Many dogs appear to be fond of music. Mr. Jesse observes, that “there is hardly a regimental band in the British service which is not attended by some particular dog, who owns no master, but picks up his living where he can; in fact, attaches itself to the band, and follows it from one quarter to another. These dogs are great favorites with the soldiers, and they never ill-use them or suffer others to do so.”
M. Marville says, that while a man was playing upon a conch shell, he noticed a dog sitting on its hind legs looking steadfastly at the player for above an hour; and M. Le Cat observes, that we hear a dog howl, we see him weep, as it were, at a tune played upon a flute; but we see him quite lively in a field, at the sound of a French horn.
Bowyer states, that “a Scotch bagpiper traversing the mountains of Ulster, in Ireland, was one evening encountered by a starved wolf. In his distress, the poor man could think of nothing better than to open his wallet, and try the effects of his hospitality; he did so, and the savage swallowed all that was thrown to him with such a voracity that it seemed as if his appetite was just returning to him. The whole stock of provision was, of course, soon spent, and now his only recourse was to the virtues of his bagpipe; this the monster no sooner heard, than he took to the mountains with the same precipitation with which he had left them. The poor piper could not so perfectly enjoy his deliverance, but that, with an angry look at parting, he shook his head, saying, ‘Ay, are these your tricks? had I known your humor, you should have had your music before supper.’”
Sparrman furnishes us with an anecdote of a trumpeter, who, by a similar expedient, saved himself from falling a prey to a prowling hyæna:—“One night,” he says, “at a feast near the Cape, a trumpeter, who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out of doors, in order to cool and sober him. The scent of him soon attracted a spotted hyæna, which threw him on its back, and carried him away to Table Mountain, thinking him a corpse, and consequently a fair prize. In the mean time, our drunken musician awoke sufficiently sensible to know the danger of his situation, and to sound the alarm with his trumpet, which he carried fastened to his side. The beast, as may be easily imagined, was not less frightened in its turn, and ran away.”
Sir Everard Home found that the effect of the higher notes of the pianoforte upon the great lion in Exeter ’Change, was only to excite his attention, which was very great, as he remained silent and motionless. But no sooner were the flat notes sounded, than he sprang up, attempted to break loose, lashed his tail, uttered the deepest yells, and seemed so furious and enraged as to frighten the ladies.
Franzius says, “the tiger cannot endure the sound of drums, which maketh him run mad, and tear himself to pieces.” Valmont de Bomare saw, at the fair of St. Germain, cats turned musicians; their performance being announced as the “Mewing Concert.” In the centre, was an ape beating time; and some cats were arranged on each side of him, with music before them on the stalls. At a signal from the ape, they regulated their mewing to sad or lively strains.
Seals have a most delicate sense of hearing, and delight in musical sounds; a fact not unknown to the ancients. Sir Walter Scott says,
“Rude Heiskar’s seals, through surges dark,
Will long pursue the minstrel’s bark.”
Laing, in his “Voyage to Spitzbergen,” states, that a numerous audience of seals would surround the vessel and follow it for miles when a violin was played on deck, as was often the case.