ating themselves on the
dry leaves and assembling like an orchestra. After all are ready, they
begin beating the leaves with their hands, at first very slowly, like
the quiet prelude to a symphony, and gradually increasing in tempo until
the grand crescendo is reached. Then, as if by the direction of an
invisible leader, the music suddenly ceases. To deny that this is to
them a real concert would lead us into extreme absurdities. In this
connection it is interesting to note that when a baby is expected in the
village, all music ceases until after its birth, when they again resume
their periodic musical festivals. Hensel verifies this observation, and
tells us of having seen apes come from their shelter in the early
morning and congregate for a musical concert. "They repair," he says,
"to the shelter of some gigantic monarch of the forest whose limbs offer
facilities for walking exercises. The head of the family appropriates
one of these branches and advances along it seriously, with elevated
tail, while the others group themselves about him. Soon he gives forth
soft single notes, as the lion likes to do when he tests the capacity of
his lungs. This sound, which seems to be made by drawing the breath in
and out, becomes deeper and in more rapid succession as the excitement
of the singer increases. At last, when the highest pitch is reached, the
intervals cease and the sound becomes a continuous roar, and at this
point all the others, male and female, join in, and for fully ten
seconds at a time the awful chorus sounds through the quiet forest. At
the close the leader begins again with the detached sounds."

Perhaps the most remarkable evidence of animals showing a comprehensive
intelligence of musical pitch is demonstrated by cavalry horses. That
they thoroughly understand it is clearly demonstrated by the fact that
they will obey the calls of the bugle for cavalry evolutions without a
moment's hesitation and with no suggestion from outside sources. These
bugle calls are produced by a combination of four notes, each of a
different pitch, and it is rarer to find a horse making a mistake in the
musical orders given than it is for their masters.

Rats and mice have a decided liking for music, as is attested by the
fact that they appear as uninvited guests and also come as near the
performer as possible. Mice, one would believe, love church music, for
they often build their nests in pipe organs, thus being able to rear
thei