Suppose we talk about another animal of those countries, the monkey.”

“If you mean that the monkey belongs exclusively in Africa and Asia as the elephant does,” said Harry, “you're wrong. The monkey is found there, it is true, but he is also found in America and Europe.”

“I know he's found in America,” replied George, “but didn't know that he lived in Europe in a wild state. The only European monkeys I ever heard of were in captivity.”

“You're not far wrong, though,” Harry answered with a slight, laugh, “as there's only one place in Europe where monkeys run wild and that is on the Rock of Gibraltar.”

“Are there many of them?”

“No, not a great number, and they are supposed to be descended from some that were brought there from Africa and escaped from captivity. The naturalists class them as Magots or Barbary Apes, and say they are identical with the monkeys or apes of Northern Africa. Before we go further let me explain that an ape is a monkey without a tail, a baboon is a monkey with a short tail, and a monkey is an animal of the same great family with a long tail.”

“We thank you for the explanation,” said Harry, and his words were, echoed by George.

“Some interesting stories are told about these Gibraltar monkeys,” said Mr. Graham, resuming the topic of conversation.

“What are they, please?” exclaimed the youths in a breath.

“It is said,” remarked Mr. Graham, “that a few weeks before the famous siege of Gibraltar, the Spaniards attempted to surprise one of the British outposts, and they would have succeeded if it had not been for the monkeys. The party which was attempting the surprise had to pass a group of monkeys; the animals set up such a chattering as to alarm the outpost and put it on its guard. As a reward for their services in saving Gibraltar, the English garrison has ever since allowed the monkeys to live unmolested.

“Another story,” the gentleman continued, “relates to the imitative powers of the monkey. When Lord Howe went to the relief of the garrison during the siege, he had among the reinforcements the Twenty-fifth Regiment of infantry. After peace had been declared, several officers of this regiment went to a spot at the back of the rock to amuse themselves by catching fish. They found a good place for their purpose, and were busily engaged in catching whiting, when they were pelted by some one concealed on the steep rock above them. They shifted their ground two or three times, and finally found a place where they were no longer disturbed.

“The fish were biting at a goodly rate when suddenly the drums sounded to arms. The officers rowed their boat ashore, left it high and dry on the beach, and then hurried away to report for duty.

“When they came back they were greatly surprised to find that the position of the boat had been changed, and some of the hooks which had been left bare were baited. The lines were a good deal tangled, and it was evident that whoever used the boat had not been at all particular about other people's property.

“In a day or two the mystery was explained. An officer of Hanoverian Grenadiers had taken a solitary walk on that very afternoon, and found a party of young monkeys pelting the fishermen from behind the rocks. The officer was a good deal of a naturalist, and so he concealed himself carefully and watched the performance.

“While the youngsters were pelting the fishermen, several old monkeys arrived and drove the mischievous youths away. Then they sat down and watched very attentively the business of fish-taking, and when the officers beached their boat and went away, the monkeys determined to improve their lesson. They launched the boat, baited the hooks, and went to fishing. They caught a few fish, and then came back to shore, left the boat and retired up the rock before the officers came in sight again.”

“Did they carry off the fish they had caught?” George asked.

“Yes,” was the reply, “not only what they caught themselves but those that the officers had left in the boat.”

“What a human action!” exclaimed Harry.

“The men who argue that we are descended from monkeys ought to know of the performance of the Gibralter apes.”

“Not only in actions but in structure,” said Mr. Graham, “does the monkey bear a resemblance to man. Several naturalists have regarded the monkey as only an inferior form of the human race and have so classified him. The celebrated naturalist LinnÆus placed man with monkeys in his order of Primates or first animals. He made his genus Homo consist of human beings (Homo sapiens), of chimpanzees (Homo Troglodytes), of orang outangs (Homo satyrus), and the Gibbons Homo lar.”

“Was his classification accepted by the other naturalists?” one of the youths asked.

“By some, but by no means by all,” was the reply.

“There was aloud protest against it, not by the monkeys, who didn't trouble their heads on the subject, but learned men and others who felt that the dignity of the human race had been affronted. As time went on the opinions of LinnÆus fell more and more into disfavor, and the present classification places man in a distinct genus, that of Bimana (two-handed) while the whole tribe of monkeys, apes and the like, are classed as Quadrumana (four-handed.)

“It must be admitted,” continued Mr. Graham, “that from a purely anatomical point of view, the monkey has a close resemblance to man. He can stand upright, has a nude face, his eyes are directed forward, his internal organs are very much the same, and he is subject to many diseases of which man is the victim. But although he can walk upright he does so with difficulty; his forelegs or arms are much longer than the human arm, in proportion to the rest of the body, and although he has the same organs in his throat he has not the power of speech. Though his hand is shaped like the human one in a general way, it is far from being as perfect; the fingers do not act separately like those of man and the thumb is short and unwieldy and does not oppose each of the fingers, or only very imperfectly so.”

“I have read somewhere,” said Harry, “that the highest intellect shown by the monkey is lower than that of the most degraded savage. Monkeys are not afraid of fire, but no monkey ever rose to the intelligence of producing it by rubbing two sticks together as is done by the lowest of savages.”

“You are right,” said Mr. Graham. “The observation you refer to was made by a French philosopher, Joseph de Maistre. There are other points in which we can show a wide gulf between man and the quadrumana, but we will drop them for the present.”

At this moment an exclamation from George turned attention in his direction.

“Here's something for us to see,” said George, as he held up a newspaper on which he had rested his eye for a moment, while listening to the remarks of Mr. Graham.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“A monkey show,” was the reply, “a theatrical performance by trained monkeys, or rather a pantomime, as the animals cannot be expected to talk as human actors do.”

It was agreed at once that the monkey performance was something to be seen, and accordingly arrangements were made for attending it. Mr. Graham explained to the youths that while these performances were comparatively rare in America they were an old established institution in Europe. “Germany and Italy,” said he, “are famous for them, and in some of the German and Italian cities there are monkey theaters where performances are given by quadrumana throughout the entire year. They are assisted by dogs and ponies, and altogether the show is very funny and interesting.”

The exhibition which our friends attended was managed by Mr. Brockmann, a famous monkey-trainer of Vienna, who thought it would be a good speculation to bring his troupe to America. Among the members of his four-handed company were Kullman, the elegant circus rider; the fat and lovesick Lottie; Anthony, a gentleman not to be joked with with impunity; Jack, a little dandy; and George, the clown of the company, who was said to create any amount of fun by his queer antics.

Our young friends read with interest an account from a German paper of the preparations for their nightly appearance on the stage. “As soon as the operation of dressing begins,” says the writer, “the cunning little animals begin to be restless. They shuffle to and fro on their high stools; they sneeze and blow and sniffle, and make faces at the keepers and each other. But woe to him who would dare laugh at their grimaces and their fooling. He would soon make acquaintance with their teeth and nails. The comical little fellows love to carry on all sorts of fun, but they wont allow anybody to laugh at them. For this reason they are attached with little chains to their stools as long as their dressing lasts.

They like to play all sorts of tricks with the keepers who are dressing them. One of them amuses himself by tearing his brand new trousers into shreds, and when he has fully succeeded in doing so, he gives vent to his delight by loud screams. Another takes pleasure in pulling off the vest which the keeper has had the greatest difficulty in buttoning on him, and grins at the unfortunate man with truly fiendish delight. A third absolutely refuses to put his tiny little hand into the sleeves, although the keeper holds the armhole in the most inviting manner before him. The little rascal pretends not to be able to find it, pushing his hands in every direction but the right one. If the keeper at last loses his patience and pushes the arm by force into the sleeve, the indignant artist feels insulted, and replies with a ringing slap in the keeper's face.

“At last the operation of dressing has been performed. The little artists sit quietly on their stools, not a little proud of their gay costumes. They grin and wink at each other, and munch with great delight nuts and almonds and other delicacies with which they are rewarded. Lottie is particularly vain and proud of her pretty costume. With great complacency she pulls her dress, arranges her coiffure, pushes her hat from one side to the other to see which is most becoming, and keeps on a continual flirtation with the gentlemen of the company. Dainty little Jack, for whom these demonstrations of love are intended, seems to trouble himself very little about his coquetish mistress. He sits quietly in a corner enjoying the draughts from a small bottle of mild beer, of which he is particularly fond, taking very great care that not a drop of the precious liquor is spilled on his snowy white jacket and apron, which as cook is his professional costume. Jack is possessed of a most versatile talent. With equal skill and elegance he appears now as a cook, then as a coachman, or a circus rider and athlete. Besides this, he has assumed for his own pleasure the function of picking up the various articles that lie scattered on the stage after the performance and conveying them swiftly behind the scenes.”

While waiting for the performance to begin, Harry read the following account of a reporter's interview with Mr. Brockmann, the manager of the monkey troupe. The reporter asked about the system of training, and in reply to the question the manager said: “I cannot tell everything, as I have certain methods which I do not want to make generally known. For forty years my father and I have given exhibitions of trained animals, and in that time we have naturally learned much of their habits and dispositions. The great thing, however, is to gain command of an animal's entire attention. Once this is obtained, all the rest is comparatively easy. When a monkey's training begins he is restless, his eyes wander all over the room, and his attention is never for more than a minute concentrated on any one thing. I have to teach him to forget everything else and watch me. He must learn to keep his eyes on mine. If any one in the audience will watch the monkeys when they are doing important acts, he will see that they never take their eyes off me. It is a singular thing that, while dogs and ponies look larger on the stage than they really are, monkeys appear very much smaller when dressed up. I have a little monkey who is an even better tightrope performer than the one now exhibited, but he would look so small that the audience would scarcely be able to see his feats. My animals are very fond of me. The rewards you see me give them on the stage are almonds and raisins.”

The reporter had an opportunity of witnessing a display of the monkeys' affection for Mr. Brockman, when he made his first appearance for the day in their dressing-room. He went the rounds and spoke a word or two to each. Some kissed him, others climbed up and put their arms around his neck, and each exhibited the utmost impatience till his turn for recognition came.

“What monkeys are the easiest to train?” inquired the reporter.

“Mandrills and baboons, though they are perhaps a little more delicate than the other kinds.

Still my father had one for thirty years. The oldest performer in the present troupe is a blue-faced mandrill, whom I have had for twelve years. He is very good-tempered and will not reject any attentions you may feel inclined to show him. As a general rule, when a monkey holds out his hand encouragingly it is safest to give him a wide berth, and one who is chattering to himself is nearly always in a bad temper.”

“How often do you feed them, and what, is their favorite food?”

“When they are performing twice they get four light meals a day, milk, fruit, and potatoes being their principal diet. We keep their cages very clean, but they look after their own toilets and we do not wash them.”

“What animals do you find possess the most intelligence, monkeys, dogs or horses?”

“There are clever and stupid specimens of each, but I don't think there is any great difference in general intelligence. The great difficulty with all of them is to get undivided attention.”

“What is the difference between a mandrill and an ordinary monkey?” queried Harry as he paused at the end of his reading.

“The mandrill,” said Mr. Graham, “is one of the many members of the monkey family, and belongs among the apes or the baboons. He is a native of the coast of Guinea in Africa, and has a very short tail or no tail at all; his face is furrowed, and so much resembles that of a dog, that he is often spoken of as a dog-faced monkey. A full grown mandrill is about, five feet high when standing erect, and his head is very large in proportion to his body. He is not the best looking of his race, and would never be chosen as a contestant for a prize for beauty.

“There are monkeys with tails,” continued Mr. Graham, “and monkeys without tails, and the list of each kind is so long that you couldn't remember a quarter of it if it were repeated. Generally speaking the apes, or the tailless monkeys, are more quiet in disposition than the others, and hence they are the easiest to teach and control. At best the monkey is a restless animal, and his attention cannot be kept at any one thing for more than a few moments. Mr. Brockmann justly says that the work of securing the monkey's attention is the most difficult part of his education.”

“I have read about a variety of monkey that the settlers at the Cape of Good Hope train to serve as watch-dogs,” said Harry. “Are they of the same kind as the mandrills?”

“Not exactly.” was the reply, “but they are closely related to them. They are known as chaemas, and when full grown are as large as an English mastiff and excel him in strength and agility. The chaema has a tail about half as long as his body and with a tuft of hair at the end. Like most other monkeys he is a great thief, and cannot be trusted in the presence of provisions of which he is fond. He has such a keen scent that it is very difficult to poison him, and he can find water when the most experienced traveler or bushman is unable to discover it. The Hottentots in traveling carry a tame chaema with them, and when unable to find water they turn him loose and follow him. After carefully surveying the ground, he selects a spot and begins to dig; the Hottentots dig where he directs, and almost invariably succeed in finding the water that they want.”

“But how about his serving as a watch-dog?”

“He can hear sounds that are inaudible even to the dogs; in a camp he will always give the alarm when danger approaches, and so much do the dogs rely on him, that they go to sleep in the fullest confidence that he will call them in case their services are wanted. When he gives the alarm, they are on the alert and rush in the direction he indicates.

“He generally lives on good terms with the dogs, and one traveler who carried a chaema tells how the beast used to jump on the backs of the dogs when he was tired. Some of them used to carry him without objection, but others did not like to be employed as pack animals. One in particular always stopped when the chaema mounted his shoulders, and allowed the caravan to pass on out of sight. The monkey did not like to be separated from the caravan, and as it disappeared over the plain or among the hills he would dismount and follow it. The cunning dog then joined him in running to overtake the caravan, but always managed to keep the chaema a little in advance, so that he would not be likely to jump again on the dog's shoulders.”

“Which shows that the intellect of the dog was superior to that of the chaema,” George remarked.

“The dog's reasoning powers are superior to those of the monkey.” said Mr. Graham, “but the latter has the greater faculty for pure imitation.—Ah! there goes the curtain and the performance is about to commence.”

Here is the account which Harry wrote after his return from the theater:

“The opening scene is entitled 'African Friends Meet—A dinner at Delmonico's.' Seated at a table on the stage when the curtain rises, are three monkeys, dressed in the height of fashion. They are Mr. Blackberry, a dude: Colonel Axletree, a retired army officer, and Miss Terrini, from the Darwinian Theater. Mr. Blackberry rings a bell which summons a waitress. The waitress hands the diners a bill of fare and each gives an order. Presently. M. Pouillon, the cook, comes in to consult the feasters, who explain just how they want everything served. The monkey cook bows in inimitable French style and departs. In a moment or two the dinner is served, the only unusual thing in the act being the fact that each monkey steals a portion of his neighbor's food. While his master's back is turned the cook takes a sly drink from a bottle, and also helps himself to the contents of a basket which he has been ordered to place on the table. The monkeys at the table appear to be in conversation, and the by-play among them is very amusing. The pantomine is excellent and the apes do almost everything but speak.

“The adventures of Robert Macaire are illustrated by two monkeys known as Cadieux and Ravennes, while another called Robinson does several clever acts as a circus rider. He rides upright upon a pony's back, jumps through rings and over hurdles.

Other monkeys stand on their heads, walk tight-ropes with balancing rods, turn somersaults, and do acts on the flying trapeze.”

On the way home from the theater the conversation about monkeys was continued, and the youths made mental note of several matters on which they desired information. Harry expressed his disappointment at the absence of tails on the performing monkeys, a circumstance which has already been explained. The youth said he had expected to see the creatures suspending themselves by the tail from the ropes where they were to walk or balance themselves; he thought it would have added materially to the interest of the performance, and wondered if the monkey trainers of Asia or Africa could not do better in this line than did Mr. Brockmann.

“As to that,” replied Mr. Graham, “I am in very great doubt or rather in no doubt at all. No Asiatic or African monkey can suspend himself by the tail, no matter how long that appendage may be.”

“Do you mean,” said Harry, “that none of the old world monkeys have prehensile tails?”

“Exactly so,” was the reply. “The only monkeys that can use the tail as a fifth hand, or for clinging to branches of trees, are found in America, and never in the old world unless they have been carried there from this country. But do not understand that all the American monkeys have prehensile tails; some of them have the tail wonderfully developed and useful, while others cannot hold on with it, and several varieties have almost no tails at all. A naturalist who lived four years in South America says that in that time he saw twenty-one varieties of monkey, seven of them having prehensile and fourteen of them non-prehensile tails. The Asiatic monkey does not seem to be aware that the tail can be made of any use, but the liveliest of the American monkeys employ it for picking up objects and for support while swinging among the trees. And we may further say that the monkeys of the old world are unlike those of the new, none of the varieties that exist on one side of the Atlantic being found on the other.

“The largest of the American monkeys is far below the largest of his Asiatic or African cousins in the matter of size. While several members of the baboon family are five feet in height, and a large gorilla is said to be six feet or very nearly when standing erect, the largest of the American monkeys, if we leave his long tail out of calculation, does not exceed three feet. He belongs in South America, and is known as the Howler, and he can howl louder than twenty men if the stories of travelers are to be believed. The noise he makes is so terrific, that many a traveler has been frightened by it and has thought that all the wild beasts of the woods had assembled close at hand, and were about to devour everybody and everything within their neighborhood. One monkey gives a howl, and when he is tired he signals to the rest tried to ascertain accurately how far the sound could be heard. Judging the distance by the time it took him to reach the tree where the monkeys were, he thought two miles not an over estimate; when the sound came across a lake unimpeded by trees it was easily audible a good three miles.”

George asked if these animals kept up their howling when in captivity?

“They all shout in chorus. After a while they stop, and then the solitary one starts up again. And in this way the unearthly chorus is kept up from midnight till sunrise; sometimes they begin at the close of day and keep it up all night, making it quite impossible for a traveler to sleep within a mile of them.”

“Can they really be heard at the distance of a mile?” one of the boys asked.

“Yes, and farther still,” was the reply.

Mr Graham explained that they were active enough in the woods, but as soon as they became prisoners they lost all their spirit, displayed surly dispositions, refused to make friends with anybody, and soon died of grief.

Other varieties of South American monkeys were more tractable, Mr Graham further explained, and he specially mentioned the little spider monkey and a sapajou as amusing and affectionate.

“Some of these American monkeys,” Mr Graham continued, “show a great deal of intelligence, bordering upon reason. A naturalist who studied them in Brazil says that when one of them received an egg for the first time he broke it clumsily and lost half the contents, but so, he handled it with the greatest care. Lumps of sugar were occasionally given to him wrapped in paper; one day a live wasp was put in the paper with the sugar, so that when the monkey tore it open he was stung. After that he always held the paper to his ear and listened intently to detect any movement within.”

“Haven't I read,” said Harry, “about monkeys organizing raids upon orchards and gardens in a very systematic manner, just as boys or men might do?”

“Quite likely you have,” was the reply, “for such things are by no means uncommon. Monkeys are gregarious animals and hunt in the second time he only broke the top and lost nothing. Ever after that when he received an egg he gently broke the top by hitting it against a hard substance, and then picked off the fragments of the shell with his fingers. After cutting himself once with a sharp tool he would not for some time touch it again, and when he finally did troops; these troops generally have their chiefs, whom they obey implicity, and there would seem to be some mode of communication among them by which orders are issued and understood.

“The monkeys of Northern Africa come down from their places of concealment in the forest and rob the gardens of the people, carrying off the fruit by wholesale. Sentinels are posted to give warning in case of danger, then one of the troop climbs over the fence followed by another and another. They form a line from the wall to the tree which is to be robbed, and as fast as the fruit is plucked it is passed from one to another with the greatest rapidity. Those at the farther end of the line and outside of the garden wall, load themselves with all they can carry and then move away; as soon as the fruit has been stripped from the tree, or at the slightest note of alarm, the whole line scrambles off and is out of reach in a moment.”

“How do they divide their spoil?” one of the youths asked.

“We don't know that,” was the reply, “but it is certain they have some form of division or they would not pass the fruit from one to another as they do. It is quite possible that the chief takes the best for himself and either assigns the others their shares or lets them quarrel over what he does not want.”

“Another instance of their close imitation of human customs,” said George with a laugh.

“Captain Mayne Reid gives an interesting account,” said Mr. Graham, “of how monkeys in the tropical forest of America cross a stream. It is an excellent illustration of the subject we have under consideration.”

When they reached home Mr. Graham found the book containing the story and handed it to Harry, who read aloud as follows:

“The half-human voices now sounded nearer, and we could perceive that the animals were approaching the spot where we lay. Presently they appeared upon the opposite bank, headed by an old gray chieftain, and officered like so many soldiers. They were of the comadreja or ring-tailed tribe.

“One—an aide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps—ran out upon a projecting rock, and after looking across the stream, as if calculating the distance, scampered back, and appeared to communicate with the leader. This produced a movement in the troops. Commands were issued, and fatigue parties were detailed and marched to the front.

Meanwhile several of the comadrejas—engineers, no doubt—ran along the bank, examining the trees on both sides.

“At length they all collected around a tall cotton-wood tree that grew over the narrowest part of the stream, and twenty or thirty of them scampered up its trunk.

“On reaching a high point, the foremost, a strong fellow, ran out upon a limb, and taking several turns of his tail around it, slipped off and hung head downwards. The next on the limb, also a stout one, climbed down the body of the first, and whipping his tail tightly round the neck and forearm of the latter, dropped off in his turn, and hung, head down. The third repeated the maneuver upon the second, and the fourth upon the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his forepaws upon the ground.

“The living chain now commenced swinging backward and forward, like the pendulum of a clock. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the lowermost monkey striking his hands violently on the earth as he passed the tangent of the oscillating curve. Several others upon the limbs above aided the movement.

“This continued until the monkey at the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of a tree on the opposite bank. Here, after two or three vibrations, he clutched a limb and held fast. This movement was executed adroitly, just at the culminating point of the oscillation, in order to save the intermediate links from the violence of a too sudden jerk.

“The chain was fast at both ends, forming a complete suspension bridge, over which the whole troop, to the number of four or five hundred, passed with the rapidity of thought.

“The troop was now on the other side, but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? This was the question which suggested itself. Manifestly by number one letting go his tail. But then the point d'appui on the other side was much lower down, and number one, with half a dozen of his neighbors, would be dashed against the opposite bank, or soused into the water.

“Here, then, was a problem, and we waited with some curiosity for its solution. It was soon solved. A monkey was now seen attaching his tail to the lowest on the bridge, another girded him in a similar manner, and another and so on until a dozen more were added to the string. These last were all powerful fellows, and running up a high limb, they lifted the bridge into a position almost horizontal.

“Then a scream from the last monkey of the new formation warned the tail-end that all was ready, and the next moment the whole chain was swung over, and landed safely on the opposite bank. The lowermost links now dropped off like a melting candle, while the higher ones leaped on the branches and came down by the trunk. The whole troop then scampered off into the chapparal and disappeared.”