Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist | Page 9

If I grasped one arm above the elbow he ran before me.

If I lifted my hand to my forehead he trotted composedly behind. By
one motion I could make him bark; by another I could reduce him to
silence. He would howl in twenty different strains of mournfulness, at
my bidding. He would fetch and carry with undeviating faithfulness.
His actions being thus chiefly regulated by gestures, that to a stranger
would appear indifferent or casual, it was easy to produce a belief that
the animal's knowledge was much greater than in truth, it was.
One day, in a mixed company, the discourse turned upon the unrivaled
abilities of ~~Damon~~. Damon had, indeed, acquired in all the circles
which I frequented, an extraordinary reputation. Numerous instances of
his sagacity were quoted and some of them exhibited on the spot. Much
surprise was excited by the readiness with which he appeared to
comprehend sentences of considerable abstraction and complexity,
though, he in reality, attended to nothing but the movements of hand or
fingers with which I accompanied my words. I enhanced the
astonishment of some and excited the ridicule of others, by observing
that my dog not only understood English when spoken by others, but
actually spoke the language himself, with no small degree of precision.
This assertion could not be admitted without proof; proof, therefore,
was readily produced. At a known signal, Damon began a low
interrupted noise, in which the astonished hearers clearly distinguished
English words. A dialogue began between the animal and his master,
which was maintained, on the part of the former, with great vivacity
and spirit. In this dialogue the dog asserted the dignity of his species
and capacity of intellectual improvement. The company separated lost
in wonder, but perfectly convinced by the evidence that had been
produced.
On a subsequent occasion a select company was assembled at a garden,
at a small distance from the city. Discourse glided through a variety of
topics, till it lighted at length on the subject of invisible beings. From
the speculations of philosophers we proceeded to the creations of the
poet. Some maintained the justness of Shakspear's delineations of aerial
beings, while others denied it. By no violent transition, Ariel and his
songs were introduced, and a lady, celebrated for her musical skill, was

solicited to accompany her pedal harp with the song of "Five fathom
deep thy father lies" . . . She was known to have set, for her favourite
instrument, all the songs of Shakspeare.
My youth made me little more than an auditor on this occasion. I sat
apart from the rest of the company, and carefully noted every thing.
The track which the conversation had taken, suggested a scheme which
was not thoroughly digested when the lady began her enchanting strain.
She ended and the audience were mute with rapture. The pause
continued, when a strain was wafted to our ears from another quarter.
The spot where we sat was embowered by a vine. The verdant arch was
lofty and the area beneath was spacious.
The sound proceeded from above. At first it was faint and scarcely
audible; presently it reached a louder key, and every eye was cast up in
expectation of beholding a face among the pendant clusters. The strain
was easily recognized, for it was no other than that which Ariel is made
to sing when finally absolved from the service of the wizard.
In the Cowslips bell I lie, On the Bat's back I do fly . . . After summer
merrily, &c.
Their hearts palpitated as they listened: they gazed at each other for a
solution of the mystery. At length the strain died away at distance, and
an interval of silence was succeded by an earnest discussion of the
cause of this prodigy. One supposition only could be adopted, which
was, that the strain was uttered by human organs. That the songster was
stationed on the roof of the arbour, and having finished his melody had
risen into the viewless fields of air.
I had been invited to spend a week at this house: this period was nearly
expired when I received information that my aunt was suddenly taken
sick, and that her life was in imminent danger. I immediately set out on
my return to the city, but before my arrival she was dead.
This lady was entitled to my gratitude and esteem; I had received the
most essential benefits at her hand. I was not destitute of sensibility,

and was deeply affected by this event: I will own, however, that my
grief was lessened by reflecting on the consequences of her death, with
regard to my own condition. I had been ever taught to consider myself
as her heir, and her death, therefore, would free me from certain