trast her brilliant colours with the sear and faded leaves; the other his active and vigorous spring with that bleached trunk and branches, which, destitute of sap, and ungarnished with leaves and flowers, can wave no more in the soft summer breezes or autumnal wind.

From the structure of the Monkey tribe, more especially from the formation of their limbs, the idea of petulance and activity is generally associated with them. Were we desirous to represent an animal of sluggish movements, we should invest it with short limbs and a thick body; and we should not expect to discover a wild creature favourably organized for active exertion, yet slow and embarrassed in its movements. But in science, one fact is frequently sufficient to overthrow the most plausible theory, even when apparently the result of patient research and actual discovery. Thus, for example, the Coaita (S. paniscus), or Four-fingered Monkey, a creature better constructed for active and vivacious movements than almost any of his tribe, which has longer limbs and a tail that answers the purpose of a hand, moves slowly. It seems an effort to change his position, and he acts as if he required a new impulse of the will for every new movement. Yet this animal is far from being devoid of intelligence. He possesses it even in a higher degree than many of the Monkey tribe, blended with a considerable degree of penetration, and the mildest and most affectionate temper.

The tribe of which he is a member, inhabits the forest parts of Guiana and Brazil. They carefully avoid the equatorial regions, which are subject to

FOUR-FINGERED MONKEY.

11

great rains, and variable winds, but delight in the serene and wholesome climate of the south. You may see them bounding from branch to branch among the delicate white blossoms of the Casalpinia brasiletto, or Brazil wood, which are numerous in the country to which they gave a name.

You

may also watch their agile movements along the bush ropes in the great forests of Demerara, which serve as step-ladders from one tree to another. These amazing cables, which are sometimes nearly as thick as a man's body, may be seen either twisting like corkscrews round a lofty tree, and lifting their heads above its summits, or joining tree to tree, and branch to branch. Others, descending from a topmost bough, or drooping from out the fissure of some high rock, take root as soon as they touch the ground, and appear like shrouds and stays supporting the main-mast of a line-of-battle ship; while others, sending out parallel, oblique, or horizontal shoots, remind you of what travellers call a matted forest. Oftentimes a tree, uprooted by the whirlwind, is stopped in its fall, at perhaps an elevation of a hundred feet, by one of these natural cables. Hence it is that travellers account for the phenomenon of seeing trees not only alive, but yielding leaves and fruit, though far from perpendicular, and with their trunks inclined to every degree from the meridian to the horizon. Thus upheld, their heads remain firmly supported by the bush-rope, while the roots soon refix in the earth; and frequently a shoot rises from near the base of the inclined trunk, and in time becomes a fine tree. Numerous wild animals are seen to gambol up

and

down these natural rope-ladders; playful squirrels, the monkeys of which we have just spoken, racoons, bisas, and sacawinkes, rove from tree to tree; while beneath, the small ant-bear, and his larger brother, remarkable for a long and bushy tail, fix their abode for the sake of the wood-ants, whose little hillocks appear in all directions; armadilloes bore in the sand-hills, and the porcupine is occasionally discovered on the lower branches.

Monkeys are sociable creatures. They often descend from their rocky fastnesses to bathe in the mountain rivulets, and to gather the ripe fruits that grow beside them; yet they rarely venture far from some steep crag, or precipice, that, in case of danger, they may readily escape; and while they are enjoying the abundance of the rich alluvial valleys, sentinels are stationed on elevated places, to give timely warning should an enemy approach.

Those who journey through the valleys of the Andes often come unexpectedly upon a company of monkeys quietly congregated in some retired nook. The party not unfrequently consists of forty or fifty, of all ages and dispositions; some grave and moralizing, others playing with their young, others sporting in the stream, and some that appear half-grown pursuing one the other in playful gambols. But the moment that a stranger is seen approaching, a loud cry is raised by the sentinels, and off the party troop, hobbling on all-fours after their awkward fashion-for they are not constructed to run readily upon the ground-or splashing through the stream, or scrambling with incredible agility up the rocky cliffs, which are often nearly perpendicular, and rise

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13

to an elevation of many hundred feet. On these occasions, the males are remarkable for their consideration towards their mates; no one, like Æneas, runs first, and leaves his unprotected Creusa to follow after. They uniformly bring up the rearguard, while the females, climbing, chattering, or squalling, with their young ones in their arms, or on their backs, hasten before. It is highly amusing to watch a company thus decamping. The young ones cling affrighted to their mothers, the mothers appear intent only on effecting their escape, stripling monkeys seem as if they enjoyed the sport, but the fathers occasionally look back with angry menaces, defying any one to follow; and some of the old grandfathers, when they get upon the rocks, and feel secure from pursuit, make the valleys ring with their angry vociferations, and heartily scold the traveller who has dared to intrude upon them.

In speaking of the monkeys of America, the natural historian has often to regret the meagreness of his details. He knows them, indeed, by their generic appellations, for the indefatigable Cuvier has given to each a name as well as a locality, but he is continually reminded that the impossibility of ascertaining their wild habits renders it extremely difficult to furnish such details as might interest the general reader.

Few particulars have reached us concerning the Ouistilis, or Striated Monkey (S. jacchus). He is well known in a captive state, but little has been ascertained respecting him while ranging through his native wilds.

Cuvier gives a pleasing account of two of these animals and their offspring, as occupants of the menagerie of Paris. The young were exceedingly affectionate to their mother; they used to cling round her neck, and when alarmed would endeavour to hide themselves in her warm fur. When tired with carrying them, she would go to the male, and utter a soft plaintive cry; he understood her meaning, and immediately took them in his paws, or else placed them on his back; and they, on their part, well knew how to hold fast, while he carried them about till they grew hungry. He then returned them to their mother, who shortly gave them back again. Indeed, the burden of their nurture seemed principally to devolve upon the father. He did his best, and seemed very fond of his young charge, but she did not show to them that degree of tenderness and affection which is common to the females of most species; or, perhaps, being unable to partake of the wild gambols in which she used to delight, her health and spirits might be unequal to the task. Perhaps, even, a sad remembrance of her native forests might imbitter her maternal feelings; she might have little pleasure in nursing those young creatures who were thus early deprived of their freedom. Be this as it may, they both died young, one at a month old, the other a week after.

Those who consider animals merely as automatons, formed of bone and muscle, going on four legs, and covered with fur or wool, may deride the idea of thought, and memory, and feeling, being assigned to a Striated Monkey; yet such is un