
truth in the story, the grasshopper then had powers far in advance of
his degenerated descendants; for now the grasshopper--like the
cricket--has a chirp consisting of three notes in rhythm, always forming
a triplet in the key of B.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: FLY BUZZING.]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: DUCK.]
Gardiner, on the authority of Dr. Primatt, states that, to produce the
sound it makes, the house-fly must make 320 vibrations of its wings in
a second; or nearly 20,000 if it continues on the wing a minute. The
sound is invariably on the note F in the first space. The music of a
duck's note is given in the annexed score.
In conclusion, an article on the music of Nature would not be complete
without an allusion to the music of the winds and the storm. Admirers of
Beethoven will recall numerous passages that would serve as
illustrations. One particularly might be mentioned--the chorus in
"Judah" (Haydn), "The Lord devoureth them all," which is admirably
imitative of the reverberations of the cataract and the thundering of
mighty waters. The sounds at sea, ominous of shipwreck, will also occur
to the minds of some. At Land's End it is not uncommon for storms to be
heralded by weird sounds; and in the northern seas sailors, always a
superstitious race of people, used to be much alarmed by a singular
musical effect, which is now well known to be caused by nothing more
fearsome than a whale breathing.
These instances might be still further multiplied, but enough have,
perhaps, been given to excite some general interest in "the _Music
of Nature_."
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_Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of Their Lives._