_linguam_ on it would manage that.

Very nearly all the talking I heard was done by the birds and
animals--especially the birds; but perhaps half a dozen times, as I sat
under a tree or walked along the road, I was aware of voices which
sounded exactly like those of people (some grown-up and some children)
passing by or coming towards me and talking to each other as they went
along. Needless to say, there was nothing to be _seen_: no movement of
the grass and no track on the dusty road, even when I could tell exactly
where the people who owned the voices must be. It interested me more
than anything else to guess what sort of creatures they were, and I
determined that the next jar I tried should be the Eye one. Once, I must
tell you, I ventured to say "Good afternoon" when I heard a couple of
these voices within a yard of me. I think the owners must nearly have
had a fit. They stopped dead: one of them gave a sort of cry of
surprise, and then, I believe, they ran or flew away. I felt a little
breath of wind on my face, and heard no more. It wasn't (as I know now)
that they couldn't see me: but they felt much as you would if a tree or
a cow were to say "Good afternoon" to you.

When I was at supper that evening, the cat came in, as she usually did,
to see what was going. I had always been accustomed to think that cats
talk when they mew, dogs when they bark, and so on. It is not so at all.
Their talking is almost all done (except when they are in a great state
of mind) in a tone which you cannot possibly hear without help. Mewing
is for the most part only shouting without saying any words. Purring is,
as we often say, singing.

Well, this cat was an ordinary nice creature, tabby, and in she came,
and sat watching me while I had soup. To all appearance she was as
innocent as a lamb--but no matter for that. What she was saying was
something of this kind:

"Get on with it, do: shove it down, lap it up! Who cares about soup? Get
to business. I know there's fish coming."

When the fish actually came, there was a great deal of good feeling
shown at first. "Oh, _how_ much we have to be thankful for, all of us,
have we not? Fish, fish: what a thought! Dear, kind, generous people all
around us, all striving to supply us with what is best and pleasantest
for us."

Then there was a silence for a short time, then in a somewhat different
tone I heard: "Ah dear! the longer I live, the wiser I find it is not to
expect too much co