The man among the monkeys; or, Ninety days in apeland / To which are added: The philosopher and his monkeys, The professor and the crocodile, and other strange stories of men and animals

OLD WORLD MONKEYS.

The Monkey House is always a favoured resort with those who visit the Zoological Gardens, and, in spite of its somewhat close atmosphere and very disagreeable odour, one of the most attractive spots in the institution. As the number of species is very considerable, it will be impossible to condense the needful information into the limits of a single paper. I purpose, therefore, to separate the subject into two divisions, namely, the Monkeys of the Old and New Worlds. This is not merely an arbitrary classification to suit the present purpose, but is founded upon important differences of structure, which will be mentioned when we arrive at the history of the New World Monkeys.

The young observer is probably aware that the apes, monkeys, and baboons are distinguished from all other animals by the structure of their limbs. They have no feet suited for progression on a level surface, but are furnished with four quasi-hands, enabling them to cling to the branches, among which is their chief residence. In consequence of this structure, they are totally unable to walk properly, or even to stand upright, their knees being always bent, and their fore hands ready to act as feet. Indeed, I have seen many a man walk better on his hands than any monkey on its feet.

Many writers have laid much stress on the hand-like form of the fore paws, and founded upon that structure a theory that the Quadrumana bear some relation to mankind. The opposable thumb is the chief characteristic upon which these writers insist for the support of their theory. Now, if we examine the fore and hind paws of any monkey, we shall find that in the fore paws the thumb, although it can be opposed to the fingers, is a very small and undeveloped member, scarcely visible in some species, and entirely absent in others. It is not used for the many delicate purposes to which the human thumb is applied, nor does it aid in the grasp of the branches. On the contrary, when the monkey seizes a branch, the thumb lies by the side of the fingers, and is unemployed until the animal is at rest.

Now look at the hind paws. It is true that the thumb is very large and opposable, and that it can grasp very tightly; but there its mission ends. It is essentially a grasping member, like the foot of the parrot, or any other scansorial bird, and is used for that purpose alone. It has not the slightest claim to be elevated to the rank of a hand, and is, in common with the fore paw, nothing more or less than an arboreal foot.

Before leaving the subject, I must briefly mention that the head is not set on the neck like that of man. The hole through which the spinal cord passes into the brain is set so far back upon the skull that the muzzle is thrown downwards; and, like all other animals, the monkey is incapable of assuming the erect aspect of man.

The great apes, such as the Orang-outan and the Chimpanzee, have unfortunately died. We should also observe that, as it is some years since the Rev. J. G. Wood wrote these papers, the personnel of the cages will have changed. We pass, therefore, onwards to that group of pretty, long-tailed monkeys that are ranked under the genus Cercopithecus, a name which I do not translate, because your Greek Lexicons will explain its meaning. They are all natives of Africa, and extremely plentiful in different parts of that vast continent, so that they are frequently brought to England, and may be seen in menageries, accompanying barrel-organs, or even domesticated as pets in private houses.

Several species of one genus are often placed in the same cage, so that, in order to distinguish them, it will be necessary to examine their form and colour with care, and then to compare the animal with the description.

Our first example is the Mona (Cercopithecus Mona), a native of Western Africa. This monkey is brown, with darkish limbs, and a dark band across the forehead, and there is a light spot upon each side of the tail. At present here is only one specimen of this monkey. It is a pretty little creature—that is, if we can call any monkey pretty—and is not more mischievous than the generality of these creatures, while it is, perhaps, a little more endurable.

So much, however, depends upon the management of the animal, that the conduct of any isolated individual forms no guide to the character of the species. I have now before me two printed accounts of the Mona, in one of which it is said to be mischievous, malicious, passionate, and disobedient, while in the other its character is stated to be mild, affectionate, and docile. But these accounts are founded on the conduct of living specimens, and the conclusion which I deduce from them is, that the owner of the first-mentioned animal was unsympathetic and hasty-tempered, while the possessor of the second was fond of the little creature under his care, and behaved kindly to it.

I do not particularly recommend a monkey as a pet, because the animal requires great attention in this climate, and, unless its habitation be kept most scrupulously clean, the odour which it exhales is positively horrible. See, for example, how beautifully clean are the cages in the Zoological Gardens, and yet how very unpleasant is their odour. If, therefore, a monkey should be presented to any reader of this book, I strongly recommend him to transfer it to some public institution.

Some lads, however, are monkey-mad, and would prefer to keep the animal. If they should by any chance do so, let them give the animal plenty of space wherein it may exercise its active limbs, and, above all things, keep it in a warm room during cold or wet weather. In this climate the monkeys generally die from diseased lungs, and they must accordingly be shielded from draughts and moisture.

For our next examples we must pass under the tunnel, and visit the room in which those wonderful Spider Monkeys are placed. In a moderately-sized cage are several specimens of two closely-allied species, which may be easily distinguished by attending to the descriptions.

The first of these creatures is the Moustache Monkey (Cercopithecus Cephus). It is a very little and a very elegant monkey, looking quite brilliant with its yellow tufts on the side of its face, and its blue skin. In the same cage are some specimens of the Red-eared Monkey (Cercopithecus erythrotis), also with yellow tufts on the side of the face. They can, however, be at once distinguished from the last-mentioned species by the colour of the bare skin on the face, which is pink instead of blue. The long tail, moreover, is of a bright chestnut hue, darkening towards the tip. This species comes from Fernando Po, a little island on the western coast of Africa, in the Bight of Biafra, where the lover of animals finds abundantly birds, beasts, and fishes. Both these little creatures are meek, gentle, and somewhat timid. They do not, however, seem to present any salient point worthy of particular mention. One little fellow is very conspicuous among its companions by the sable tintings of its fur, and its white eyebrows. This is the Pluto Monkey (Cercopithecus Pluto), so called because its dark and sombre hues are thought to be emblematical of the gloomy King of Orcus.

Closely allied to these monkeys are the Mangabeys, several specimens of which are in the Zoological Gardens. Two species may be seen in the same cage in the Monkey House, and very funny creatures they are.

Of these two animals, the Lunulated Monkey is, perhaps, the greatest favourite with the public, not because it is more engaging in its manners, but on account of its petulance and the quaint manner in which it shows its displeasure.

It takes offence very readily, and, like certain irritable human beings, always thinks that some one is ridiculing it, and straightway flies into a passion. It dashes at its supposed foe, squeaks with rage, grins furiously, showing all its teeth, and agitates its eyebrows violently, producing a most absurd effect, as the skin of that part of the face is nearly white, and its alternate display and concealment never fail to raise much merriment among the spectators. This, of course, only irritates the monkey still further, and those who happen to be standing in front of the cage will act wisely by holding themselves well aloof, for the monkey darts its hand between the bars with wonderful rapidity, and will tear a piece out of a lady’s dress, or sadly injure a coat-skirt, before the keeper can interfere.

Even when no one is attempting to irritate it, the creature utters a few occasional growls, as if to give warning that it does not mean to be offended without taking notice of the insult. The colour of this monkey can be very well imitated by diluted lampblack, and the creature can always be recognised by the white eyelids. Both these monkeys come from Western Africa.

Of the genus Macacus there are several examples. There are no less than seven specimens of the Bonnet Macaque (Macacus pileatus), a monkey that may be recognised by the manner in which the hair of the head is parted in the middle, after the fashion of the modern dandy. The general tint of the fur is pale brown, but that of the head is black—a peculiarity which has earned for the creature its popular name. These monkeys are funny little fellows, with a peculiar wistful, peering expression in their faces, which I do not remember to have noticed in any other species. They are fond of gathering together in the window, selecting the spot where the sunbeams fall; and there they squat all in a group, so closely pressed together that no separate bodies can be distinguished, and they seem to be little more than a large bunch of fur, from which a number of heads and tails protrude confusedly.

The Round-faced Macaque (Macacus cyclopis) deserves a passing notice. It is a stout, sturdy little creature, with rather short limbs in proportion to the size of its body, a bold, pinky face, and fur of a sooty brown colour. Though strong and muscular, and climbing with wonderful address, it is hardly so active as the more slenderly-made monkeys; and when it leaps from a small height to the ground it comes down with a thump and a flounce, as if the limbs were not accustomed to such exertion. It is a native of Formosa.

I regret to say that the Pig-tailed Macaques (Macacus nemestrinus) are dead. They were, perhaps, the most amusing denizens of the Monkey House, with unrivalled capabilities of planning and executing mischief, and always having so comical an air about them that even the sufferer from their misdeeds could not be angry with them. I hope that new specimens will arrive, when they may be recognised by the peculiarity from which they derive their name, their slender, short tails bearing a singular resemblance to the caudal extremities of the porcine tribe.

There are two specimens of the Toque (Macacus radiatus), odd little creatures, which look just as if they had been crying. One looks as if it had been drinking as well, for its face is quite red and flushed. They are not quite so strong-jawed as some of the species, and, therefore, prefer buns to nuts, the shells being often too hard for them. This species is sometimes called the Zati, and sometimes is described under the name of Capped Macaque. It is a native of India. The common Macaque (Macacus cynomolgus) is also represented by several specimens. The colour of its fur is greenish brown above, and yellowish or whitish below. All the species of this genus bear a great resemblance to each other, and the young naturalist will find that the task of distinguishing them is at the same time difficult and instructive.

The Rhesus is a lively and amusing animal. There are no less than ten specimens of this monkey in the establishment, one of which, a remarkably fine fellow, called Jumbo by the keeper, is in the habit of displaying some very singular antics.

He climbs upon a strong bar that crosses his cage, and, fixing his hands tightly, jumps up and down rapidly with his hind paws, bringing them down on the bar with a mighty thump, and shaking the whole place with the violence of his exertions. The keepers have their pet names for all the conspicuous monkeys. Jumbo is the largest of them, and next in order come Jim and Nancy. Nancy is not permitted to associate with the other monkeys, because she has a baby, and her companions would assuredly tease and worry both the mother and her child.

By special favour the reader may, perhaps, be permitted to see this interesting pair of animals, and it is pretty to watch the care which the parent takes of her offspring, and the extreme jealousy with which she regards the least movement of the spectator. She flies forward with grinning teeth and flashing eyes, shakes the bars of her cage violently, and chatters her wrathful defiance to the imagined enemy. The little one is in its way quite as shy, and whenever it takes alarm it leaps at its mother, clasps her round the neck and waist with its hands and feet, and lies, not on her back, as artists so frequently misrepresent, but under her belly, pressed so tightly to her body and buried so deeply in her fur, that at a little distance it cannot be distinguished. The rapidity of the movement is really astonishing. There is a quick spring, and in an instant the little creature is snugly settled in its natural cradle.

The baby looks ten times as old as the mother. Its face is puckered into a hundred wrinkles, and its skin hangs loose and flabby on its cheeks.

While I was watching this interesting pair, both mother and child became actuated by a common emotion. Their eyes sparkled with excitement; they glared anxiously through the bars of the cage, and they chattered with eager expectation. The keeper had put his hand into the pocket where he kept his apples, and the monkeys had seen the movement. The desired fruit was cut and given to the expecting animals, and then, I regret to say, the mother monkey displayed a more unamiable character than I should have thought her capable of possessing.

In spite of her evident fondness for her offspring, and her jealousy of strangers, she behaved very selfishly, snatched a piece of apple from her child and ate it herself, scolding it the while for daring to eat anything which she wanted.

The child, however, was by no means disposed to acquiesce in this appropriation, and when its mother came to take away the next piece of apple that was given to it, the little creature popped the morsel into its mouth. The piece of apple was, however, so large, and the young monkey’s mouth so small, that the greater portion projected from its jaws. The mother made a sharp snatch at the projecting portion, but this time the young one was too quick for her, and, striking the apple smartly with the back of its hand, drove it fairly into its mouth. I really thought that the little animal would be choked, so greatly were its cheeks distended. But by some ingenious process it contrived to nibble away the apple, and seemed rather pleased than inconvenienced by the huge morsel which it had forced into its mouth.

In another cage is a small specimen of the Wanderoo (Silenus veter).

When adult and in good condition, this monkey is notable for the enormous mane which falls over the head and shoulders, and bears a remarkable resemblance to the full-dress wig of a judge. In the young specimen this hairy mass is but short and scanty, and it is not until the creature has reached its full growth that the wig flows around its head in such massy waves. The top of the head is black, but the wig—if we may retain that term—takes a greyish and sometimes a white hue along the sides, and gives a very venerable aspect to the monkey.

The fur of the Wanderoo is very black, without any gloss, and in allusion to this hue the Indians call it Neel-bhunder—i.e., Black monkey.

In a large cage at one end of the room sits in solitary state a fine specimen of the Anubis Baboon (Cynocephalus Anubis). In all the members of this genus the face is lengthened into a decided snout, at the extremity of which are placed the nostrils. This peculiarity gives a very morose aspect to the animals, which is certainly not belied by their tempers. All the Cynocephali are natives of Africa.

The fur of the male Anubis is very thick over the shoulders and upper parts of the body, and has a greenish cast, each hair being alternately black and yellow. The nose and bare skin of the face are brown.

This specimen is rather tetchy in disposition; and as he is an enormously powerful animal, the bars of his cage are defended by strong wire network, so that he cannot pass his hand between them. One day a gentleman who was visiting the Monkey House chose to act contrary to regulations, and poked his stick through the bars for the purpose of irritating the baboon. The animal immediately seized it, and a pulling match commenced in which the baboon was easily victorious, dragging the gold-headed stick into his cage and keeping it.

In spite of all precautions, I regret to say that some of the visitors behave very badly to the animals. On Mondays especially, when the price of admission to the Gardens is only sixpence, the monkeys are shamefully teased.

The Anubis is always in a constant state of irritation on those days, and on one occasion had recourse to a rather curious device. He took up a handful of straw and fixed it on his perch close to the wires. This bunch of straw he seemed to regard much as the combative Irishman regards the coat-tail which he is trailing on the ground—resented with his utmost fury every attempt to touch it.

I once put him in a terrible passion. He is very fond of raw eggs, and the keeper produced a fine fresh one from his pocket. The Anubis saw it at once, and descended from his perch in anxious expectation. Wishing to see what the animal would do, I took the egg from the keeper, put it under my coat, and walked away. The baboon immediately flew into a fury; his eyes shot forth angry fires, and he jerked himself about in the oddest manner; he uttered guttural grunts, and followed me about with his eyes as if he would kill me.

I then returned the egg to the keeper, who opened the door of the cage and flung the egg at the baboon. The animal caught it with the dexterity of a juggler, and put it into his mouth. He then held his nose in the air so as to permit the egg to roll to the back of his jaws, and with the under-teeth he broke the egg-shell, permitting its contents to flow down his throat. After the lapse of a few minutes, he just opened his mouth and protruded the fragments of the egg-shell, each portion of which he licked with economical care before he threw it on the floor of his cage.

On one occasion a gentleman, being anxious to discover the number of eggs that the animal would take, purchased sixpennyworth on his way to the Gardens. Eggs were then sold fourteen for a shilling. When he arrived at the Monkey House he produced the basket of eggs, and threw them to the baboon in rapid succession. The animal caught them all, and stowed away six in his cheeks, three on either side. There was no space for the seventh, so he ate it at once, and finished the others at his leisure. Once or twice a rotten egg has intruded into his mouth, and on such occasions his wrath is extreme.

This animal has a curious habit of sitting with his face to the wall, and fixing all his four paws against it on a level with his nose.

In the opposite cage are two specimens of a North African species—namely, the Arabian Baboon, sometimes called the Tartarin (Cynocephalus Hamadryas). This is a very handsome species, with a mass of long grey hair falling from the shoulders of the male, giving it a very poodle-like aspect, especially when it is seated. It is much more quiet than the Anubis, and is fond of assuming very remarkable attitudes, too numerous and too varied to be described. In Mr. Waterton’s museum at Walton Hall there is a splendid specimen of this beast, prepared after the unique style of that eminent naturalist, perfectly hollow, and without wires or any support whatever. It is so lifelike, indeed, that it is not exhibited in the museum. This animal was obtained from a large travelling menagerie, where it had lived for some time under the grandiloquent title of Lion-slayer, though neither it nor any other baboon ever slew a lion in their lives.

There is a small specimen of the Chacma, or Pig-faced Baboon (Cynocephalus porcarius). This species inhabits Southern Africa, where it is very plentiful in certain spots.

If taken when young the Chacma is easily tamed, and becomes a very amusing animal, retaining its good-humour in spite of the teasing to which it is so often subjected. The word Chacma is a corruption from the Hottentot name of the animal, T’chakamma, the T’ representing one of those strange clicking sounds peculiar to the South African languages, so difficult of imitation, and so impossible of description.

In his native country the tame Chacma is often used for a very important purpose—namely, the discovery of water. The animal is purposely deprived of all liquid for a day or two, and is then suffered to go in search of water, being led by a long rope. The keen instinct of the poor thirsty animal is sure to guide it towards the desired object, and if any water be near the spot the baboon is a certain guide to the stream or fountain.

Two other species of this genus are in the Monkey House, but neither of them present any salient points of interest. One is the Guinea Baboon (Cynocephalus papio), a very young and small specimen, and the other is the Yellow Baboon (Cynocephalus papioides). This little animal can at once be recognised by the peculiarity from which it draws its name, the fur being conspicuously yellow. It is rather a good-tempered animal, and gives very little trouble to the keeper.

The wonderful Mandrill (Papio Mormon) is, I am sorry to say, numbered among the dead, but it is probable that its place may soon be filled by another specimen. It is, without doubt, the most interesting among the monkeys of the Old World, its ribbed cheeks being decorated with colours so brilliant that they seem to have been laid on with a painter’s brush dipped in the brightest tints which his palette could furnish.

NEW WORLD MONKEYS.

We now leave the true monkeys of the Old World, and pass to those of the New. I say the true monkeys, because we shall, in the course of the present paper, recur to a portion of the Old World, as certain beings are found there which undoubtedly belong to the quadrumanous order, but which depart in many points from the characteristics of the true monkeys.

The rulers of the Zoological Gardens have done rightly in transferring the greater number of the New World monkeys to a separate building. Their peculiar temperament requires extended space, and their delicate lungs need a combination of warmth and fresh air that cannot be obtained except in a building devoted to the purpose.

Next to the Reptile House the visitor will see another door, upon which is a placard calling attention to the Spider Monkeys. Passing up a few stairs, we come to a room the centre of which is occupied by a magnificent wire cage. In this cage are placed four specimens of the Spider Monkey, a few lemurs, and a single specimen of the Moustache Monkey, a creature which has been described at page 250 of our volume. This little animal has been transferred to the Spider Monkeys’ cage for the purpose of enlivening the normal inhabitants, who have a custom of squatting together on the floor, winding their prehensile tails around the general assemblage, and scolding every one who tries to disturb them.

There are three specimens of the Black-faced Spider Monkey (Ateles frontatus), and one of the Greyish Spider Monkey (Ateles hybridus). The latter animal can be at once recognised by the colour of its fur, which is of a very light and nearly white grey, the hair being rather long and coarse. The others are all known by their darker colour, a blackish brown pervading their whole bodies, and their faces being darker than the rest of their persons. One specimen of the Black-faced Spider Monkey is in excellent health and spirits, and seldom fails to afford its visitors the gratification of seeing it go through its wonderful performances.

It has a regular series of feats, and goes through them as systematically as if it were an acrobat performing before the public. First it climbs up the wires until it has reached the longitudinal rafter that runs along the top of the cage. Along this rafter it springs, holding only by its hands, and swings along, hand over hand, with a certainty and lightness that are peculiarly beautiful.

Having arrived at the other end of the rafter it grasps a rope, launches itself into mid-air, swings once or twice, and then transfers itself to a second rope, by means of which it swings diagonally across the cage, lands safely upon the wires, and then goes to rejoin its companions.

When the four Spider Monkeys choose to gather themselves together, scarcely any inducement can separate them. By a very necessary rule, no one is allowed to feed the creatures in this room, so that these monkeys cannot be enticed away from their companionship, and the cage is so large, that, even if ill-conditioned visitors were to attempt to use violence, they could not succeed.

I hope that the young observer will lose no time in proceeding to the Zoological Gardens and examining the peculiarities of the Spider Monkeys, because all the quadrumana are delicate beings at the best, and these South American species are peculiarly affected by our climate.

The first point of importance in their structure is the long prehensile tail, the tip of which is bare of fur and covered with soft black skin, like that of the feet. It can grasp with very great power, and the animal possesses the faculty of directing it as accurately as an elephant directs its proboscis, so that it is able to seize the branches of the tree, or to pick up any object within reach. I was going to say that it can grasp the branches of the tree in which it resides, but this expression would have been wrong. Monkeys have no residence; they are essentially nomad in their characters, traversing continually the rocks or forests of the country wherein they live, and neither needing nor possessing a fixed residence. The chief use of a definite habitation is to furnish a secure home for the young while they are helpless.

Thus, the rabbit retires to her burrow, the wolf or the lioness to her den, and the squirrel to her cage. But the young of the monkey are never helpless, like those of the animals just mentioned; they cling to their mother’s body, bury themselves in her fur, and find therein a warm and living cradle. It is noteworthy, too, that the young monkey suspends itself in such a manner that it offers no impediment to its mother’s movements, nor does it interfere with her equilibrium as she passes along the branches.

The next important point in these monkeys is the peculiar formation of their limbs. All monkeys are agile, but these creatures are especially made for locomotion among branches, and in consequence they combine strength and lightness in a very wonderful manner. Their heads are very small and round, their bodies are slight and of trifling weight, while their limbs are at once long, slender, and powerful.

The fore paws are small, and the observer must remark that the thumb is almost entirely absent. A monkey does not grasp with its fore paws, but merely hooks its fingers over the branches, and so swings without wasting its strength. The grasping power is chiefly evident in the hind paws, the thumb of which is very large, and therefore possesses great force. The inner surface of the hind paws is quite black, soft, and silken to the touch, and little indicative of the enormous grasping power which resides in them.

As instruments of terrestrial progression the limbs possess but few capabilities. All monkeys have an awkward air while on the ground; but these long-limbed creatures are peculiarly ill fitted to a level surface. They can walk on their hind feet, and often do so, but it is in a curious, waddling sort of gait, with the arms extended as balancers, and the long tail curved high over the head like the letter S.

They often proceed along the floor of their cage in a very curious manner. Without changing their seated posture they gather up their legs, place their hands on the floor, and swing themselves along, using the arms as crutches. This movement is exactly like the mode of progression which has been related of the kangaroos in books of Natural History. Awkward as this manœuvre may seem, it suits them well enough, and they get along at a pace which really surprises those who see it for the first time.

The nostrils are very wide apart, on account of a thick cartilage which divides them, and the teeth present many remarkable peculiarities, which need not be described except in a purely scientific work.

“I have elsewhere written an account of a Black Spider Monkey named Sally, who, like the monkey in the fable, had seen the world, having traversed the greater part of the globe by sea and by land. I afterwards made her acquaintance, and was much pleased with her gentle manners.

“She was terribly impatient of cold, and, when allowed to go near a fire, it was almost painful to see the eagerness with which she drank in the heat. She would hold up her arm, and expose her side to the fire until the hair began to shrivel and scorch; she would then turn the other side, and repeat the process. She would lie strangely curled up on the flat plate of the kitchen fender, spin round and round, as if she were a joint to be roasted, and would cry piteously when removed from the pleasing warmth.

“She was fond of climbing to the shoulders of those whom she liked, and used to do so in rather a curious manner, not pulling herself up by grasping the clothes, as is the custom with most monkeys, but by clasping the limbs round the body. When she had reached the waist, she generally put her hand into every pocket, in order to feel for apples or nuts, and displayed little petulant signs of disapprobation when her search was unsuccessful.

“I regret to say that poor gentle Sally is dead. She had lived for years on board ship, alike unaffected by tropical suns or Arctic snows, but the peculiar British climate did not suit her constitution, and in a few months she succumbed to its influence.

“The only signs of anger that I have known the Spider Monkeys to manifest is a slight shooting out of the lips, accompanied by a short, sharp, impatient sound, something between a whistle and a squeak.”

In a smaller cage may be seen a beautiful specimen of the Squirrel Monkey, sometimes called the Tee-Tee (Callithrix sciureus).

This pretty and elegant little creature is scarcely larger than a rat, with an innocent, baby-like countenance, and large, full, dark eyes. It may at once be recognised by the pink face with a blackish spot on the nose, and the yellow limbs, contrasting with the olive-coloured back. Its tail is exceedingly long and particularly prehensile, though I have not seen the creature suspend itself by that member, as is the case with the Spider Monkeys.

In common with all its kin, it is a most gentle and delicate little being—quite a lady’s pet—coming to the bars to be caressed, and occasionally uttering the tiniest imaginable squeaklet. It does not possess the selfish, grasping disposition which generally characterises the monkey tribe. On one occasion the keeper gave two slices of orange to itself and the Douroucouli, which inhabits the same cage. Just as the Douroucouli was about to take its piece of fruit, a sharp-eyed and quick-limbed Moustache Monkey, that inhabited an adjoining cage, leaped across the top of its house, dropped along the wires, thrust its arm through the partition, and seized the orange, darting away with its spoil to the farther corner of its cage.

For a few moments I was amusing myself by laughing at the impertinent thief as he sat grinning and chattering defiance to the keeper, and when I turned to see how the Douroucouli bore his loss, I found the Tee-Tee quietly sharing his piece of orange with the bereaved animal. Both were nibbling and sucking away with perfect amity, and they resorted to the same social expedient when another slice of the juicy fruit was put into the cage.

In the same cage with the Tee-Tee is the curious Feline Douroucouli, or Vitoe (Nyctipithecus felinus), a pretty, though sober-coloured, little animal, mostly active during the night, but at times lively in the daytime.

The fur of this animal is thick, deep, and soft, though not drooping. It has a round face, a short, stumpy nose, and very large round eyes of a beautiful chestnut hue. The general colour of the fur is greyish-brown; there is a dark stripe over the top of the head, and just above each eye is a patch of white. Its fingers are very long, and the tail is large, full, and nearly black. This creature is found, as are all the tribe, in the Brazils.

During the daytime it spends much of its time in its box, which is long and narrow, with an aperture near each end, and the creature seems to find some amusement in popping into one round hole, traversing the box, and poking its head out of the other. When a slice of orange was given to the Douroucouli, it did not attempt to eat it for some time, but only patted it, and then licked its fingers, thus giving time to its neighbour, the Moustache Monkey, to rob it of the dainty.

The last of the true New World Monkeys which can be described in these pages will be found in the large Monkey House near the refreshment-room. These are the Capucins, (Cebus Apella), of which there are several specimens in the cages. They are funny little animals, of a singularly sedate and grave aspect.

Two of them, called “Jack” and “Charley,” are notable for their nut-cracking powers. Their jaws are too feeble to break the shell of a well-grown nut, and accordingly they have learned to achieve that object in another manner. Some time ago a very little monkey was placed in the cage quite unable to crack nutshells, and the keeper, taking compassion on his weakness, showed him how to break a nutshell by means of a large pebble. The other monkeys learned the art by watching their comrade, and it is very amusing to see one of them take a nut, put it into his mouth, hunt under the straw for the pebble, drop the nut on the floor, pick up the stone in both hands, smash the shell with a single blow, and pick up the fragments in haste, lest the others should avail themselves of his ingenuity.

Jack is also very fond of eggs, breaking one end by knocking it against the floor, and then, inserting his hand, pulling out the semi-liquid contents and eating them. For the benefit of those who read Gulliver’s Travels, I may mention that the monkey might have found little favour at the court of H.M. Golbasto Momarem Evlame Gurdilo Shefin Mully Ully Gue, Emperor of Liliput, being an obstinate Big-endian, and never breaking his eggs at the little end.

As to Charley, he developed tastes that to me were rather unexpected. The keeper put his hand into his pocket, and, drawing out a dead mouse, presented it to Charley, who received it with eagerness sparkling in his eyes, and withdrew to the side of the cage, where he was nearly surrounded by his fellows, who sat around him in eager expectation, watching every movement, like small boys when one of their comrades has an apple.

His first operation was to put the head in his mouth, to bite the skull asunder with a single effort, and eat the brains. He then deliberated upon the mouse, pulled off a leg, and laid it on the ground, whence it was instantly seized and eaten by a companion. He seemed anxious to make the treat last as long as possible, and after a lapse of half-an-hour he had not quite finished the mouse. The keeper told me that he preferred them just killed.

By some writers these monkeys are called Weepers. The colour of the Capucin is rather variable: yellowish with an olive cast on the back, and paler round the face.

MADAGASCAR MONKEYS.

In the wonderful island known by the name of Madagascar are several members of the quadrumanous order, none of which are very like monkeys, and one is so strange a being, that, for many years, systematic zoologists did not know in which order it ought to be placed. In the same room with the Spider Monkeys is a cage in which are placed two very fine specimens of the Ring-tailed Lemur, or Macauco (Lemur catta). These handsome creatures are very tame and gentle, and always grateful for a little attention.

They are very pretty creatures, with their long snouts, full chestnut eyes, large, intelligent ears, and soft chinchilla-like fur. Their general colour is soft and slightly mottled grey, blackish upon the top of the head, taking a warmer tint upon the back, and becoming pure white below. The tail is very long and round, nearly white, and ringed regularly with black throughout its length.

They are playful as kittens, and have great games in their cage, knocking each other over, leaping about their house with wonderful activity, and expressing amusement by jumping up and down from all the four paws, just as a kitten does when she is greatly excited. One of them will swing by its hind paws from a branch, give its companion a pat on the side of the head, drop to the floor, and scurry off in hot haste, with its playfellow in full chase. Suddenly it pulls up and sits on a branch, with its hind feet clasping the bough and its tail swinging loosely below, and calmly contemplates the prospect.

They took a great fancy to my pencil, and tried very hard to obtain it, dropping suddenly along the wires, and making a dash at the pencil when they thought that I was off my guard. Owing to the slenderness of their limbs, they can thrust their paws to a surprising distance through the bars. They became greatly excited when I offered them some bread, jumping about, and uttering curious little murmuring cries. Each tried very hard to monopolise the dainty, but, when they found out that each had its proper share, they grew contented with their gift.

Their paws are quite as hand-like as those of the true monkeys; and when the creature sits upright, feeding itself with its fingers, and looking calmly in various directions, it assumes a peculiarly wise and contemplative aspect. The fore paws are quite soft and rounded at their tips, being finished off with a round black pad, which projects from beyond the little blunt nails, so that the Lemur is quite unable to scratch, though it can snatch and clutch quickly, and pull with great force.

I have much more to say about these beautiful animals, but, as we shall require some space for the description of the Aye Aye, I must pass to the remaining specimens of the Lemur tribe.

In a smaller cage is a specimen of the White-fronted Lemur (Lemur albifrons), a creature that at the time of my visit had hardly made up its mind whether it would be playful or vicious. After some little experience it found out that I meant it no harm, and so took up the former line of conduct.

By degrees it organised a kind of game, and would play as long as I chose to humour it. The creature turned its back to me, and pressed itself against the side of the cage. I gave it a poke with my finger or pencil, and the Lemur gave a kind of chatter, dashed to the top of the cage, laid the side of its head upon the bars, opened its mouth, squeaked, and then descended to resume its game. Like its ring-tailed kinsfolk, it took a fancy to my pencil, and once or twice nearly succeeded in pulling it out of my hand.

The general colour of this species is brown, with a warmer tinge upon the sides, and round the face is a ruff of long, loose white hair, that gives the creature an aspect not at all unlike that of a pantaloon in a Christmas pantomime. I may mention that by many zoologists the White-fronted Lemur is thought to be only the female of the Black-fronted Lemur (Lemur nigrifrons).

In a corresponding cage is a specimen of the White-whiskered Lemur (Lemur leucomystax).

This animal has lived in the collection for nearly two years, and is quite tame and gentle. It is rather larger than the preceding species, and is a very pretty creature. The fur is long, soft, and of a reddish-brown colour upon the body, taking a black hue on the top of the head. Instead of the ruff of white hair that surrounds the head of the preceding species, there is a pointed tuft of white hair projecting from each cheek, just like the whiskers of an old man.

It is fond of being caressed, and, when no one takes notice, it attempts to call their attention by uttering a short grunt, frequently repeated, and sometimes gives vent to its impatience by a rather loud and deep barking sound. The observer should be careful to examine the eyes of the Lemur, their peculiar lustre having at times almost a startling effect, their depths seeming to be lighted up with a silvery fire.

We now come to the last of the monkey tribe.

Just now the Zoological Society is rich in treasures, possessing some of the rarest birds and quadrupeds at present known to science. The hippopotamus, for example, though not scarce in its own country, is so difficult a subject for transmission, that we may congratulate ourselves on the two magnificent specimens in the Gardens. The giraffe, too, partakes of similar conditions, and is, therefore, most valuable. But perhaps the two most remarkable creatures at present in the Gardens are the apteryx, a bird which is undoubtedly on the road to extinction, and is notable for laying an egg that weighs one-fourth as much as the mother bird; and the Aye Aye (Cheiromys Madagascariensis).