Monkeys rarely live long in northern countries; they die of pneumonia or consumption, generally in a few months, in spite of the greatest care in shielding them from the effects of draughts or chills. The tailless monkeys are more hardy than the tailed ones, but even they are not proof against the rigors of the north.

From his own observations, aided by free quotations from a little book entitled “Mr. Crowley of Central Park,” by Henry S. Fuller, George prepared the following description of this remarkable animal:

“Crowley was captured when very young in the forests of Africa, not far from Monrovia, Liberia. He was presented to the Central Park Museum by the Hon. Mr. Smythe, U. S. Minister to Liberia, and became a resident of New York in May 1884. He was then thought to be about six months old and weighed not far from twenty-five pounds; he was very active, and soon after his arrival a trapeze was fitted up for him on which he took great pleasure in swinging.

A pair of ninepins were obtained for him, in shape like small Indian clubs, and several wooden balls sufficiently large not to be slipped through the grating. He took great pleasure in making targets of the pins, and would hurl the balls at them with all his strength and chatter with delight when the targets were struck. Tiring of this, he would seize the pins, one in each hand, and exercise with these, not entirely according to the written rules of club exercise, but with a zest that was of equal benefit to the muscles; although, when he abandoned this practice and used them as drumsticks to batter the sides of his apartment, the uproar sometimes became too great to be endured.

“His meals were usually taken outside of his apartment. Seated in one of the office chairs about six o'clock, after his morning toilet had been made, he was handed a plate of boiled rice, sweetened with a little sugar, which he ate in genteel fashion with a spoon, and with apparent relish, often looking up at his benefactor with one eye in apparent gratitude, and only pausing an instant to wipe his spacious chin of little rivulets of rice that would trickle at times from the convex corners of his mouth.

A cup of milk would then be given him to aid the digestion of more solid food.”

“These meals were prepared punctually four times a day, a custom which has become of a second nature to the chimpanzee and continues to the present time. The first meal was in the morning, and a lunch followed about ten o'clock; between one and two he was given his dinner, and his supper hour was at five, after which he invariably indicated a desire to retire to his blanket and dispose of himself for the night. The lunch in the morning and the supper were often varied with fruit, an orange or a banana, which was first carefully prepared by peeling. Otherwise his diet was quite plain; all sweetmeats, candies and dainties being positively prohibited.

“During the fall of 1884, his weight, increasing at more than a pound a month, reached forty pounds. His height and strength developed proportionately. The coat of hair that had begun to appear upon his body was black and glossy. It was brushed daily, an operation which he seemed to enjoy; about the head, where it grew longer, a natural inclination was discovered to part in the center, and for better effect the hair was brushed down over his forehead and kept trimmed and banged, imparting a more civilized appearance when he was presented to visitors.

“On being permitted to view himself in a glass, Crowley expressed his entire approbation of this fashion. He displayed much vanity and did not soon tire of admiring himself. When he grasped a policeman's club that was in the room and paraded up and down with it for a cane, his appearance was striking. The natural stoop of his shoulders became profoundly English, and taken in conjunction with the cane, so thick and heavy in proportion to Crowley's figure, the resemblance was most perfect.

“He was quite conscious of his increasing importance, and took great pleasure in receiving visitors. He submitted to the cleaning of his nails and the scrubbing of his teeth, but the washing of his hands and face was always extremely distasteful to him. He never became entirely reconciled to that practice, and after he became older he discarded it almost entirely.

“A small chair and a table of solid oak were made for him, both articles being sufficiently heavy to withstand an outburst of animal spirits that he sometimes indulged in after a meal. For the same reason his dishes were of the heavy ware used in down-town restaurants. He had previously learned to drink from a cup and sip his milk with a spoon. Now he was instructed in the use of knife and fork, and in the absence of meat or other solid food, he carved into slices the bananas and other fruits given him, and conveyed these slices to his mouth on the fork.

“One admirer sent him a napkin enclosed in a plated silver ring. The ring was engraved, 'Remus Crowley, Esq.,' and a corner of the napkin had also the name embroidered on it. After inspecting both with grave deliberation, he grunted his appreciation, and proceeded to thrust the napkin into his mouth. Much patient persevering was required to impress upon him the importance of laying the napkin on one knee, or of folding it over his chest while eating, and that its function was to keep his mouth and chin clean, but repeated instructions at last instilled these precepts on his mind.

“The chimpanzees are keen, observant animals, and Crowley inherited the full gifts of his race. Little that transpired around him escaped his attention, while his understanding was not less ready and intelligent. In a few days he learned to lock and unlock the doors of the room in which he lived, and to hide the key which was used to lock him in the apartment. More care was needed with him than for a child of live years. If he could not express himself intelligently in speech. He was neither deaf nor dumb, and he had a vocabulary of his own made up of gutteral monosyllables, which his attendant professes to understand quite well, though to the uninitiated it is more than Greek or Sanscrit.”

“'Shall I wash your face, Crowley?' asked his keeper.

“'Ooh! ooh! ooh!' exclaimed Crowley, moving away disgusted. 'That means no,' explains the attendant.

“'Here's an orange, baby.'

“'Ut, oot, oot, oot!' and Crowley thrust out a fist eagerly. His other expressions are more complex, except with regard to pain or pleasure. With the first he utters a yell that would startle a Sioux Indian; when pleased, the ends of his mouth stretch to each ear, while he dances and mumbles with enjoyment.

“By the summer of 1885 Crowley weighed fifty pounds and was very vigorous. A new cage was made for him in the west end of the monkey house; it was about ten feet long, six feet high, and of the same width, open on all sides, and protected by a grating of iron wire, the thickness of a lady's little finger. One of the new features introduced in it was a swing or trapeze; a wooden bar suspended at one end of the cage by two stout ropes from the ceiling. At the other end of the cage was a spring board, to enable him to indulge to his full bent in his propensity for leaping. When placed in his new quarters he made a dignified circuit of his room, walking as erect as possible, only resting on the knuckles of his hands, or supporting himself by holding to the grating, He inspected the spring-board as if accustomed to spring-boards of various patterns, and passed on without testing its elasticity. The trapeze he eyed with some curiosity, but did not deign to try it.

“At the close of his second summer, it was decided that many changes would be needed another year, to fit that place for his growth. When standing erect, and flat on his feet, Crowley was now nearly four feet in height. He had outgrown the baby chair provided for him the first year, and it was succeeded by one better suited to a person of his size and importance. A bedstead of oak was procured, so that instead of stretching himself on the hard floor, he could sleep like other people. The bedstead was five feet long and three feet wide, giving him ample room to turn around without rolling out; but for greater security it was attached to the floor with iron braces, which defied, for the time, Mr. Crowley's ingenuity to unscrew, and his strength to remove from their places.

“Crowley had a fondness for music. Whenever his attendant produced a mouth organ and played on it “Sweet Violets,” or “Yankee Doodle,” the chimpanzee's whole attention was at once arrested. He would listen for a few moments intently, and as the air proceeded, a state of great nervous excitement would come upon him. His body would begin to sway in unison with the attendant's foot as it beat upon the floor, until at last, no longer able to contain himself, he would spring up and down in a chimpanzee jig, which appears to be a kind of cross between a Virginia reel and an Irish break-down, keeping this up until he became exhausted or the music ceased. When the instrument was given to him and held for him, he would blow upon it and try to reproduce the sounds which caused him pleasure, and when he succeeded, an expression of delight would brighten his flexible features. But his performances were never such as to warrant his applying for a situation in Theodore Thomas's orchestra or even in an ordinary street band.

“With the winter of 1887-88 Crowley entered upon his fifth year. He had attained the weight of nearly one hundred pounds, and when erect he stood quite four feet two inches in his bare feet. His hands were as big and knotted as those of a negro laborer inured to toil, and his muscles were thoroughly developed. His temper did not improve, and it became necessary to apply a whip to him occasionally to keep him under discipline. During the winter he had an attack of pneumonia, and when the fever came on all his bluster and bad temper disappeared. His strength left him and he became quite helpless, lying all day on the floor in the center of his cage, his head resting on one arm for a pillow, with a piece of heavy bagging beneath him for a mattress. When strangers entered his cage he was too weak to raise his head. Many physicians called to see him and tender their services. He recognized their kindness and their purpose with a low grunt, which often ended in a fit of coughing.

“When requested, he would proffer his arm for the physicians to feel his pulse, turn over that the breathing in his chest might be listened to, and show his tongue for examination. For a long time he regarded the thermometer used to secure his temperature with suspicion. It could not be placed beneath his tongue for fear of the consequences, but, as he became weaker, and unable to repel the liberties, he was persuaded to hold the instrument under an arm.

“All that could be done for Crowley seemed of little avail, and for two weeks he remained in this hopeless state.. His temperature at times rose to one hundred and five degrees, and pulse beat nearly a hundred. In the absence of hot applications, only hot teas and liquors could be given him. A concoction of rum and molasses was prepared and he was prevailed on, at a critical point of his illness, to swallow a large dose of this, to which a quantity of brandy was added. Soon after swallowing it he fell into a heavy stupor which continued for several hours. About midnight he startled his attendant by suddenly leaping into his trapeze with all his old nimbleness. He bounded upon his spring-board and for an hour danced and shouted in his cage, and then staggered and sank down in a profound perspiration. He was covered with a blanket and slept soundly until morning.

“When he awoke, there was something like the old grin on his face as he looked up at his keeper.

“'Comin' around, old man?' asked the keeper tenderly.

“'Oogh, oogh!' muttered Crowley, faintly, and closed his eyes.

“Sure enough he was on the way to recovery. His strength and flesh returned, and with them his occasional displays of bad temper that required the use of the whip.”

“What is the difference between the chimpanzee and the gorilla?” Harry asked, when George had finished reading his description of Mr. Crowley and his curious ways.

“The name has sometimes been given to all the great apes, including the gorilla and the orang-outang,” said Mr. Graham, “but it properly belongs to the lowest of the man-shaped apes of equatorial Africa. The gorilla stands at the head of the list; then comes the kooloo-kamba, then the nachiego-mbouve, then the soko, and after these the chimpanzee. They are all so closely allied that any one but a close student may mistake one for the other, and this circumstance has led to confusion in the stories of explorers.

“In size and shape the gorilla approaches more nearly to man than any other of the monkey family, but he is still a long way from being able to claim one of us as his brother. The arms are so long that they almost touch the ground when the animal stands erect, which he does not do easily.

“Mr. du Chaillu was the first explorer to see the gorilla at home; he killed several specimens of this remarkable creature and sent their skins to England, but though he tried very hard to bring away a living sample he was unable to do so. Later travelers have been more fortunate, and I have read to-day in a newspaper that Boston has just received from Africa the largest gorilla ever landed in this country. His name is Jack, and he is five feet in height when standing erect, and measures seven feet from the end of one outstretched hand to the other. He weighs about one hundred and twenty-five pounds and exhibits enormous strength, compared with which that of man seems like a child's. He arrived in a large box made of planking two and a half inches thick, and when being removed from the ship he tore large splinters from the hard wood planks with as much ease as a child would break a twig. The hair, which is very coarse, and from two to four inches in length, is of a greenish-gray color, and on the back, legs and arms inclines to a black. His shoulders are immense. The expression of his face, which is black, is scowling. The eyes are small, sunken in the head, and the lips large and thin.”

“I suppose the gorilla does not make as good-natured a captive as Mr. Crowley, for example,” one of the boys remarked.

“Not by any means,” answered Mr. Graham. “He is of an ugly disposition and generally refuses to be tamed, though occasionally one is found that is comparatively submissive. Some years ago a gentleman bought a gorilla that was thought to be about two years old and shipped it to England. It was not spiteful or obstinate in its ways, but seemed to be very shy; its owner thought the best plan was to allow it to run about the ship, and after it was given its freedom it got along very well. It would take food from the hands of passengers and sailors, but permitted no familiarity; it formed a great friendship for a bull terrier, and the two used to play together by the hour, the dog occasionally giving a very sharp nip which was not resented by the larger animal. But, unfortunately, the gorilla was missed one morning, and was supposed to have fallen overboard during the night.”

“The gorilla is the largest monkey of Africa and in fact of the whole world. The largest Asiatic monkey is found, not on the continent of Asia, but on the islands of Sumatra and Borneo. He is know to foreigners as the orang-outang or wild man of the forest, and is generally called 'mias' by the natives. Many of the people believe that the creature is a human being who lives in a wild state, and hence the name by which he is described to strangers. In habits, size, and general appearance, the mias is much like the gorilla, but he is more easily tamed and kept in captivity. He lives in the forestand travels from tree to tree without descending to the ground; in fact he sleeps in the trees, making a bed of leaves among the branches. Mr. Wallace, a naturalist, describes how he shot at a mias and broke his arm. The animal was in the top of a tree at the time, and immediately proceeded to break off branches and make a nest for himself. Mr. Wallace fired at him several times, but he did not quit his work, and he finally laid down in the nest and died there from the effects of the shot. It was necessary to cut down the tree in order to obtain the body, which proved to be a very large one.

“Mr. Wallace caught a young mias and managed to keep it six or eight weeks; he hoped to be able to take it to England, but it died at the end of that time, probably from the impossibility of obtaining proper food. He said it would cry like a child when hungry or when its food did not suit its taste; if its keeper persisted in offering food that it disliked it would scream and kick violently, exactly like a baby in a passion. Altogether he thought it very human in its actions, and was very sorry when it died from intermittent fever.”

Harry asked if the gibbon monkey which comes from Siam and the neighboring countries was anything like the mias.

Mr. Graham explained that the gibbon was much smaller than the gorilla or the orang-outang, and more human in his general appearance. He is a delicate creature and cannot exist in a cold climate even with the greatest care. An adult gibbon rarely lives more than a few weeks in captivity, and when captured young the animal does not usually reach maturity. The gibbons are very gentle in their manners, devotedly attached to their masters when kindly treated, and not at all mischievous.

“On a steamer that carried me from Bangkok to Singapore,” said Mr. Graham, “one of the passengers, Mr. Newman, had a gibbon which he was undertaking to carry to England. The little fellow was very gentle and playful and easily made friends with all the passengers. Mr. Newman said he had kept the monkey at his house in Bangkok and allowed him the largest liberty.

“The house was full of bric-a-brac and curios of various kinds, but the monkey went about with the greatest care and never injured anything.

“One of his favorite amusements was to race around the verandah of the house with his master, the two starting from one point and going in opposite directions. Frequently he came in the morning and by signs indicated that he wished a race; Mr. Newman generally allowed the monkey to beat him, and the creature always seemed pleased at his triumph.

“He sat at the table and drank milk and coffee from a cup, and his manners in general were far better than those of most monkeys in captivity.

“Another gibbon that was being carried to England on a steamer would walk the entire length of the saloon table at dinner without breaking or even touching anything upon it, although the table might be covered with glasses and plates and the vessel was rolling heavily. He would start from the foot of the table, walk to the other end to take a glass of wine with the captain, and then return in the same careful manner. The wild gibbons drink by scooping up the water with a single paw, and it requires some patience to teach them to drink from a glass or cup in a human fashion.

“But of all the monkeys in the world,” continued the gentleman, “the most comical is the long-nosed monkey of Borneo; as far as known it has been found nowhere else than in that island. He grows to the size of a large pointer dog, lives in the same forests with the orang-outang, and probably associates with him. He has a funny appearance at any age, but perhaps the funniest when young and the nose has just begun to develop. Its hair grows naturally down the sides of the head as though parted by a comb, it has whiskers but no mustaches, and it has a long tail which starts high enough up the back not to be in the way when the animal sits down.

“The Dyak natives believe that these monkeys are a race of men who have fled to the forest in order to avoid the payment of taxes!”

“And now,” said Mr. Graham, glancing at his watch, “we will drop the subject of apes and their kindred until to-morrow.”

The youths took the hint and no further questions were asked that evening about quadrumana and their strange ways. But the next day they were ready with several “monkey stories,” some of which are worth repeating.

Harry found the following, which certainly shows a reasoning power on the part of the monkey:

“There is on the coast of Java a peculiar long-tailed monkey, and a sand crab that grows to extraordinary size and possesses great strength in its claws.

The monkeys are particularly fond of these crabs, which live in deep holes in the sand, but spend much of their time on the outside of their holes, where they run and hop about. They range in size from that of a silver dollar to that of our edible crabs. Their claws are not large, but have a grip that is vise-like. The monkeys make daily raids on the haunts of these crabs, and occasionally succeed—by creeping stealthily to within a few feet of a group of them and then springing down upon them—in capturing one. Usually, however, the crabs are so wary that while the monkey is in the air during his spring toward them they have separated and disappeared into the ground. The monkey finding himself too slow to make a capture, then resorts to a bit of strategy to secure a dinner; he backs himself up to a hole into which a crab has disappeared, and sitting down, thrusts his long tail into the hole. The crab seizes the end of the tail the moment it approaches near enough. Any one who may have been fortunate enough to hide himself in the bushes unobserved by the monkey making a raid, will have a hard time to restrain his laughter when the critical moment of contact between the crab's claw and the monkey's tail is reached. There is a look of comical suspense on the monkey's face as he thrusts his tail in the hole. When the crab closes on the tail the look of suspense departs. The monkey gives an involuntary start, and then settles on his haunches while he closes his teeth together with a determined air, and eventually, springing forward, out comes the tail from the hole with the crab dangling to it, and the monkey is soon proceeding with his meal.”

“Here's another story,” said George, “which is old but good: 'A Spanish mule-driver once invested his scant earnings, purchasing a number of red woolen caps, which form the crown of the turban worn throughout Turkey and Africa, and set out to make his fortune in the interior.

He started before sunrise, and, when the heat of the day came on, lay down to sleep beneath a tree in a wood. Taking off his hat he opened his valise, and, putting on a red cap, was soon asleep.

“'When the sun was low in the horizon he awoke, and to his horror, saw the trees tilled with monkeys in red raps. They had seen the Spaniard put on the red cap before going to sleep, and followed his example. The poor Spaniard, with all the gesticulation peculiar to his country, stamped his foot in anger, and tearing off his red cap threw it on the ground, when—blessed and unexpected result—all the monkeys followed his example. He picked up his caps and moved on.'”

“Here's a story from a St Louis newspaper,” said Harry, “about an incident that must have been very funny:

“'Yesterday was a good day for the monkeys at the Fair grounds, and they liked it. They frisked about in the sunshine, and cut their antics with an abandon that showed them to be bubbling over with fun and mischief. There is one that by some amusing peculiarities becomes an immediate favorite with every spectator. A gentleman in the crowd yesterday happened to have a small pocket-mirror, and just for sport passed it to the favorite. The monkey's behavior, on seeing his face reflected in the glass, kept the crowd in a roar of laughter for nearly an hour. The monkey of course failed to recognize the reflection of himself, and took it for another monkey, and his anxiety to get hold of that monkey was what made the fun. He would look behind the glass, and feel for it in such a comical way while he was looking in the glass, that one could not help laughing. While the glass was close to his eye he gradually bent over, casually, and noticing that the evanescent monkey was on his back apparently he dropped the glass and made a sudden grab for him. When he didn't get him he looked surprised and commenced looking under the straw to see what had become of him. He was then seized with a luminous idea. He picked up the glass and ran to the topmost branch of the dead tree that is erected in the cage, and climbing to the extreme end, again looked in the glass. It seemed he reasoned that in such a position the monkey could not get away. He felt for it, grabbed at it, and tried all sorts of strategy to capture it, notwithstanding repeated failures.'”

That the monkey can be a hero is shown by a story which George found in Our Animal Friends, credited to The Children's Treasury.

“A nobleman had a favorite monkey, a large orang-outang.

This monkey was very much attached to his master and to the baby boy who was the pet of the whole family. One day, a fire suddenly broke out in the house, and everybody was running here and there to put it out, while the little boy in the nursery was almost forgotten; and, when they thought of him, the staircase was all in flames. What could be done?

“As they were looking up and wondering, a large hairy hand and arm opened the window: and presently the monkey appeared with the baby in his arms, and carefully climbed down over the porch, and brought the child safely to his nurse. Nobody else could have done it; for a man cannot climb like a monkey and is not nearly so strong.

“You may imagine how the faithful creature was praised and petted after that. This is a true story, and the child who was saved was the young Marquis of Kildare.”