XII 

 THE INSTINCT OF ANIMALS 



I WAS standing in the small zoological garden 

 in Pretoria, established by the late President 

 Kruger for the instruction and amusement of 

 his people. I had been in the place some time, 

 and was watching half a dozen monkeys which were 

 chained to trees inside a wire fence. One of these 

 had attracted my attention. This was at first 

 merely because of his behaviour to a certain class of 

 visitors. It was soon after the South African war, 

 and some of those who were strolling through the 

 place were soldiers who had taken part in it. This 

 particular monkey, whether by training or other- 

 wise, always flew into a great rage at the sight of 

 the British uniform, chattering furiously, and grin- 

 ning at the worn khaki-clad men who from time to 

 time approached the rails to look at him. The 

 visitors had been throwing various kinds of food to 

 the monkeys, and some of it had fallen beyond the 

 limit of the chains and lay on the ground out of 

 reach. The other monkeys kept each near the foot 

 of his respective tree, but this one remained on the 

 ground near the railings with an air of preoccupation 

 which was noticeable. Now and then visitors 

 approached who carried sticks, and presently one of 



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