Fifthly—Other signs, etc., perhaps, with which we have no acquaintance, and can form no conjecture.
Sixthly—Information can also probably be ascertained by smell.
By any one of these means separately, or together, it doubtless is possible for very numerous species of creatures to communicate with their kind by means of a language,—little articulate it may be—but still more or less articulate, according to endowment.
Let us now consider animal language by whatever mode effected; and to do so I propose to divide the subject into two sections.
First—The language of the sensations.
Second—The language of the instinctive mind.
First—The language expressive of the bodily sensations.
This, I have no doubt, is in great measure, if not entirely, automatic, for like as when you tread on a man’s toe, or give him a thump on the back, he involuntarily cries out—Oh! So when you tread on a cat’s tail, she gives utterance to her characteristic scream.
But it is not only bodily pain that can be proclaimed aloud, but hosts of other sensations can also be expressed in various ways. The lamb, or the kitten, feels the sensation of hunger, and it doubtless involuntarily bleats, or mews, for its mother; although it does not in the least know the meaning of “Ba,” or “Mew,” or why it gives utterance to such sounds.
And so of the notes of the crowing cock, the “gobbling” turkey, and the sibilant cricket, etc.