no other Cat, not even one of her own offspring, would be allowed such familiarities, as any attempt was sure to provoke the most intense jealousy. Nor was I permitted to lavish attentions upon any of her kith, for she would soon become wrought up to a high pitch of excitement, and instant vengeance would be wreaked upon the recipient of my favors.

Much more might be said about the Cat. It has its good qualities and its bad qualities. There is hardly a trait of character which the human animal possesses that it does not possess. Of course I now speak of our Domestic Cat. In the long-past times, when the Egyptian nation was at the head of the civilized world, Felis maniculata, which is the reputed origin of our Domestic Cat, was universally domesticated in their homes, and it is not unknown the very high position it held in the love and esteem of the people, for it was deified and worshipped as a god. Even in England, still later down in time, the Domestic Cat was so scarce that royal edicts were issued for its preservation. Yet in those days, A. D. 948, the wild Cat was rife in the British Islands and was considered as a vicious animal, which must be destroyed, and not a useful one to be protected by the law. How we came into the possession of the Cat is a matter of conjecture, the current belief being that it was imported from Egypt into Greece and Rome, and thence into England.

BRIGHT LITTLE CEBIDAE.

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EXT to man, in descending the scale of animal life, come the Quadrumana, or Four-handed Animals. They are represented by the Apes, Baboons, Monkeys and Lemurs. Excepting the last, and a few other species, these animals are not very pleasing in aspect or habits, some of them, the larger apes and baboons, being positively disgusting. The air of grotesque humanity that characterizes them is horribly suggestive of human idiocy, and we approach an imprisoned gorilla or baboon with much the same repugnance that we do a debased and brutal maniac. This aversion seems not to be produced so much by the resemblance that the ape bears to man, as by the horror felt lest man should degenerate to the condition, character and physiognomy of the аре. But to the naturalist, who sees wonder or

beauty in all things animate, these creatures are no less pleasing than others that are not so repugnant.

Were we to take a survey of the varied forms which the Quadrumana of the Old World assume, we would find that the forms would show such diversification that there would hardly seem scope for further modifications. Yet the prolific power of nature is so inexhaustible, that the depth of our researches would only bring to light objects of such infinite variety of form as to overwhelm the mind with surprise and admiration. Thus it would be found to be with the Cebidæ, or American Monkeys. While they would be shown to possess the chief characteristics of the monkey nature, thus establishing their close relationship with the Old World monkeys, yet they would be seen to exhibit the strangest

modification of details. Their four hand-like paws, and other quadrumanous peculiarities, would indicate their status in the animal kingdom, while sundry differences of conformation would show that they were intended to live under conditions that would ill suit their relatives on the other side of the globe. Curious it is to observe how the same idea of animal life is repeated in various lands and climates, even though seas, impassable to creatures unaided by the light of civilized reason, intervene. So we have the Simiadæ of Asia and Africa represented by the Cebidae of America. Nor is this wonderful idea restricted exclusively to the manlike animals. The lion, tiger and other feline races of the Eastern Continent find Western representatives in the puma and jaguar, and the same circumstance may be observed of nearly all the mammalia, the birds, the reptiles, the fishes, and, in short, through the entire animal kingdom.

But of all the monkeys of the New World, and they are numbered by hundreds included in several genera and species, there are none that deserve more consideration than the Capuchin Monkeys. They are active, little animals, lively and playful. So similar are all the species in general habits, that a description of one will equally serve for any other. Their youthfulness and sportive manners make them very desirable companions, and hence we frequently find them domesticated by the native Indians and European settlers. Like other small monkeys, the Capuchin often strikes up a friendship for other animals that may happen to live in or near its home, the cat being one of the most favored of its allies. It is sometimes the case this familiarity is carried so far that the cat is turned into a horse by the monkey, who, seated upon her back, perambulates the premises. More unpromising subjects, we are told, have been pressed into similar service. Humboldt cites the case of one that was accustomed to catch a pig every morning, and, mounted upon its back, was known to retain its seat during the entire day. Even when the pig was feeding in the savannas its

rider remained firm, and bestrode the animal with as much pertinacity as one skilled in equestrianism would the most rampant steed.

No little difficulty is experienced in settling the species of the Capuchins, for their fur is rather variable in tint, and some individuals differing so greatly as to cause them to look like another species. The general color of the Capuchin--Cebus apella--is a golden olive, a white fur bordering the face in some, though not in all individuals. Cebus fatuellus, com

monly called the Horned Sapajou or Capuchin, is much more conspicuous than the last, as the erect fringe of hair that projects so prominently from the forehead indicates it at once: hence from the front, the hair assumes the appearance of two tufts or horns, from which peculiarity the animal derives its name. These horns are not completely developed until the monkey has attained maturity. There is also a manifest difference in color of hair, the Sapajou having a constant tinge of red in its fur. It is usually of a deep brown color, but in some individuals there is a marked resemblance to that peculiar purple-black which is obtainable by diluting common black ink with water, while in others the ruddy hue is so pronounced as to impart a chestnut tint to the animal's hair. The fringed crest is tipped with gray.

Perhaps no more interesting form of the Capuchins exists than the Weeper Monkey, or Sai, or, as it is called in the books, Cebus capucinus. As in the case of the two preceding species, it is an inhabitant of Venezuela and Brazil, and as lively as any of its congeners. Like its brethren, its tail is invested with a dense growth of hair, but this does not interfere with its prehensile powers. The Sai is possessed of a large amount of intelligence, and its quaint little ways make it a great favorite with those who delight to watch its quick and agile movements. While things of a vegetable character constitute the chief part of its food, yet it manifests a fondness for various kinds of insects, and is sometimes known to ascend to higher prey, for it has been observed to feed upon

birds, which it devours with avidity, not even waiting to pluck off the feathers. Eggs are also thought to form a no inconsiderable part of this Capuchin's diet.

Some few years ago, Prof. Cope had in his possession a tame Sai, which was kept in a cage, or, rather, was supposed to be kept in it, for the animal had a strong aversion to confinement, and was sure to break loose therefrom sooner or later. When in durance vile, and wishing to break prison, he always directed his attention to the hinges, and no matter how firmly they were fixed, he was sure before long to extract the staples, pull out the nails, and so open the door at the hinges, and not at the latch.

Finding that the cage could not hold him, his master had him confined by a strap fastened around the waist, after the fashion of monkeys. The strap, however, proved to be of no more use than the cage, for the crafty animal soon contrived to open it, and this he did by ingeniously picking out the threads by which the strap was sewn to the buckle, and so rendering the fastenings useless.

Again he was confined to the cage and carefully watched. Having rid himself of the strap, he began to consider how he might apply it to some useful purpose. So, having perceived that some food had fallen beyond his reach, he took one end of the strap in his paw, flung the other over the morsel of food, and so drew it toward him. In this feat he displayed great accuracy of aim, seldom missing the object which he desired. Once or twice, when he had to make a longer throw than usual, he loosened his hold of the strap. The first time that this happened, some one handed him the poker. He took it, drew the strap toward him, and resumed its use as before.

No intelligent person can deny that these acts were prompted by reason. So far from even being aided by instinct, the animal was certainly acting in direct opposition to it. The instinct of an animal when confined or tethered in any way is to break loose by main strength, and the