1 72 THE MONKE Y FA MIL Y. 



Warrington, in Lancashire. There, without any previous symptoms 

 of decay, Jenny fell sick and breathed her last. Miss Blight wrapped 

 her up in linen by way of winding-sheet, put her in a little trunk, 

 and kindly forwarded her to Walton Hall, at the close of February, 

 in the year 1856. 



Here I will make a pause in my comments on the monkey tribe, 

 whether the individuals of it be captives on the circumscribed 

 domain of man, or whether they be roving aloft in the never-ending 

 forests of the torrid zone. In the interval I will take a transient 

 glance at other sections of animated nature. And this will be a 

 preparatory step, as it were, to my fixing every member of the 

 monkey family in that well-defined locality, which their form, their 

 habits, and their appetites, plainly indicate that they should occupy. 

 Food, security, and propagation of the species, form the three pre- 

 dominant propensities in the brute creation. There is not a known 

 animal which does not occupy a situation exactly suited to its natural 

 habits. But in the revolution, or the unfavourableness of seasons, 

 should that situation deny to the individual which frequents it a 

 proper supply of support, and a sufficient command of safety, then it 

 goes away in quest of another more favourable to its wants. For 

 example, millions of wild fowl migrate from the northern to the more 

 southern regions of our hemisphere, when " winter comes to rule tne 

 varied year, sullen and sad." Their food has failed. Again, our 

 magpies, rooks, jays, ringdoves, and pheasants never fail in autumn 

 to frequent the oak trees in quest of acorns ; but when these have 

 disappeared, then instinct directs the same birds to labour elsewhere 

 on the ground for their daily food, and they are seen no more on 

 the oak trees in quest of acorns, until returning autumn furnishes a 

 fresh supply. The feet of these birds enable them to perch on the 

 branches, and their wings to transport themselves to and fro, as 

 occasion may require. Although our own squirrel lives ever in the 

 trees, all its four feet are perfectly formed, and quite adapted to 

 support it on the ground; so that, when the wintry winds have 

 deprived the trees of their wonted foliage, and also of the fruit which 

 they bear, this active little fellow, enjoying no longer either shelter 

 or support from them, betakes himself to the ground, over which he 

 can bound to any distance, until he finds wherewith to satisfy his 



