One afternoon, Minnie ran out of breath to the parlor.  “Mamma,” she exclaimed, “cook says monkeys are real cruel in their families.  Is it true?”

The lady smiled.  “I suppose, my dear,” she responded, “that there is a difference of disposition among them.  I have heard that they are very fond of their young, and that, when threatened with danger, they mount them on their back, or clasp them to their breast with great affection.

“But I saw lately an anecdote of the cruelty of a monkey to his wife, and if I can find the book, I will read it to you.”

“There is an animal called the fair monkey, which, though the most beautiful of its tribe, is gloomy and cruel.  One of these, which, from its extreme beauty and apparent gentleness, was allowed to ramble at liberty over a ship, soon became a great favorite with the crew, and in order to make him perfectly happy, as they imagined, they procured him a wife.

“For some weeks, he was a devoted husband, and showed her every attention and respect.  He then grew cool, and began to use her with much cruelty.  His treatment made her wretched and dull.

“One day, the crew noticed that he treated her with more kindness than usual, but did not suspect the wicked scheme he had in mind.  At last, after winning her favor anew, he persuaded her to go aloft with him, and drew her attention to an object in the distance, when he suddenly gave her a push, which threw her into the sea.

“This cruel act seemed to afford him much gratification, for he descended in high spirits.”

“I should think they would have punished him,” said Minnie, with great indignation.

“Perhaps they did, love.  At any rate, it proves that beauty is by no means always to be depended upon.”

Mrs. Lee then took her sewing, but Minnie plead so earnestly for one more story, a good long one, that her mother, who loved to gratify her, complied, and read the account which I shall give you in closing this chapter on Minnie’s pet monkey.

“A gentleman, returning from India, brought a monkey, which he presented to his wife.  She called it Sprite, and soon became very fond of it.

“Sprite was very fond of beetles, and also of spiders, and his mistress used sometimes to hold his chain, lengthened by a string, and make him run up the curtains, and clear out the cobwebs for the housekeeper.

“On one occasion, he watched his opportunity, and snatching the chain, ran off, and was soon seated on the top of a cottage, grinning and chattering to the assembled crowd of schoolboys, as much as to say, ‘Catch me if you can.’  He got the whole town in an uproar, but finally leaped over every thing, dragging his chain after him, and nestled himself in his own bed, where he lay with his eyes closed, his mouth open, his sides ready to burst with his running.

“Another time, the little fellow got loose, but remembering his former experience, only stole into the shed, where he tried his hand at cleaning knives.  He did not succeed very well in this, however, for the handle was the part he attempted to polish, and, cutting his fingers, he relinquished the sport.

“Resolved not to be defeated, he next set to work to clean the shoes and boots, a row of which were awaiting the boy.  But Sprite, not remembering all the steps of the performance, first covered the entire shoe, sole and all, with the blacking, and then emptied the rest of the Day & Martin into it, nearly filling it with the precious fluid.  His coat was a nice mess for some days after.

“One morning, when the servants returned to the kitchen, they found Sprite had taken all the kitchen candlesticks out of the cupboard, and arranged them on the fender, as he had once seen done.  As soon as he heard the servants returning, he ran to his basket, and tried to look as though nothing had happened.

“Sprite was exceedingly fond of a bath.  Occasionally a bowl of water was given him, when he would cunningly try the temperature by putting in his finger, after which he gradually stepped in, first one foot, then the other, till he was comfortably seated.  Then he took the soap and rubbed himself all over.  Having made a dreadful splashing all around, he jumped out and ran to the fire, shivering.  If any body laughed at him during this performance, he made threatening gestures, chattering with all his might to show his displeasure, and sometimes he splashed water all over them.

“Poor Sprite one day nearly committed suicide.  As he was brought from a very warm climate, he often suffered exceedingly, in winter, from the cold.

“The cooking was done by a large fire on the open hearth, and as his basket, where he slept, was in one corner of the kitchen, before morning he frequently awoke shivering and blue.  The cook was in the habit of making the fire, and then returning to her room to finish her toilet.

“One morning, having lighted the pile of kindlings as usual, she hung on the tea-kettle and went out, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“Sprite thought this a fine opportunity to warm himself.  He jumped from his basket, ran to the hearth, and took the lid of the kettle off.  Cautiously touching the water with the tip of his finger, he found it just the right heat for a bath, and sprang in, sitting down, leaving only his head above the water.

“This he found exceedingly comfortable for a time; but soon the water began to grow hot.  He rose, but the air outside was so cold, he quickly sat down again.  He did this several times, and would, no doubt, have been boiled to death, and become a martyr to his own want of pluck and firmness in action, had it not been for the timely return of the cook, who, seeing him sitting there almost lifeless, seized him by the head and pulled him out.

“He was rolled in blankets, and laid in his basket, where he soon recovered, and, it is to be hoped, learned a lesson from this hot experience, not to take a bath when the water is on the fire.”