1 78 THE MONKE Y FAMIL Y. 



cave, I hasten to undeceive him. Still, if I could be convinced that 

 such a detail would be necessary or instructive to the general reader, 

 I fancy that I could succeed in demonstrating, to a nicety, the exact 

 difference in length, breadth, and thickness of an orang-outang's 

 great toe nail, compared with that of the Senegal baboon. But this 

 refined section of descriptive natural history has never been much to 

 my liking ; and I willingly make it over to those scientific gentlemen 

 who fancy that there is as much real knowledge to be found in the 

 closet as in the field. 



But before I enter, once for all, into the subject as far as regards 

 the true locality of monkeys, I must draw a little longer on the patient 

 reader's time, and ask him to join me in an imaginary view of this our 

 terrestrial globe; and to keep in remembrance particularly that portion 

 of it, where I have long been convinced in my own mind, that the entire 

 monkey family is to be found, and to be found nowhere else through- 

 out the whole world, saving on the Rock of Gibraltar, already noticed 

 at the commencement of this treatise. Ovid, pleasing and instruc- 

 tive poet, has beautifully described the geographical sections of our 

 planet. He tells us, that two of these are in everlasting snow. Two 

 aiford a temperate climate, whilst a fifth, lying betwixt these, and 

 occupying a space of twenty-three degrees and a half on each side of 

 the equator, is wonderfully warm and fertile ; and it goes by the name 

 of the torrid zone. He who ventures into the dreary regions of frost 

 and snow, should he be a naturalist, will see that no animal can 

 remain there with impunity when food becomes deficient. Away 

 the famished creature goes elsewhere, in search of fresh supplies. It 

 is then that undeviating instinct acts her part, and unerringly shows 

 the tract which must be followed whether through the yielding air, 

 or in the briny wave, or on the solid ground. Thus, when " Boreas, 

 blustering railer," announces the approach of winter, we find that 

 shoals of fish glide regularly to the south, and flocks on flocks of 

 migratory wild fowl forsake their cold abode ; whilst the quadrupeds, 

 with here and there a solitary exception, all turn their faces to the 

 south and leave the roaring storms behind them. But man, having 

 been endowed with reason, can carry food and make his shelter which- 

 ever way he bends his steps, braving the howling blast. Still, with 

 every possible precaution, an awful death may sometimes be his lot. 



