chiefly appear at night, and make the forest," as Humboldt remarks, "resound with their melancholy howls." The large red monkey of Demerara is also a tremendous howler. "You would suppose," says Waterton, "that half the wild beasts of the forest were collecting for a work of carnage. Now it is the tremendous roar of the jaguar as he springs on his prey; now it changes to his terrible and deep-toned growlings as he is pressed on all sides by superior force; and now you hear his last dying moan, beneath a mortal wound.

"Some naturalists have supposed that these awful sounds, which you would fancy are those of enraged and dying wild beasts, proceed from a number of the red monkeys howling in concert. One of them alone is capable of producing all these sounds; and the anatomist, on an inspection of his trachea, will be fully satisfied that this is the case."

Although many of the American monkeys are very large, the capuchin, or hand drinker (S. Capucinus), is described by Humboldt as resembling man more than any other transatlantic monkey. He is a fierce and untameable creature, very strong and

active, and possessing along and bushy beard. When he drinks, to avoid wetting it, he does not put his lips to the water, or to the vessel that may contain it, but fills the hollow of his hand, and leaning his head side-ways, conveys it to his mouth. The animal rarely drinks, and the operation is performed with great deliberation, which the spectator must be concealed to witness. This monkey is a solitary animal, being rarely seen, even with a female companion. Humboldt, during his arduous journey upon the Oronooko, discovered a very curious monkey, of which he gives a beautiful plate. It is a nocturnal animal, with a large round head, a very short nose, and no apparent external ear. The eyes are very large, the tail long and hairy. The Douroucouli, as it is called by the Maravitain Indians, is covered with a soft greyish-white fur, and the head is marked with three dark stripes, one of which is continued down the back. These marks are very apparent in front, indeed the general resemblance of the face is more like that of a cat than a monkey. The skin is so soft and pleasant to the touch, that it is preserved for

various purposes, and particularly for tobacco pouches.

Humboldt kept this creature for some time, but it appears to have been difficult to tame. When irritated, the head swelled; and from this, and the raising of the body, it greatly resembled the cat, particularly as it hissed.

The Araquata (S. Ursina), another monkey discovered by Humboldt, congregates in such vast numbers, that he states having, on the banks of the Apure, counted forty on one tree, and has no doubt that, upon a square league of these wild countries, two thousand may be found. This animal has somewhat the appearance of a young bear, being covered with thick bushy reddish fur. It is nearly three feet in length, and has a long prehensile tail. The eye, voice, and gait, denote melancholy; they never appear to frolic like others of their race. Lopez de Gomara, in the beginning of the 16th century, describes it as having "the face of a man, the beard of a goat, and a grave behaviour."

The Coaita (S. Paniscus), or four fingered mon

key, is perhaps the greatest contrast to its grave brother. It bounds with great agility in its native forests of Brazil, sometimes resting on the slightest branches, to which it either clings with its hands, or hangs by its long tail. Indeed, its home seems to be entirely among the trees, and, as it principally subsists on fruit, it rarely leaves them, except in search of water.

The only place in Europe where monkeys may be seen wild, is at Gibraltar, and here only at certain intervals. The sailors, who visit the Rock of Gibraltar, say that they pass at pleasure, by means of the curious cave under it, to and from their native land. "There is in truth," says the writer of "A Year in Spain," "something very strange in the coming and going of these same monkeys. During nearly two months that I passed on the Rock, I saw them but twice in my daily rambles; once, while an east wind was blowing, and again just before the setting in of one; of which, indeed, their appearance is considered a certain sign. They are supposed, at other times, to live among the inaccessible precipices of the eastern

declivity, where there is a scanty store of monkeygrass for their subsistence. When an east wind sets in, it drives them from their caves and crannies, and they take refuge among the western rocks, where they may be seen from the Alameda (parade) below, popping from bush to bush, boxing each others' ears, and cutting the most singular antics. If disturbed, they scamper off amain, the young ones jumping on the backs and putting their arms round the old ones. As they are very innocent animals, and form a kind of poetical appendage to the Rock, strict orders have been issued for their special protection. While I was at the Rock, however, two drunken soldiers, one day, undertook to violate these orders, and one of them was summarily punished for his disobedience without the intervention of a court-martial. As they were rambling about the declivity, below the Signal Tower, they happened to come upon the traces of a party of monkeys, and at once gave them chase. The monkeys, cut off from their upward retreat, ran downwards; the soldiers followed; the monkeys ran faster, until at length they