The above-described exhibition made it plain to me that the pig can be taught to understand a certain amount of human speech and to a.s.sociate memories with phrases substantially as we do ourselves. It is perfectly clear that the performance which I witnessed was not a mere routine action, for I had a number of questions asked over again so as to make it sure that the creature acted with reference to each separate inquiry.

The behavior of the animal during the performance seemed clearly to indicate mental effort and not mere automatic memory. His att.i.tude when trying to determine which of two cards to take distinctly showed that he was intently viewing the figures and endeavoring to come to a decision.

I am aware it has been suggested that learned pigs discriminate between the cards by peculiarities of odor which have been given to these bits of paper. I sought carefully to find if such was the case, and though I have a very keen sense of smell I found nothing which led me to suspect that this device was used. Even if such were the case, the rationality of the animal's action would be none the less clear. The showman a.s.sured me that he never used any such means in training pigs. He seemed, indeed, to treat the suggestion with contempt.

Although experiments in the training of pigs show that they have rather remarkable intellectual capacities, the most human feature in their mental organization is found in the keen sympathy which they exhibit with the sufferings of their own kind and the willingness with which they encounter danger in protecting their comrades. It usually requires close observation for the naturalist to determine the existence of this motive among the other wild or domesticated mammals. In fact, the traces of it are very slight indeed, and are generally to be attributed to the care of parents for offspring or of the males for their harem--a disposition which, though akin to the defence of the kind, is nevertheless of a special and peculiar nature. Even among our domestic dogs, whose sympathies have been developed in a remarkable degree and who will sacrifice their lives to defend or rescue the human beings with whom they are familiar, there appears to be but little disposition to support members of their species who may be a.s.sailed. With pigs, however, as is well known to all those who have observed their habits, the characteristic cry of distress of their fellows proves very exciting and stimulates all the adults, both male and female, who hear it to hasten in defence of their kinsmen. It is a noteworthy fact that while most other animals when in danger utter no distinct or continuous cry, the pig gives voice in a vociferous and insistent manner, as if he had a right to expect the sympathy and help of his species. The cry goes with the custom of defence which in this species has attained a better foundation in the sympathetic motives than in any other mammal below the level of man.

It is perhaps due to their relatively high intellectual organization that the excessively domesticated pigs are liable to suffer from attacks of mania. This is most commonly exhibited by the sows, which at times will destroy their young shortly after they are born. The sight of their progeny seems to infuriate them in a curious manner. One sow which I owned killed three successive litters; another fine animal of the Berkshire breed, a very amiable, indeed affectionate, creature, was carefully watched at the time she first bore young, precautions being taken to prevent her from harming them; she would willingly allow them to suckle, provided she did not see them, but the moment she laid her eyes upon them she was seized with the strange fury.

Although this singular perversion of the natural instincts of maternity sometimes occurs among the pigs which are allowed to roam together in herds, it seems to be far more common in those conditions where the animals are confined in pens without contact with their kind, and where they have no chance to recognize the young as members of their species or to acquire that interest in them which they would gain in the society of the herd. It is also clear that this maniacal habit is inherited; according to my observation it is common among the Berkshire, and relatively rare in other less specialized varieties.

The intelligence of the pig is also shown in the readiness with which the creature changes its habits to meet varied environments. Thus the pigs which range the woods in the western and southern parts of the United States have learned to catch the crawfish which abounds in the shallow streams in those parts of this country. They will wade up a brook, turning over the stones and driftwood as they go, catching with a quick movement the crustaceans which they have thus dislodged from their cover. Along the sh.o.r.es of the Bay of Fundy, the pigs, accustomed to follow the tide out, picking the chance food which is thus exposed to them, have learned carefully to avoid the risk of being caught by the returning waters. With the first splash of the turning tide they hasten insh.o.r.e until they have attained safe ground.

One of the best evidences of the mental state of these animals is found in their actions when a.s.sailed by dogs or other beasts of prey.

Pigs, though wary and sensible of danger, seem exempt from the extreme fear which leads to panic, and fight, even before being brought to bay by long chasing, in a discreet and valiant manner.

Where a number of them are attacked by dogs or other enemies, they will form a circle with their heads out, each supporting the other in such a manner that the ring cannot readily be broken. Their thick-skinned forequarters and stout tusks provide them with excellent instruments with which to resist an a.s.sault.

The sagacity of the pigs is probably, in part at least, to be attributed to the fact that in their native state they are communal animals, all the species of their family being accustomed to live gregariously, so that for ages they have had the training which every social organization, however simple, affords. They are, moreover, omnivorous feeders, accustomed to subsist on a great variety of food--a habit which seems in all cases to promote the development of the intelligence in animals.

Although the pigs by their nature afforded the best opportunity for developing an intellectual animal which has come to us through our domesticated creatures, no effort whatever has been made by selection to develop the latent mental capacities of this species. It is perhaps the only form of those which man has subjugated which by his treatment he tends to degrade. In the time to come, when men will be held to a better accountability for the treatment of their captives, the condition of these animals will afford a fair field for the reformer's care.

The geologist who is acquainted with the mammalian life of the Middle Tertiary period readily notes the fact that the variety in genera and species appears to be much greater than it is at the present time. A great number of forms, differing somewhat widely from those now in existence, then abounded in the Americas and the Old World. It may at first sight seem unfortunate that man did not have the chance to essay his domesticative arts on that older and apparently richer life. A closer examination, however, leads us to see that the species of that time, though more numerous than those of the present, were on the whole less fitted for our use than the fewer but more completely differentiated kinds with which we have had to deal. The mult.i.tude of kinds which we find in the Mesozoic period indicates that the life was in a state more experimental than that to which it has attained. A host of forms on their way towards the specialization which has now been attained have been removed from the sphere, in the manner of a scaffolding from a completed structure. That which has been left remains because it has successfully accomplished the task of reconciliation with environment, or, in simpler phrase, because it has learned to do things which were useful and profitable in a more perfect manner.

As an ill.u.s.tration of the fact that the animals of to-day are better fitted to be the help-meets of man than were their ancestors of an earlier time, we may note the state of the horse at the time when that genus was undergoing its development in the region about the upper waters of the Missouri. As may be imagined, the long and difficult pa.s.sage from the five-toed to the single-toed form was slowly accomplished, and to its doing went a great many temporary forms, which served, we may say, as stepping-stones for the ongoing. So far as we can judge, these intermediate forms were small, rather frail creatures, which probably could not have been made to serve any purpose useful to man. It was not until the mechanical system of the large single toe with the wonderfully developed nail, which makes up the foot and hoof of the horse, had been attained, that the creature becomes fit for the wonderful work we have persuaded him to do in our civilization.

A comparison of the skulls of the Tertiary mammals and those of our own day indicates that in certain of the important series, and presumably in them all, the brain has increased in size from the earlier to the later times. This increase in brain capacity has doubtless been attended by a decided gain in the measure of intelligence, a gain which has doubtless served to make the modern representatives of the series fitter for man's use than their ancestors were. For, while the number of our very useful domesticated forms may seem at first sight to be dull of wit, none of them are really low in the intellectual scale as we apply it to the brute; in fact, a considerable measure of intelligence is absolutely required as a condition for true subjugation. This is seen by the fact that nothing like a real adoption into our social system has ever been accomplished except with a few of the higher orders of mammals and birds, species which have an intellectual capacity that we recognize as akin to our own. Thus, so far as we can see, man's appearance on this stage was, so far as it relates to the possibility of companionship with the lower life, exceedingly well timed. He came at a period when the life was ready to give him and to receive from him a large measure of help. If his advent had been much earlier, he might have had less trouble in his contests with the larger carnivora; but if there had been a lack of beasts to obey his will, it is doubtful whether he could himself have won his way above that primitive life.

DOMESTICATED BIRDS

Domestication of Animals mainly accomplished by the Aryan Race; Small Amount of Such Work by American Indians.--Barnyard Fowl: Mental Qualities; Habits of Combat.--Peac.o.c.ks: their Limited Domestication.--Turkeys: their Origin; tending to revert to the Savage State.--Water Fowl: Limited Number of Species domesticated; Intellectual Qualities of this Group.--The Pigeon: Origin and History of Group; Marvels of Breeding.--Song Birds.--Hawks and Hawking.--Sympathetic Motive of Birds: their aesthetic Sense; their Capacity for Enjoyment.

It is an interesting fact that about all the work of domestication which has been done by man has been accomplished by the peoples of Asia and mainly by the Aryan race. The American Indians tamed the llama and alpaca and a few species of native plants; even where their habits were prevailingly sedentary they domesticated no birds. It was left for Europeans to make use of the wild turkey. Our primitive people had the same chance to tame ducks and geese as the folk of the Old World. They appear, however, to have lacked all capacity for such endeavors. The same lack of disposition to capture and tame wild creatures is noticeable among the characteristic peoples of Africa; all of which serves to show that the domesticating art, at least as applied to animals, is peculiar to the higher-grade folk of the Old World.

Of all the birds which have been domesticated, our common barnyard fowl has been by far the most useful to man. It has become in a way interwoven with his life to a degree found only in a few of our barnyard animals. Next after the pigeons and the pigs it has been most deeply impressed by the breeder's art. The wild species whence it sprang is a small creature, laying but few eggs and with but a slight tendency to acc.u.mulate fat. From this parent stock varieties have been bred which attain in some cases to eight or ten times the weight of the ancient form. They have, moreover, lost the fierce combative spirit which characterizes their ancestors and which by selection has been preserved and intensified in our breeds of game-c.o.c.ks.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Original Jungle Fowl (_Gallus bankiva_) and Some of His Domestic Descendants]

It is an interesting fact that our barnyard fowl is the only species of a large family of birds which has been truly domesticated. The kindred pheasants and grouse, though abounding in the Old World and the New, and much disposed to abide about the cultivated fields, appear to be rather untamable. However well cared for, the wilderness motive seems never to have been eradicated. The domesticability of the c.o.c.k, as is that of most other wild animals, is doubtless to be explained by the conditions of the life in which it has dwelt for ages before it was introduced to the society of man. In its wild state this bird had already to a great extent lost the power of flight, using its wings only for escaping from four-footed pursuers or to attain the branches of the trees in which it sought safety in the night time. With this measure of loss of the flying power, the creature abandoned the habit of ranging over a wide field, and thus was made more fit for domestication. Moreover, in their wilderness life these birds dwelt in more established communities than their kindred species. The most of these wild forms do not keep together through the year, but scatter after the young are able to shift for themselves. The Indian species of _Gallus_, however, from which our c.o.c.ks and hens descend, have organized their life so that the individuals remain a.s.sociate in a friendly way throughout the year.

A part of the fitness of this creature to cast in its lot with man arises from the fact that they have very sympathetic natures. This is shown by the way in which the c.o.c.ks will fight for their hens, even against their dreaded enemies, the hawks; and by the manner in which the mother, overcoming her natural fears, will do battle for her brood. It is shown also in the curious mingling of gallantry and kindliness with which the c.o.c.k will call a hen to give her some choice bit of food which he has captured. As he grows older and becomes Philistinish, we may note that, after the manner of unfeathered bipeds, he is often disposed to indulge his selfishness, and summons his flock only to see him devour the morsel. Even in old age, however, the males of the varieties which are nearest the parent stock maintain their helpful motives and will struggle with infirmity to beat off a bird of prey.

The sympathetic and affectionate quality of our barnyard fowl is perhaps best indicated by the singular variety and denotative value of their various calls and cries. Those who know these birds well will find no difficulty in recognizing about a score of diverse sounds, each of which indicates a particular turn of their mind. Almost all of these different notes have slight variations of expression which fit particular situations. Thus the crow of these birds, which may seem to the un.o.bservant a very unvaried sound, discloses to those who have lovingly studied them at least half a dozen distinct modifications. In the fledgling male who just begins to feel the spirit of his kind, and who goes through his performance in the adolescent way, it is a cheap and often pitiful call. From the open roost in the trees, where the birds are gradually aroused by the slow-coming day, we can often hear the note of the half-awakened c.o.c.k, as full of the sense of slumber as the speech of a sleeping man. As the creature gradually awakens, his cry becomes more resonant until it has the true morning ring. Brave as is this note of the full day, it is not to be compared with the crowing of a game-c.o.c.k, the most splendid braggart sound of all the animal world.

The really sympathetic notes of our fowls are uttered in their ordinary intercourse. Here the gradations of sounds have a range and fineness which, it seems to me, we can observe in no other creature below the level of man. Attention, astonishment, fear, commonplace distress, exultation, and agony are all set forth with cries which we, in a way, recognize as appropriate. Although some of these sounds relate to the larger experiences of the creatures, the most instructive of them are uttered in their ordinary intercourse, where they clearly maintain a kind of consensus in the flock by unending small bits of emotional speech, the notes being shaded in a wonderful way. These fine variations of utterance can sometimes be observed to be related to slight differences of situation. Thus the cackle of a hen when she leaves her nest after laying an egg is quite different from that which is made by the same hen when, during the period of incubation, she quits her eggs in search of food and water.

It is not unlikely that the eminent domesticability of our common fowls is in a way a.s.sociated with the singular variety of their notes. This variety indicates that the creatures are in constant and effective communication with one another; in a word, they are very sympathetic.

With this intellectual helpfulness naturally goes the love of the domicile and a disposition to submit to control.

So nice and well understood are the differences between the sounds which these birds give forth, and so well are their notes appreciated by their companions, that the creatures may well be said to have a language. Though it probably conveys only emotions and not distinct thoughts, it still must be regarded as a certain kind of speech. The modes of expression indicate that in this creature, as in the other feathered forms, the intellectual life consists largely in the movements inspired by the emotions. On the rational side our fowls seem weaker than many other less interesting species. In their nesting and other habits there are no evidences of constructive ingenuity; and in all my observations on them I have never seen any evidence which showed either considerable powers of memory or a capacity to act in any complicated way with reference to an end. It is evident, however, that they make a very good cla.s.sification of the world about them. They have, for the limited field over which they roam, a keen topographic sense; they never are lost, and this in connection with their sympathetic homing instinct prevents them from wandering from their accustomed places to take up again with a wilderness life.

In their adhesion to domestication our common fowls differ in a remarkable way from all other of our captive animals except the dog, and these birds are even more ineradicably attached to man than their older companion. While the dog will sometimes become half wild, or, as we may phrase it, undomiciled, fowls seem incapable of maintaining themselves apart from human care. In much ranging of the wilderness I have never found one of these creatures more than a thousand feet away from a human habitation. When we consider how common must be the chances of their going astray, and how easy it is in many parts of the country, as in our Southern States, for them to obtain in the wilderness food throughout the year, the fact that they never go wild is indeed remarkable. It can only be explained by the great development of the homing instinct which man has brought about in their sympathetic souls.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Houdin, Cochins, Leghorns, and Game]

Although our unnatural process of breeding has done much to degrade the original beauty of the c.o.c.ks and hens, destroying the delicate coloration of the feathers as well as the admirable blending and contrasts of their pristine hues, it seems likely that the effect on the physical and mental development as a whole has not been unfavorable.

Though less courageous, they are stronger creatures than in their wild state; they are clearly more fecund; they are gentler natured; and, so far as I have been able to compare the high-bred with the primitive forms, their range of expression through the voice has been much increased, a feature which may be noted in other domesticated species of birds, as, for instance, in the canaries. The most remarkable alteration which has been brought about in the minds of these creatures consists in the very great diminution in the combative motive of the males. In the wild forms, as well as in the kindred variety of the game-c.o.c.k, this impulse to battle attains a truly phenomenal development, the like of which is probably not to be found in any other creature. The male birds begin their warfare before they are more than half grown, and in their adult state will attack anything which they can conceive to be an enemy.

They will, with slight provocation, a.s.sail any of the other domesticated species of birds, and even the lesser mammals, such as the dogs and cats. They will fight their own image in a looking-gla.s.s. I have had game-c.o.c.ks attack my hand when it was held near the ground and given an up-and-down movement in imitation of their antagonist's head.

I once reared a game-c.o.c.k by hand, keeping him secluded from his kind until he was adult. I then placed him in a large collection of barnyard fowl where there were half a dozen mongrel c.o.c.ks, a drake of the muscovy variety, several ganders, and two turkey-gobblers. Immediately and in rapid succession he settled his accounts with the males of his own kind.

He shortly overcame the drake and the ganders. He then devoted what was left of his forces to battles with the turkeys. Here he found himself in great difficulty, for the reason that these great birds would seize him by the head and lift his body off the ground. However, he soon learned an ingenious trick which protected him from this danger. When gathering breath in the intervals between his a.s.saults, he would hover himself between his antagonist's legs, keeping step with the awkward creature in its efforts to get away from him. In a few days he wore out these doughty foemen and remained the battered master of the field.

Although the indomitable valor of the game-c.o.c.k may be in some measure due to the selection which the breeder has applied to the variety, there can be no question that it is essentially natural to the species and is the result of an age-long habit which in the native wilds of the creature did much to insure its safety. The antiquity of the state of mind may be judged by the perfection to which the spurs have attained and the remarkably skilful and definite way in which the creatures use them. The spur, which has arisen from the development of the scales and underlying bone of the bird's leg, is a singularly perfect structure, the finish of which cannot be judged in the degraded form in which it is found in our ordinary barnyard species. Although in its construction this weapon is admirably devised, it is placed in a position where only a remarkably well-addressed movement can give effect to its blow. Those who have watched game-c.o.c.ks in combat have had a chance to see the vaults by which the creature, partly turning in the air, is able to throw the spur in such a manner that it shares the impulse of the body when it strikes the antagonist. This peculiar craft has been in good part lost among our common varieties. Their spiritless contests differ as much from those of the game-birds as do the fist fights of untrained men from the contests of skilled pugilists.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bantams, Brahma, and Dorkings]

Although to persons unaccustomed to the spectacle the combats between game-birds may seem disgusting, almost every one must admire the valor, grace, and address which such scenes exhibit. Except where the brutal custom of putting steel points on the spurs prevails, the birds rarely receive fatal wounds. The defeated c.o.c.k is soon brought to confess his inferiority and takes himself away. At no other time in the life of these birds does their organic beauty appear to such advantage as when they are struggling with each other. Then alone do we perceive the singular efficiency of their bodies and the quick as well as appropriate action of their instincts. They set themselves against each other in att.i.tudes as well chosen and as peculiar as those of a well-trained fencer. Before the a.s.sault they often go through a singular performance, which consists in picking up bits of twigs or pebbles. These they cast into the air, an unmeaning movement which may be compared to the like meaningless though similarly graceful salute with which swordsmen preface their contests. Then, with their legs flexed so that they may be ready for the spring, and with the rather stiff feathers about the neck erected so as to serve as a shield, they creep toward each other until they are separated by the distance appropriate for the spring. When fairly placed for battle they begin a system of fence which is intended to provoke the enemy to an untimely a.s.sault. The art of the game appears to consist in persuading the adversary to venture an attack where his force will be spent in the air, so that a blow can be given him before he has time to recover position. The issue depends much on the endurance of the birds. Their movements require so much energy that one of them is apt to become exhausted before the other is quite spent. In rare cases, only one of which has been seen by me, a weary bird will feign death for a minute or so and thus obtain new strength with which to renew the combat, profiting also by the confusion which he will bring upon his adversary by his sudden revival.

Although the combatant motive which we find in the males among our barnyard fowls has doubtless been developed through their combats with each other, the valiant spirit which has come from it often leads the creatures to attack the enemies of their flock. I have seen a nimble game-c.o.c.k strike a hawk which was pouncing to its prey, delivering the blow some feet above the surface of the ground, and this so effectively that the marauder was driven away in a sorely hurt condition. I have seen males of the game variety attack a number of other larger animals which in any way threatened their charges.

Although our barnyard fowl are almost the only ground birds which have ever been brought to a state of perfect domestication, there are several other species of the same group which have been taught in a measure to adhere to man. Of these perhaps the longest in domestication is the peafowl. This creature, though it has edible, indeed we may say savory flesh, has retained its small place in civilization solely on account of its extraordinary beauty. For its size it is doubtless the most beautiful of animals, its plumage, especially the magnificent display of the tail, exceeding that of any other natural object. There are other birds of small size which vie with the peac.o.c.k in the details of ornamentation. Those jewels among the feathered tribes, the humming-birds, have a more delicate beauty.

The birds-of-paradise and the lyre-birds have a grace in the att.i.tudes of particular feathers which is unequalled; but for splendor none of them approach the peac.o.c.k in his best estate.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Contributions from Asia, Africa, and America--Peac.o.c.ks, Guinea-fowl, and Turkey]

The peac.o.c.k is a native of Southern Asia, a realm in fact in which the species of the group attain an uncommonly rich development. The creature appears to have been domesticated some thousands of years ago, but has undergone no considerable changes in its experience with man. It has in truth not been completely tamed. It does not willingly remain near the dwellings of man, but prefers to abide apart, only resorting to the home when in need of food. It is very intolerant of the other barnyard creatures, and often becomes possessed of a kind of mania for slaying their young, not for food but from pure spirit of mischief.

Intellectually speaking, the peac.o.c.ks are much below the c.o.c.ks and hens; although they flock together, their sympathies do not seem quick; their cries and calls do not number a fifth part of those which we hear from our chickens, and their notes are prevailingly very discordant. Their cry of defiance, answering to the crow of the c.o.c.k, is one of the rudest and least sympathetic sounds which is heard among the birds. Its only merit is that it can be heard very far. It is readily audible at the distance of a mile when it breaks the stillness of a summer night. At present the bird seems out of favor. At best it is a beautiful but annoying ornament to pleasure-grounds. It is likely, indeed, that it may in time become limited to its native wildernesses and to zoological gardens.

From Africa we have derived one rather uncommon tenant of our barnyards and fields, the guinea-hen. This creature, though of convenient size, hardy, and commendable from the number of eggs it lays, has never won a large place in the esteem of our rural people, and is now not much kept, except in some parts of the Southern States of this country. The difficulty with this creature, as with the peac.o.c.k, is that it is not truly domesticated; though it will not betake itself altogether to the woods, it prefers to maintain a half-wild habit. It will not, if it can possibly avoid it, lay its eggs in any place where they are likely to be found by man. Moreover, their rude and little-modulated cries are in the summer season almost incessant, and the din which a considerable flock can produce is exceedingly vexatious. They thus do not fit the needs or comfort of man to the degree which is likely to give them a permanent place among his a.s.sociates.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Domesticated Turkey]

The last considerable addition to our barnyards has come to us in the form of the turkey. This species has the peculiar distinction of being the only animal form of definite use to man over a wide field which has been contributed from the life of the New World. Although the creature was much hunted by our North American Indians, and is of a type which lends itself to domestication, it does not appear to have become a companion of man until it was taken from the West India Islands to Europe shortly after the discovery of this country.

Thence the domesticated form appears to have been returned to this country, where it has been a favorite in a measure unknown in the Old World. Ornithologists deem the Cuban turkey, whence our tame form came, to be specifically distinct from those which are found on the mainland of this continent. Although these kinds are distinguishable by plumage, they are probably only varieties of a common species. This is indicated by the fact that our tame flocks readily intermingle with their wild kindred.

The ease with which the turkey becomes domesticated is remarkable. In this regard the creature may be compared to our c.o.c.ks and hens. In both cases the tamableness is doubtless to be explained by the fact that the primitive forms dwelt in permanent a.s.sociation, the movements of which were in a way controlled by the adult males, and by the fact that the forms had abandoned the use of wings for wide-ranging flight. The change which has been brought about in the turkeys with their adoption into the human a.s.sociation has been slight. No distinct varieties of breeds have been originated, though here and there the observer may note slight local variations in the coloration of the plumage, which are probably due to varying admixtures with the wild forms of our forests. Thus in Kentucky and other parts of the South, where the opportunities for the intermingling of blood of the tame and wild forms are frequent, the domesticated creatures often resemble so nearly the wilderness forms that even the wary hunter may make mistakes as to whether the bird he sights be fair game or not. Unless carefully watched, a drove of these creatures on the border of the wilderness is apt gradually to return to the wild state, the three or four centuries of life about the home of man not having been sufficient to do away with their ancient love of freedom.

Among the English folk of North America the turkeys found a large place as an element of the food-supply. It has become curiously a.s.sociated with the Puritan festival of Thanksgiving, an inst.i.tution which has spread throughout the United States and which has in a way taken the place of the harvest-home festivities of the Old World and bygone ages.

It is probable that the relation of this bird to our national festivities has done much to keep it in use in this country. It is a well-recognized fact that it is costly to keep and that the eggs are not desirable for culinary use. The species requires a wide range. It does not do well in the confined conditions in which c.o.c.ks and hens can readily be maintained. It therefore is not likely to be kept in any region where the agriculture is of a high grade. It is best suited to farms where there are considerable areas of half-wild pastures.

Although the turkey is a truly gregarious form, its mental endowments are of a lower grade than those of most social birds. Their calls are few in number and have little of that conversational quality which we note in those of our ordinary barnyard fowls. Although the males contest the field with each other by personal combats, they are not very valiant, the creatures trusting for favor with the females rather to the parade of their plumage and the pomp of their carriage than to the wager of battle. In the matter of show they are, however, very effective, being surpa.s.sed only by the peac.o.c.k in the splendor of their attire. In their domesticated state they lose much of the beauty which they have in the wilderness, as they do their pristine dimensions. Those who have hunted our wild species are likely to remember scenes where in some forest glade they have beheld a gobbler displaying his graces to an admiring harem. As he struts about with his tail feathers erect and his neck arched back, now and then pausing to utter an exultant gobble, the spectacle is one of the most amusing displays of animal pride which the naturalist has a chance to behold.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Largest of all Poultry--The Ostrich]

Recent experiments in ostrich farming seem to indicate that we are on the eve of introducing into our "happy family" the n.o.blest remaining member of that group of great birds which characterized the life of the later geological periods. As yet the efforts in taming ostriches are too new for us to tell just what the effect of man's skill on the development of this creature will be. It is evident, however, that the creature can be won from its wilderness state, at least to something like the imperfect companionship with man which has been attained by the guinea-fowls and turkeys. All we know of the variations in plumage of birds indicates that the breeder's art may bring about great changes in the highly decorative feathers for which this bird is to be reared. It is also probable that with the better food which domestic conditions imply, this wanderer of the desert may be brought to attain a very much greater size than it wins in the hard life of its native land. If the form should prove as plastic as that of our ordinary barnyard species, we may indeed succeed in developing a variety approaching in dimensions the gigantic moa of New Zealand, or the aepyornis of Madagascar, those magnificent creatures of the past which pa.s.sed away just before their native lands were known to our race. The variations in size of the wild ostrich appear to indicate that this interesting result may be attainable.