Poppet, the subject of the following sketch, was a little brown monkey, who was for several years a member of our family. She had no hair on her face or the palms of her hands—I say hands, as they were beautifully formed, with long filbert nails, very pretty although black, except the thumb, which certainly was not aristocratic, being as broad as long. Her feet were like her hands, but longer, and she could use them with equal facility. Her eyes were really beautiful, of a clear golden brown; the nose certainly rather flattened; and the mouth large, but displaying a set of beautiful little pearly teeth that many a belle might have envied. Altogether Poppet was a very pretty little thing; and when arrayed in a little tartan dress with white tucker, her hair brushed neatly, and an amiable expression on her face, looked very winsome and coaxing; but that expression could vanish with the swiftness of lightning, and one the reverse of prepossessing take its place.

How we lived for the first three months after her arrival, when she roamed the house at her own sweet will, has been a source of wonder ever since; certainly it was in much discomfort; when working, sitting with our scissors and thread in our pockets, for if they were placed on the table, in an instant they were carried to the top of the window cornice, Poppet's favourite retreat. Sometimes, if coaxed by an apple, she would drop them; at other times no blandishments would prevail, and she would sit drawing her sharp little teeth over the thread, cutting through every row. If she captured a paper of pins or needles, she delighted to climb to the top of a tall plum-tree, where, free from molestation and deaf to entreaties, she amused herself by dropping them one by one. One day my mother entered the bath-room just in time to see Poppet dart out of the window to a large tree, which unfortunately grew close by, with a quart bottle of magnesia in her hand, which she proceeded to shower down, much amused at the miniature snow-storm, and not leaving a grain in the bottle. The meals at that time were most uncomfortable. When there were eggs for breakfast, we had to pocket or hide those not in immediate use, or Poppet would snatch them up and be out of reach in a moment. As a general rule, when food is fairly in the mouth, it may be considered safe; but I have often seen Poppet perch on some one's shoulder, open the mouth by a sudden jerk of one hand on the nose, and another on the chin; then the little brown hand would dive in, and the contents be transferred to her pouches; all being done with such extreme rapidity that strangers used to think it little short of magic.

It was always a terrible business to get Poppet to bed, having to coax her down by placing an apple or piece of cake on the table, and then try to seize her when she approached the decoy; but her movements were so rapid that this had often to be repeated several times. At last patience failed, and it was resolved she should be put to bed at six o'clock, when she had her last meal, being quite sure of her then, as she always had a 'goodie,' which she was allowed to take herself from a bottle of mixed fruit-drops, kept for her especial delectation. Poppet evidently regarded the production of this bottle as the event of the day, but never learnt by experience that the bottle neck was too narrow to draw back her hand when quite full, and that it could only be done if one or two goodies were seized. Each night she would sit with her little brown face puckered up into an expression of intense anxiety as she clutched as large a handful as possible. After trying ineffectually, she would draw out two with a sudden dash, and endeavour to get her hand in again before the stopper was put on; and her movements were so quick that she often succeeded!

Everything she stole was transferred to her pouches. Anything soft, as mashed potato or rice pudding, she would eagerly cram there, until her cheeks were quite distended, when she had a most comical appearance, her face being far broader than long. When anything small was lost, the first places examined were Poppet's pouches. I remember once when she had been found in my father's dressing-room, they contained a most wonderful collection, consisting of two pair of gold studs, half-a-dozen buttons, a clock-hand much twisted, several large needles and pins, a piece of toffy, and a small piece of carrot. Verily, as we used to think, those same pouches must have been lined with leather. Poppet had a great objection to a cuckoo clock we had, and her first performance was to open the little door at the side, thrust in her arm, drag out the poor cuckoo and bite off its head; and it was a frequent exploit (having broken the glass by dragging the clock several times off the mantelpiece on to the floor) to twist up the hands like cork-screws, giving the poor clock the most demented expression. Of course it didn't go well. Who could expect it, after such repeated shocks to its constitution!

Poppet's bedroom was in a little cupboard under a washstand; the hot-water pipe passed through it and made a kind of curve. On this a cushion was placed; and her ladyship being clothed in a garment soft and warm, was popped in, shut up with extreme rapidity, and came out in the morning, as nurse used to say, 'as warm as a little toast.' When we first got her, everybody said we should not keep her over the first winter; but we took such good care of her that she lived over several winters. Some of the family, I may observe, did secretly wish she were not so tenacious of life, or the winters more severe. Words would fail to mention the mischief she wrought; the vases and crockery she smashed; the treasured articles (still retaining marks of her teeth) she spoiled during her life of three years with us. She seemed to have the power of elongating her limbs or throwing out an extra one in the most mysterious way. If, for instance, you left her chained to the fender and returned in about a minute, you were certain to find Poppet playing with something from the far end of the room.

She was so immensely strong she frequently dragged a heavy iron fender across the room and into the passage; and so cunning, that no knot, however complicated, could hold her long. Those cunning little fingers could have unravelled the Gordian knot itself. If she found she was watched, she dropped her hands so as to cover what she was doing, and assumed a vacant expression. She, however, never could repress a scream of triumph as she broke loose. Then she would dash round, knocking over vases and inkpots, and tipping over glasses generally full of something that would stain; doing as much mischief in five minutes as the most terrible child could in a day. Then ensued a chase, greatly enjoyed on one side, though not on the other; Poppet springing from picture to picture, making the cords creak with the sudden jerk, her chain rapping on the glass of bookcases and mirrors as she flew along their tops; at last taking refuge on the cornice, leaving every one panting and exhausted from the chase and fright. She was a great source of terror to nervous visitors, nor was this always unfounded, as on one occasion, when a lady was leaving the house congratulating herself that the visit was safely over, Poppet suddenly made her appearance, and nearly dragged the bonnet from her head. Another time, when my mother entered the drawing-room she found a friend lifting the cloth, and looking under the table. She explained her peculiar action by saying she was afraid that dreadful monkey might be there. I once had a friend Miss G., staying at the house who took a great dislike to Poppet, and was always making disparaging remarks anent her little ladyship. She was always very quick in perceiving who liked her and who didn't; so this disapproval she returned with interest. She would creep along the floor dragging the fender until she could get hold of Miss G.'s foot, when she would scold at her in the angriest manner, her eyes glowing with indignation; and when loose, try to get at her with great fierceness.

On one occasion Poppet chased Miss G. up-stairs into her room, and then perched herself on a large wardrobe close to the door, evidently waiting for her to come out. Hearing my screams of laughter—for Poppet's anger and the lady's fright were most comical—she opened the door an inch or two and was beginning: 'Has that little wretch gone? I wonder you can keep such an abominable little brute in'—— when she caught sight of Poppet's wicked grinning little face, just going to launch herself at the open door, which was closed with a hasty slam; nor would she venture out until after repeated assurances that Poppet was safe in her cage, for we had at last really been obliged to get her one, and a very strong one too. When she was first put into it every bar was shaken with all her force; and not until by frequent trials did she become convinced that they were beyond her strength.

One of my sisters constituted herself Poppet's dressmaker. She wore brown holland dresses, bound with scarlet in summer, and plaid or dark-warm cloth in winter. One day, however, Maggie's enthusiasm always to have Poppet well dressed received a sudden check. She had just completed a new tartan, when turning away for a moment, she perceived a strong smell of burning; and found Poppet had ungratefully consigned the pretty new dress to the flames. Another time, when we were removing to a different part of the country, Poppet was so upset by the noise and confusion, that in sheer wantonness she laid a pair of boots in the blazing grate; fortunately they were rescued before they were much injured.

We shall never forget the consternation that prevailed when the well-known cry, 'Poppet's loose!' echoed through the house. Every one flew to their bedroom to close the window, as, the house being covered with ivy and surrounded by trees, the monkey could make exit by any that happened to be open.

Frequently she did mischievous things in the most ingenious way. One day, finding a hair frisette on the stairs, my mother took it to her room; her sudden entrance startled Poppet, who bolted out of the window into a cherry-tree, knocking over and breaking a large mirror, also leaving three bottles that were on the mantelpiece pouring their several contents of oil, glycerine, and Eau de Cologne on to the carpet. Although Poppet screamed loudly when angry or excited, she bore pain wonderfully, and never cried out. Once when she was being chased for stealing some cough-drops, one of her fingers was put out of joint in the scrimmage. I rolled her up in a shawl and took her to the doctor. He must have put her to considerable pain in putting it in; but except by frowning very ominously, the creature made no sign. As soon, however, as I got outside the door, she turned round and nearly made her teeth meet in my thumb, evidently thinking: 'There! That's to pay you out for the pain you have made me suffer.' And once when, with her on my knee, I was using a pair of very sharp scissors, she inserted her finger between the blades, which nearly divided it; however, she never cried out, but actually bit at the wound till it bled terribly. She once startled us by making her appearance in the drawing-room with face, hands, and feet dyed a brilliant purple. We found she had upset a bottle of violet ink in one of the bedrooms, and had then paddled about on the white quilt and toilet-cover. The ink being 'permanent,' caused the occupant of that room to regard the little brown offender with righteous indignation for some time.

Poppet was extremely conceited, and fond of 'shewing off.' The children of the village school used regularly to stop before the house to see the monkey, when she would dance up and down the boughs of the trees overhanging the lane, making an occasional wicked dash at the nearest little one, when the circle would break with a scamper and scream. She was very jealous of any child that came to the house, and once when a baby was the object of general admiration, managed to pinch its cheek. All the animals seemed to like her: the cat was her special friend; but when Pussy had four kittens, Poppet would turn the poor mother out of her bed, and nurse the babies herself; and very nicely she did it, sitting up holding them properly, giving a funny little giggle when the little furry things tickled her. I am sorry to say she was not always so gentle, as she was met dragging a kitten down-stairs by the tip of its tail, thumping its little head on every step. The old mother came regularly to say good-morning to Poppet, making that caressing tone in which a cat speaks to its kittens. Poppet usually returned the attention by dragging open Pussy's mouth to see what she had had for breakfast. When she had finished her own morning meal, she would sit in the saucer and rock it up and down; or placing the saucer on her head, look like a little heathen Chinee.

At last Poppet got to be too expensive a luxury. In one week she broke an unusual number of valuable things. She began the campaign by dragging the breakfast-room clock and two large old china bowls off the chimney-piece; of course the china was smashed to atoms, and the clock so injured, that ever since its voice has been most painfully cracked. The next exploit was to send a large globe spinning down from a high bookcase, thereby breaking the stand to fragments. Then in a dance along the hall, she sprang on to one tip of a pair of immense horns, bringing them down, and causing them to snap on each side of the mounting.

Every one's patience was now exhausted, and 'Poppet must be got rid of!' was the universal cry. A visit was paid to a celebrated menagerie then in the town; but the monkeys' quarters were found so cold and dirty, and their little faces looked so sad and anxious compared to Poppet's contented well-fed look, that we decided it was impossible to send her there. It was useless to offer her to our friends; her fame had blown far and wide, and how we could keep 'such a tiresome mischievous creature' was the wonder of all who knew us. At last it was decided it would be more merciful to poison her than to give her where she would be ill-used or ill-fed. It was a cruel resolve, but what were we to do? The error had consisted in our ever trying to domesticate such an untamable creature. Poppet must die, and in as simple a way as possible. Prussic acid being said to be instantaneous, was to be the agent of destruction; and as I was supposed to have the most nerve in the family, notwithstanding my objections it was unanimously resolved I should administer it. The poison remained under lock and key for some time; at last, worked up by several dreadful breakages, I gave it in some grapes, and retired from the room feeling like a murderer, leaving poor Poppet extended insensible on the rug. In about half an hour I returned, expecting to find her quite dead; but no; there she was, sitting on the fender, scratching her legs, and looking only a little languid. The revulsion of feeling was so great, and her invalid airs so comical and coaxing, that we felt rather ashamed of having attempted the life of so winning a creature. I may observe, however, that that feeling died away as she recovered and the old amount of mischief went on; and all looked very blue when some one read 'that monkeys frequently lived to be a hundred years old;' there seemed nothing for it but that Poppet should go as a family heirloom to the only son. Then it began to be whispered I might try another dose, but I steadily refused; till at the end of one hot summer afternoon which I had spent in my room, I went down-stairs, to find my mother looking very white, and hear her say: 'If I had known you were in the house I wouldn't have done it;' and to find that poor Poppet had been very effectually 'done for' at last; that for the first time in her little tricksy roguish life she was really quiet. She was buried in the garden, and a headstone with a suitable inscription erected to her memory.

Now that the anguish for the loss of old friends (in glass and china) has been blunted by time, as we sit round the fire 'between the lights,' the recital of Poppet's pranks is listened to with rapt attention by the children; and I often think, with Frank Buckland, that many a more valuable friend may be less missed and less sincerely mourned than a pet monkey.