1. Max Adeler a.k.a. Chas. Heber Clark: Mr. Columbus Coriander's Gorilla
2. Hamilton Aïdé: The Italian Boy and His Monkey
3. Anonymous: A Baby's Adventure --Jocko
4. Anonymous: Female Vivisectors, and How a Missing Monkey Gave the Secret Away
5. Anonymous: An Impudent Monkey Phantasmagoria of Fun
6. Anonymous: 'IT.' The Wonderful Offspring of a Negro Woman and an Ape Which is Puzzling Naturalists
7. Anonymous: Jocko in London
My article on the Origin of the Human Species had been months in preparation. Much of the fame which I have since secured by its publication in that widely circulated magazine, the Interoceanic Monthly, is due to the fact that I spent weeks in deep investigations in ethnological science, comparing results, and especially examining the points of resemblance which exist in the brute creation and the nobler race of man. To say that I utterly overthrew the Darwinian theory, and quite demolished the tribe of pretenders who have since attempted to imitate that great apostle of error, may not be strictly in accordance with modesty, but hosts of candid friends will admit that it is strictly true. I know very well that, though my untiring labors in the cause of science are not yet thoroughly appreciated, an admiring posterity will dwell with delight on the name of Samuel Simcox as the benefactor of his race, who showed where that race had its birth and from what primitive elements it sprang. For further particulars, see the Interoceanic Monthly for June, 18--.
Mr. Columbus Coriander's Gorilla
My favorite haunt during the progress of this article was Coriander's Menagerie; having resolved that this should be the masterpiece of my life, I spared neither labor nor expense upon it, and actually procured a season ticket to the menagerie, and passed many pleasant hours in watching the wild animals, studying their habits, and drawing many valuable conclusions from their points of resemblance and difference. Consequently, though the apes and monkeys had furnished me with an inexhaustible fund of amusement and interest, I was delighted beyond measure when it was announced that Coriander had secured a live gorilla for his collection of wild beasts. An agent had been dispatched to Africa, and had sent home, with great secrecy, a real live specimen of this dreadful beast; and so well had all the negotiations been kept that nobody knew of what was being done, until the monster was fairly caged and on exhibition at Coriander's Menagerie. I entered with zest upon a study of the creature's habits and peculiarities; and while the idle curiosity of mere wonder-mongers kept a vast crowd about the cage wherein the furious beast was confined, calmly I surveyed it from a safe distance and made my scientific observations for the benefit of mankind. And when vulgar wonder at the strange beast had somewhat subsided, and I could get nearer the cage and watch the gorilla, I was more and more impressed with the human traits which I discovered in the extraordinary animal. His manner of reclining was, though impish, half human; and his grotesque gait, as he sprang from side to side of the narrow prison, was suggestive of his supposititious congener-man; even his terrible howl, which rent the air of the museum constantly, had a human shade of sound.
One rainy day, when the great hall of the museum was unusually vacant of visitors, I almost leaned against the cage in my eager watch of the movements of the gorilla. I fancied him roaming his native African jungles, the terror of every living thing, or rearing, with a strange grotesque solicitude, his young family. I wondered how much akin to human love and hate were the passions that raged beneath that hairy breast, and how much of real feeling was in the loud and anguished howl that occasionally burst from those fanglike jaws. Thus speculating, I drew incautiously near the bars of the cage where the monster restlessly paced up and down, and was inexpressibly startled at feeling his hot breath on my cheek, while from his huge, hairy lips came the sound -- "Sam!" I actually jumped with astonishment, whereupon the creature beseechingly said: "Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake do not leave me!" I mustered courage enough to ask what all this meant. The gorilla answered: "I am your old friend, Jack Gale; don't leave me."
So Coriander's famous gorilla was no other than my old crony, Jack Gale.
And this is how Jack happened to be a gorilla:
Coriander's keepers were too watchful to permit much conversation, but taking from the gorilla--for such he still was to me -- the address of Jack Gale, No. 1283, Morusmulticaulis Street, I went home to revise some of my deductions relative to the origin of the human species, founded on observations of the gorilla in a state of comparative wildness. The menagerie closed at ten o'clock in the evening, and precisely at half-past ten I was at Jack's lodgings, to which I climbed up four flights of crooked and very dark stairways. The room was small and cheerless; the windows were carefully guarded by thick curtains; three or four swinging bars depended from the ceiling for the practice of its inmate in acrobatic exercises; across the foot of the bed lay a well-dressed gorilla's skin, and at a small table, and absorbing the contents of a pot of beer, sat the wearer of this discarded robe. This was the haunt of the African gorilla. He told his story in a few words.
"When you and I were used to talk with each other along the Tallapoosa and Athens wire, I never thought to meet you as a live gorilla; but here I am. After the war was over and the Government discharged so many telegraph operators, it was hard scratching for a while; and after you and I left the Decapolis office, I was well-nigh broke more than once, only a few cents standing between me and beggary. But I kept a stiff upper lip and struggled up to Cincinnati, where I met with Coriander. He was out there with his menagerie and was about to come on to this city and open a big show. He is a great old villain, but he has the sweetest, nicest little daughter that ever was given to man. You haven't seen Clara Coriander, have you? No? Well, you have not seen the loveliest and best girl in the world, then. But, as I was saying, old Coriander was preparing for a year's campaign in this city, and allotted a great deal on a real, live gorilla which had been captured in the wilds of Africa somewhere. Oh, curse that gorilla; I wish I had been dead before I ever heard of him."
And here Jack groaned.
"I love Clara Coriander. I suppose you have guessed that out already. But it was the old story; poor young man, without fortune or friends; cruel parents determined that their only daughter shall not marry a beggar; young lady inconsolable and devoted to aforesaid young man, but dreadfully afraid of papa, whose only child she is. Well, Coriander came on here and I followed, the old man giving me the job of writing his posters and advertisements--to keep me from starving, I suppose. The long-expected Gooroo arrived from Zanzibar, but no gorilla was there on board for Mr. Coriander; there was a skin of that celebrated animal, the beast himself having departed this life off the island of St. Helena, an imitation of the example of another much-feared person who once resided in that locality.
"Coriander was frantic. The great card of his menagerie was not to be his. His long-cherished plans were a wreck; his money was spent for naught; he had no gorilla. After all, I rather like the old wretch (Coriander, I mean). He has an absolute passion for his 'profession,' as he calls it, and was more in despair because he had no gorilla, than because it was a bad financial operation, which left him without that for which he had spent so much money. He was wretched in his disappointment, and postponed indefinitely the opening of his menagerie, though my elegant advertisements were in all the papers, and our flaming posters covered the walls of the city from one end to the other. Gloom reigned in the house of Coriander.
"This was my opportunity. I was in love with Clara and without any permanent occupation. Presenting myself before the old man, I said: 'Mr. Coriander, you want a gorilla?'
"'To be sure,' said he, testily.
"'I will furnish you with one.'
"'The devil you will!'
"'Look here,' said I, stepping back a few paces. Grasping the top of a heavy wardrobe that stood in the room, I swung myself up, clambered along the top, sprang up and down over chairs and tables, raced around the room with huge strides and jumps, and finally wound up my performances by rushing at the astonished Coriander, and, beating my breast, gave a terrific howl, that fairly made the old man quail as he writhed in his chair. I had not been practicing for nothing, evidently. Coriander was actually frightened.
"'What does this mean,' he gasped, with some rage mingled with his perturbation.
"'I am the live gorilla from the wilds of Africa,' said I. 'Give me my skin that arrived by the Gooroo from Zanzibar, and I will scare this city out of its senses when the menagerie opens, after a brief delay on account of the difficulty of preparing for the enormous additions, which a discriminating public will be delighted to see.'
"Old Coriander embraced me with tears in his eyes, declaring that I was a real genius, and was born to the show business.
"'But,' said I, 'though I am poor and need the money which you will pay me, I have one other condition, and that is that you shall give me your daughter's hand if I succeed.'
"The old man was rather taken aback at this, and flatly refused at first; and we wrangled over the matter for two or three days, but, after seeing me in the skin of the gorilla, and go through my antics and performances, he reluctantly gave in and agreed that after one year of gorilla life in his service, I should have the happiness of marrying Clara. He only stipulated that I should not hereafter tell anybody of the cheat, and that not even Clara should know of it now.
"I am aware that my profession is not high art as you call it, and on hot days it is precious uncomfortable. But what won't a fellow do under the pressure of an exchequer in distress, and enticed by the promise of the hand of the prettiest and best girl in the world? The pay is not much, but I keep soul and body together, which is more than some poor devils do in this great city. By the way, Sam, have you got five dollars about you?"
Now, if there was anything that Jack Gale specially loved, it was the state of being in debt. He was never so happy as when in debt, and when by accident, or the interference of friends, he got out of it, he was uneasy and wretched, apparently, until he got in again. The normal condition of the man was debt; so when he asked me for a loan, I could not help laughing; and I told him that he had undoubtedly found one of the greatest privations of his gorilla life to be the difficulty of contracting new debts.
"That's a fact," said Jack. "The menagerie opens at eight o'clock in the morning; it takes me a good hour to get myself up for the day; and we don't shut up until ten o'clock at night; so you see my professional duties are very confining, and a real, live African gorilla is not supposed to have first-rate credit with the people who poke stale sandwiches and peanuts through his cage-bars by day."
I promised Jack that if old Seanecks, of the Interoceanic Monthly, accepted my article on the Origin of the Human Species, I would divide the proceeds with him. Jack and I had shared and shared alike with our little gains too often in years gone by, for me to remember which owed the other now. Besides, I told him that I had studied his habits as a gorilla, and he had some claim upon the profits of an article in which his personal peculiarities figured so largely.
During the next few days I observed the characteristics of Coriander's African gorilla with new interest. He performed wonderfully well; it was difficult to realize that the hairy, ravening, agile, and grotesquely-moving beast, from which every visitor shrank back aghast, was only jolly Jack Gale serving out his hard servitude for an anticipated bride, very much after the ancient fashion of Laban's kinsman. The cunning rascal had a fashion of leaping at the bars when curious people came too near, driving them away from a narrow inspection by his hideous yells and angry mouthings. But his roars, which were really artistic in their brutal sonorousness, served us a good purpose. As I was night editor on the Daily Highflyer, and kept pretty close from ten until three o'clock in the morning, and Jack was caged until the hour at which I went to work, it was not easy for us to meet. So we exchanged the salutations of the day and a few scraps of news by using our old signals, learned long ago in the telegraph office. Instead of the rat-tat-tat of the little instrument so familiar to both of us, Jack, by a series of long or short howls and grunts, gave me his message, to which I replied by careless taps of my cane or hand, nobody suspecting that my casual movements meant anything, nor supposing for an instant that a sudden burst of African forest yells, which sent a fat lady nearly into hysterics, and made two small children howl with apprehension, merely meant "She with the pink bonnet is my Clara."
And it must be confessed that Clara Coriander was an exceedingly attractive young person. Blonde, slight in figure, and with one of those fair transparent complexions that make you think of a light shining through an alabaster vase, Clara Coriander was certainly as lovely a girl as one ever lays eyes upon. Besides, she was an only daughter, and old Coriander had grown rich in the menagerie business. Jack was a lucky dog (gorilla, I should say), to gain her hand--if he ever did; but one could not help thinking, as he noted her dainty manner and delicate, somewhat distingué face, that she was hardly the girl to fancy a fellow who had personated a gorilla, even for her hand. I was afraid that Jack had made a mistake in thus debasing himself to the absurd passion of her cruel parent for the possession of a gorilla. Moreover, by debarring himself from her society for a greater portion of the time (Sundays only excepted), he left the field open for some more fortunate rival who might, in the meantime, carry off the prize.
But Jack felt sure that he was all right, and by a precious bit of deception he had led Clara to believe that he was hard at work, night and day, at some legitimate calling, earning money for his future ambitious designs in life. The poor little thing believed in him, but Jack said it was very hard for him to be obliged to see his beloved flirting, right before his eyes at the menagerie (for the girl had a taste for natural history, and was there often), with some perfumed dangler who was in love with her pretty face and old Coriander's money. On these occasions, he hated himself for his mean disguise, and found satisfaction in howling at the gay party in such dreadful fashion as sent them quaking from his cage; and then he cursed himself for having driven away his lovely angel, and was smitten with sudden remorse as he saw her rose-hued cheeks blanch at his terrific cries. At such times he could with difficulty restrain himself from shouting: "Don't be frightened, dear, it's only Jack!" But he was fortunately preserved from such an untimely exposure.
Old Seanecks was very mean, and, though he accepted my article on the Origin of the Human Species, only paid me the pitiful sum of twenty dollars for that valuable contribution to knowledge. Twenty dollars for the labor and thought of weeks! Was ever anything so absurd! And there was Jack confidently expecting at least twenty-five dollars to purchase a birth-day present for Clara. Jack loved to make presents, and the deeper he got into debt, the more presents did he bestow on his friends. Such another whole-souled fellow as he was, to be sure.
But I pocketed the disappointment along with the money and went straightway to the menagerie. There was quite a little crowd about Jack's cage, standing at a respectful distance. In his capacity as the real African gorilla, Jack had just avenged himself on a dangerous rival by snatching off his matchless wig. This gentleman had long deceived his friends with his ambrosial locks, but Jack's quick eye had discovered the cheat, and he seized a favorable moment to make a grab for it. To his inexpressible joy, it came off in his paw, and the discomfitted gallant stood with his bare poll in the presence of the giggling and amused Clara Coriander. The amateur gorilla was in a frenzy of delight, and tore up and down his cage, scattering Mr. Jonquil's chestnut curls with savage glee. Old Coriander afterwards had to pay for the wig, of course, but he was so delighted with the stroke of showman genius displayed in its destruction, that he paid the bill without a murmur. None but a wild and savage animal, of course, would "snatch a gentleman bald-headed," as the old man expressed it. I suppose some of my readers, who now recollect the occurrence, will agree with Mr. Coriander in his opinion.
After the little crowd which this amusing affair had drawn around the cage, dispersed in various directions, I drew near enough to hand Jack a ten-dollar note, which was his share of the proceeds of my article in Interoceanic Monthly. He snatched it furtively, for the keepers were not far off, and cramming it into his ferocious jaws (lined with blood-red velvet), he howled in his usual staccato style, "Didn't I scalp old Jonquil, though!"
One of the keepers approaching me, said, suspiciously, "Look a-here, young man, you make entirely too free with that ere beast. He's awful, he is, and some day he'll just go for you, if you ain't keerful. Why, this afternoon, he jest tore a gentleman's skelp clean off his head, and he was borne out in a fainting condition. Jest see the hair of him all scattered over the cage."
I humbly thanked him for the caution, and drew off, asking for information as to the creatures's habits. He was very talkative, and enlightened me with much valuable knowledge relative to his diet, averring that he invariably was fed before the menagerie was opened, the raw meat and live rabbits which he devoured exasperating him by their blood to that degree, that it was not safe for any person but the keeper to come into his sight. The gorilla enjoyed this confidential communication, and roared his approval thus: "He's the head liar of this menagerie."
Jack and I kept up a casual correspondence from day to day by means of our telegraphic signals, for I had little time to see him when off duty. Occasionally I strolled in of an evening to commiserate his ennui and cheer him up with a friendly sign, or when opportunity offered, to chat furtively with the man-gorilla, who swore dreadfully at the bad bargain which he had made. His confinement was growing excessively irksome, and though his constant exercise kept him in good bodily health, poor Jack lost his spirits and grew positively wretched in mind. One night, when I had managed to find time to visit him at his "den" in Morusmulticaulis Street, he grew quite plaintive over his unhappy condition.
"Hang it, Sam," said he, "you have no idea how mad it makes me to think that I have shut myself up in that cage for a year, and with no chance of getting out without telling Clara what I have been doing. And there she goes pottering about the out the least idea that Jack, unhappy Jack, is glowering at her from his cursed gorilla prison, longing to say the words that would bring confusion and dismay upon all of us. And then when I see some other fellow flirting around with her, and old Coriander leering over her head at me, knowing full well how aggravated I am, why, it just makes me wild."
I comforted Jack as well as I could, and bade him hope that some stroke of luck would yet deliver him from his voluntary thraldom and bring him to his love. He was hopeful that old Coriander would find the gorilla business unprofitable, and would offer to buy him off, or consent to shorter terms. He vowed one day that unless relief soon came, he would address the crowd about his cage and inform them that he was an unmitigated humbug; that he was no gorilla at all, but only a distressed gentleman, John Gale by name, temporarily held in duress by that old rascal, Columbus Coriander. But he restrained himself and waited. It was well that he did.
One evening, finding an unemployed half-hour at my disposal, I sauntered into the menagerie hall, and watched the poor weary beasts slowly composing themselves to their unquiet slumbers. It was nearly time to close the show for the night, and not many people were left to stroll about among the cages. Old Coriander was there with his fat wife, the lovely Clara floating about in a cloudy white dress, and followed by a train of admiring swains. The poor gorilla was stretched at full length on the floor of his cage, with his face sullenly turned to the rear partition. Passing by the poor fellow, with a little pang of regret, I stopped before a cage of apes, poor Jack's next door neighbors. No wonder that he felt blue sometimes.
Suddenly there was a rush of hurrying feet; a strange confusion pervaded the whole place, lately so quiet and still; and above the pungent odor of the menagerie, I detected that of burning wood. The place was on fire, and instantly everybody ran for the exits. The hall was filled with blinding smoke; the red tongues of flame thrust themselves eagerly through the thin partitions which separated the main exhibition hall from the lumber-rooms in the rear. And the people who rushed selfishly down the narrow stairways fled not only from the flames, but from the poor beasts who cowered in their cages, or roared angrily as they caught the mad excitement around them. The scene was terrible; the crackling, roaring fires sweeping out into the long room; the wild terror of the caged animals; the shrieks and cries of flocks of suddenly-liberated strange birds; and the surging clouds of smoke which rolled through the high arches overhead. Passing near the gorilla's cage I heard Jack's voice, as he yelled with stentorian lungs: "Will nobody let me out? Oh, will nobody let me out?" Quick as thought I ran behind his cage, and unfastened the narrow flap that closed the opening. In another moment the African gorilla was out and across the hall, to where a blonde young lady in a white dress was being helplessly borne along by old Coriander, also encumbered by the stout mother of Miss Clara -- for Jack had seen that his beloved was in mortal danger. Raising the fainting girl in his strong arms, the hairy monster rushed down the stairs, astounding the coming firemen with the sight of a ferocious gorilla carrying off a respectable young lady, whose flaxen curls lay lovingly over the dreadful shoulders of the beast, which, with ludicrous failure, endeavored to caress the pallid face of the young lady with his hairy jaws, stiff with padding and whalebone, and nicely lined with blood-red velvet.
The gorilla fled up the street, bearing his dainty burden--for, once in sight, he could not stop with out exposure. Plodding travellers on the illuminated sidewalks were startled by the swift apparition of a gorilla carrying off a young lady, who was borne into dark alleys to be eaten in the obscurity of some hidden den. Casual wayfarers through back streets shrieked and ran as they beheld a flaming hairy dragon leaping with enormous strides, and carrying the corpse of a nice young person hanging over his shoulder. Good Mrs. Harris, who keeps the lodging-house at No. 1283, Morusmulticaulis Street, fell down in a deadly swoon at her own doorway, as she was returning from a class- meeting, to see the Evil One, equipped with the traditional head, horns, and tail, breathing fire and sulphurous smoke, violently deporting a beautiful young lady, who had for love of dress and other worldly vanities, sold herself to Old Nick. Vaulting over the prone body of the insensible Mrs. Harris, Jack eluded his few pursuers, and darted up the stairs to his own private den, were he shut and locked himself and his fair burthen from the world.
The lovely Clara revived shortly, and opening her eyes shut them again with a great scream. She was in the den of the African gorilla. There was more fainting, and more anguish on the part of Jack, who cursed his luck and his folly together. "It's Jack; it's only Jack," he cried, with real agony, as he tore off his mask; and the young lady, slowly returning to her senses, once more opened her eyes and beheld her lover, a real African gorilla from his chin downwards, but possessing a very resolute yet anxious human head, very like Jack Gale's, with the scalp and grinning jaws of the defunct monster hanging behind his ears.
This was an extraordinary situation; a nice young lady in a strange garret, confronted by an erratic young man in semi-gorilla costume; his countenance flushed with excitement and exercise; his eyes wild with anxiety and alarm, and his whole manner that of a person who is in a state of utter quandary. The truth of history compels me to record the fact that Miss Clara Coriander threw up her hands and laughed as she would die. She was a sensible girl, and liked a good joke. Old Coriander's plans were laid bare to her clear vision in one moment; she saw through the whole trick; and laughed in the face of the astonished Mr. Gale. "Oh, Jack," she said, as soon as she could recover her breath, "how could you be such a fool? Where Oh, oh, oh!" To all of which Jack could only reply by instalments. But by secluding the young lady on the stairway, he succeeded in preparing for their return to the Coriander mansion. Through the half-deserted streets the young couple went in different guise from that in which they had before astonished those who saw them flee. The gorilla delivered up the old man's daughter, and was glad to be told that the menagerie, not quite ruined, must needs he closed for a few months for repairs.
The show opened again in due season with new attractions, under the management of Coriander and Gale. But in all the lines of cages of rare beasts, no African gorilla was to be found. In lieu thereof they showed a handsomely stuffed skin of the much lamented beast, which came to an untimely end in consequence of a cold caught by exposure at the great menagerie fire. Coriander's heart relented when Jack saved his daughter from the burning building, and he found his inventive genius invaluable in the show business.
I have seen the only young gorilla born on American soil, of which there is any account. It has pink cheeks and blue eyes, and is learning to answer to the name of Clara Gale.
"A foreign vagabond and his ape!
The Italian Boy and His Monkey
"Begging the bread away
"From honest English children,
"Who are hard at work all day!
"You'll have never a penny of mine, indeed!" --
I heard the good wife say.
I looked, and lo! a swarthy child,
With piteous, hollow eyes;
His monkey was his only friend,
And almost half his size.
A Vagabond Life? Well, so it is!
And they who work are wise.
And we who preach these saws are wise!
Jacko, in red and gold,
Held up his cap; I blushed to think
My sixpence would uphold,
In luxury's lap, the man to whom
The little child was sold.
And then I questioned him, and learnt
Of the hard and pinching ways
That young life was acquainted with,
In its weary tramp, to raise
Enough to pay for a bed and crusts,
From the master of his days.
And how he oft on steps, at night,
His weary limbs would throw,
Not daring, penniless, to meet
His wage of curse and blow --
Such idleness, faith! is harder work
Than factory-children know!
So friendless, ignorant, debased,
Without a single bond
To raise him, through a human love,
Unto the life beyond;
Almost tempted to seek for rest
In the heart of the first black pond!
I thought how children, mean as he,
For whom some mother strives
To lead them, through the fear of God,
To follow upright lives,
Were blessèd : for through the rankest tares
The grain of good survives.
I thought how he, too, once lay warm
In the light of love divine,
As he hung on his sunburnt mother's breast,
Under a Tuscan vine;
And how, when she lay in her grave on the hill,
That light had ceased to shine!
And I thought how bad the best of men
Might have been, if that light had fled!
"Vagabond lives are loveless ones;
I pity all such," I said:
"In the name of her who bore thee, child,
Here is a loaf of bread!"
Not long ago an English lady took passage on a vessel bound from Kingston, Jamaica, to London. A large, strong, and active monkey on board the vessel took fancy to the lady's child -- a babe about two months old. The monkey would follow the lady from place to place, watching her as she rocked and fondled her little one. It so happened on a beautiful afternoon during the voyage that a distant sail attracted the attention of the passengers. The polite captain offered his glass to the lady. She placed her child on the sofa, and had just raised the glass to her eye when a cry was heard. Turning quickly, she beheld a sailor in pursuit of the monkey, which had grasped the infant firmly with one arm, and was nimbly climbing the shrouds. The mother fainted as the animal reached the top of the mainmast. The captain was at his wit's end. He feared, if he should send a sailor in pursuit, the monkey would drop the babe, and escape by leaping from mast to mast. Meanwhile the monkey was seen to be soothing and fondling the child. After trying in many ways to lure the animal down, the captain ordered his men below, and concealed himself upon the deck. In a moment, to his great joy, he saw the monkey carefully descending. Reaching the deck, it looked cautiously around, advanced to the sofa, and placed the child upon it. The captain restored the child to its mother, who was soon satisfied that her darling had escaped without injury.
And How a Missing Monkey Gave the Secret Away.
DAINTY DEVILTRY IN SCIENCE'S NAME.
A Fourteenth Street Back Parlor
Where the Inquisition Torturers
Might Pick up Points—Mangling and Ma[i]ming Living
BODIES AS A FINE ART.
The extent to which vivisection is being carried in New York has roused Mr. Bergh to much indignant protest lately and the subject has been pretty well ventilated in the papers. It is an open secret that experimental surgery on living animals is practiced mercilessly and extensively in the metropolis, in connection with private medical instruction as well as public. Many of the advanced students of the great medical schools, even, have organized into vivisection clubs independently of their regular curriculum and prosecute their barbarous researches in quiet class rooms whose location the keen detectives of the S.P.C.A. have not as yet been able to ferret out.
Accident came near revealing one of these sideshows of surgical science last week, however, and that, the most ruinous of all. It is nothing less, in fact, than a "Female Vivisection Club."
Fourteenth street, from Sixth to Ninth avenues, is a thoroughfare of elegant private and boarding houses, almost every one of which sports a doctor's sign at its front door. The names of a number of lady physicians figure among these. In most cases two or three of the female prac[ti]tioners clubbing together and using the same office to lighten the expense.
Several of these fair priestesses of the pill-box are well known and really able and advanced prac[ti]tioners, and are in request by the female medical students here as demonstrators of those more delicate clinical points which are not adverted to in the mixed public classes of the great schools. Their rates are high, but as the instruction they impart is as exceptionally valuable as it is essential, their classes are always profitably filled with the sweetest and most select acolytes of medicine in the country. The most popular of those private schools of instruction is situated on the upper side of Fourteenth street, a few doors from Seventh avenue. Its superintendent, whom we may as well call Mrs. Dr. X., is famous for her real name as well as surgeon, and one of the most skilful anatomists in this city.
Some months ago a physician who attended a sale of game cocks captured by some of Mr. Bergh's men up the Hudson noticed that Dr. X. was the purchaser of several of the finest of those fowl. Now when a doctor buys game cocks there are only two inferences possible. They are purchased either for breeding or vivisection; as no one ever even suspected Dr. X of sporting proclivities her investment in fighting fowl aroused the rival practitioners' suspicions. Information gained from time to time confirmed them. There could be no doubt that Mrs. Dr. X. was either conducting or taking part in dissections of living animals.
Her purchases were not confined to game cocks. One of her servants whom the amateur detective succeeded in getting on a confidential footing with informed him that her mistress had a perfect menagerie of kittens, puppies, pigeons, rabbits, guinea-pigs and such small deer as are favorites with the vivisectionists in the back basement. What use was made of them the girl was unable to say. They were certainly never eaten, yet from time to time they disappeared. These disappearances were always noticeable just after the young lady students had had a meeting in the back parlor which Dr. X. used as an office and which no one was permitted to enter except upon her invitation. Discoveries ended here.
None of the servants knew any more than the first, and the couple of young women pupils of Dr. X. guardedly interviewed on the subject preserved an inviolable secrecy. It may as well be noted here that it is a point of honor with those who take part in or view a vivisection never to advert to the fact or to their fellow participants in it outside of the circle itself. Accident, however, did in the present case what all the cunning curiosity could engender failed to achieve.
Fifteenth street, west of Sixth avenue, is the very antithesis of Fourteenth in the matter of respectability. It is a street of tenement houses and old time dwellings which have deteriorated into lodgings of the cheapest sort. Here and there sulky little alleys lead into rear courts where there are stables for the horses of the truckmen and licensed vender [sic] who leave their vehicles in the street over night.
One of these courts is directly in the rear of the medical house on Fourteenth street, separated from it only by an extensive yard.
The floor above the stable is occupied by a man who practices veterinary surgery in a small way, and his family. Among the lodgers in the front tenement there was some time ago an exile from sunny Italy who followed his national calling for subsistence. As a matter of course he had a monkey.
It contracted a mange, or something of that sort, and became incapacitated for that ornamental part a monkey is expected to perform in connection with a barrel organ. So its owner sent it to the doctor, as he is popularly called, to be cured. It was a long task and a difficult one, for the Simian constitution was completely run down and had to be built up with judgment and care. In the end, however, Jocko became fat and frolicsome again. His recovery was so complete that the doctor considered himself justified in charging $25 for the cure he had wrought. The Italian, who had in the meantime bought a new monkey for less than half the money, considered the bill exorbitant and refused to pay it. So the doctor, who had taken quite a friendly fancy to his Darwinian patient, kept it for himself.
Jocko was an ape of intelligence and docility, consequently his new master judged it quite safe to let him have the run of the house, or, to speak more by the card, of the stable. He was soon on friendly terms with every one, from the horses and hostlers to the children and cats. He learned more tricks than a circus mule, and was constantly adding to his store of knowledge. As the neighbors affirmed, he only needed to talk. More than one of them firmly believed that that would in time be added to his sum of accomplishments, too. Several offers had been made for him by people in the show line, but the doctor had invariably declined to consider them.
When, ten days ago, he disappeared, no one doubted but he had been stolen by one of the [un]successful bidders for his valuable talents. Itemizing the uselessness of any attempt to recover him if such had been his fate, the doctor did not even go to the trouble of advertising him, but determined to take his value out of the anatomy of the next showman he came across. The monkey's disappearance was some days old, when his bereaved master, smoking his pet meerschaum after dinner, dropped the bowl out of his back window into the rear yard. It was too dark to attract the attention of any of the servants in the Fourteenth street house, so he jumped down to rescue the pipe himself. This done, he crossed the yard to get a step ladder, which was usually placed against the house wall, to assist him back to his old quarters. There was a light in the rear window on the ground floor, and shadows moved about on the white curtain. He noticed at once that they were those of women. A crevice between the curtain and the window frame permitted him to see that they were bare armed, with long check aprons over their dresses, and gathered about a table on which there were open cases of surgical instruments. Some object whose character he could not at first distinguish was confined to a curious iron frame on the table. As he looked one of the women bent over it, scalpel in hand. The next instant a shrill scream, an unmistakable shriek of intense anguish, reached the eavesdropper's ears.
"I told you you would have to make an incision in its throat, doctor," he heard one say. "It will rouse the whole neighborhood if you don't."
And the lady bent over what the horror-stricken doctor now saw, or fancied he saw, was a struggling negro baby, and with a dextrous swoop of the scalpel laid its windpipe bare. Another stroke, and a portion of the windpipe itself was removed. The subject of these tender attentions struggled and strove to break the cords which fastened it to the frame, but it no longer gave vent to any vocal sound. The women gathered closer about the table again. The operator, whom the doctor recognized as the lady physician whose shingle adorned the front doorway, bent forward. A second later and a shower of blood sprinkled the bare arms and the check aprons of the surrounding group. The doctress had ripped the monkey open.
Without waiting to see any further anatomy developed, the doctor jumped through the window, glass, sash, curtain and all. There was a scattering of skirts, of course. And he now saw that what he had taken for an infant of Ethiopian origin was his own missing monkey. He had stumbled in Mrs. Dr. X.'s class, at a vivisection.
What followed nobody but the doctor or a member of the vivisection club could satisfactorily explain, and they have not so far decided to do so. But from the fact that Jocko's master turned up next day in a new spring suit it may so inferred that the result was satisfactory to him.
There are iron shutters on the windows of Mrs. Doctor X.'s office now, and anybody with any respect for man traps had better beware of that back yard.
Ringtail Chattar, Esquire, of -- any Lodge, in any county, where he can get board, is one of the finest specimens of the Impudent Monkey extant. His mental perception is as insensible to a hint that he is de trop, as his body is to a kick; the first having been fruitlessly tried in ordinary cases, and the latter when those who have got "bored" by him have been compelled to proceed to extremities, and propel him in to-to!
He wonders what the deuce people "would have!" but never imagined what they "would not have;" for, that they want to be rid of him, neither his inordinate vanity nor his personal convenience will for a moment allow. Then he is so very agreeable! and the organ of imitation is so largely developed in his simious sconce, that he confidently believes he can do anything and -- anybody!
With the fair sex he considers himself irresistible, and impertinently peers under every passing bonnet; nay, should any unbonneted soubrette be skipping along before him, on some "domestic errand bound," he familiarly taps her on the shoulder with "Come, let's look at your face, my dear!" and neither ugliness, nor the frown of displeasure, which he so frequently encounters in return, have the power to deter him from a repetition of the same impertinence; for, even if the challenged face be "ordinary," he is confident that it will turn to a handsome one -- turning to his!
No one employs a tailor with less money or more "brass," or gets into his books with a better grace.
Come what will, he knows that he has nothing to lose; and this "knowledge is power" indeed to him, and gives a tone of independence to his air and manner, that, if not dignified, is, to say the least of it, very -- imposing!
He never skulks out of the way of a confiding or a dunning creditor; nay, if he thinks he is observed by one of these innocents, (which he generally does, believing himself to be the "observed of all observers," he boldly crosses oyer, and meets him nez à nez, -- exchanges with him a quantity of small talk in the most flattering and agreeable manner, and generally finishes by saying, "By the bye, Sniggins, I shall be at home this evening --just drop in about ten. I must sport a new pair of mud-pipes; and, if you have anything standing against me, bring an account, and I'll settle it at the same time!"
This, of course, is all gratuitous mendacity, for be neither wants new boots nor wishes to disburse; and, if the too-confiding "sutor" should repair to his ready-furnished lodgings, (which he changes about twice a-month, for want of change!) he learns that Ringtail Chattar, Esquire, has gone to the opera, or to the Honourable Mrs. Such-a-one's rout; and the only satisfaction the poor fellow reaps is the thought engendered by this second "enormous lying," that his customer must really be "somebody," and may probably recommend him to some "nobs" of his acquaintance for his scientific "cut" -- little dreaming, poor fool! that he is bamboozled by one who is himself a distinguished professor of the sublime art of -- cutting !
He is a great judge of horses, (his father having been an under-ostler at a livery stables, where little Master Ringtail Chattar was permitted in bad weather to exercise the stud in the "ride,") and, being complete master of the "slang," (which is of greater service in an introduction to the sporting part of the aristocracy than a knowledge of the classics,) the low-born stable-boy finds himself quite "hand-and-glove" with many of the --equestrian order!
Both in Hyde Park and Regent's Park he may frequently be seen perched on the driving-seat of a buggy, or stanhope, or lolling in a cabriolet, "tooling" the "tits" with all the dexterity and air of the proprietor of the "crack turn-out;" whereas he is only "handling the ribands" for some novice, who is but too proud to have the honour of his company, and, above all, his valuable opinion of the "concern," in the praise of which he is technically lavish, especially if (as frequently happens) he has been the instigator of the purchase, there being a mutual "understanding" existing between him and the honourable "dealer." This trade, indeed, seldom fails him; for there is always a crop of young gentlemen so ardent in the pursuit of that knowledge, of which Ringtail Chattar, Esq. is an acknowledged professor, that their credulity is a "mine" of wealth, in the working of which the aforesaid young gentlemen incontestably prove themselves -- minors! In fact, in the expressive phraseology of the "ride," every "green" is infallibly "done brown."
There is a curious and sometimes very becoming effect produced on the physiognomies of some people, called "putting them to the blush," -- an effect to which the amiable countenance of Ringtail Chattar, Esq. is as perfectly insensible as a -- brass warming-pan! In fine, his effrontery is equal to his egotism, and his manoeuvring ("tipping 'em the double," as he terms it) equal to both.
He was one rainy day watching the drops coursing each other down the panes of his sitting-room window, and mentally betting with himself upon the issue of the pluvial race, when two men stopped directly opposite, and, staring up at the house, transfixed him as effectually as if their eyes possessed the charm of the rattlesnake.
A single glance was more than enough for his quick perception, for in the smaller one he instantly recognized the diminutive figure of an unfortunate "ninth" whom he had "let in," and kept out of his money to the extent of some forty pounds sterling money of Great Britain, and who had worn out his shoe-leather and his patience in vainly seeking an interview and a settlement; while, in the larger form, his practised eye at once distinguished the horrible features of one of those pests of society known as bailiffs!
Evasion or escape was vain. He could not be "not at home;" that was impossible (although he certainly felt himself "quite abroad") : so he put a good face upon the matter, and, nodding at the man of measures, he beckoned him with apparent impatience; and, as the man and his grim companion mounted the stairs, met him at the door of the room.
"I'm werry sorry, Mr. Chattar," began the tailor, with some hesitation.
"Make no apologies," interrupted Chattar. "Pray be seated, sir" (to the bailiff). "Numps, take a chair. Why the devil didn't you come in the cab, tho'?"
"The cab, sir?"
"Yes; I sent that booby of mine above half an hour ago for you."
The tailor stared.
"Come; won't you and your friend wet your whistles?" and he poured out a bumper of port for each; "and now, let's to business."
"Yes, sir, and I'm werry sorry," again commenced Numps.
"So am I," interrupted Chattar; "but there's a 'salve for every sore,' you know, Numps; and, though he certainly was a tolerably kind uncle in some things, he stinted me terribly. The fact is, I 've been confoundedly straitened for want of the 'ready;' but everything is for the best, and I shall feel the benefit of it all now, for I understand the old boy has left me a tolerable round sum; so I have no reason to complain."
Numps hemmed and coughed, and puzzled his brains in vain to make out what his customer was driving at.
"Now, although," continued Chattar, "I shall be obliged to live nearly the whole year upon the estate, I shall not cut London entirely; and, as you are the very best fit that ever handled a pair of shears, I shall stick by you. You shall make the liveries, too; but we'll talk about that by and by. We must first put nunkey under the turf, and, therefore, the mourning is the first thing. I suppose you can send one of your youths down to the Lodge; or, stay, my fellow and he can go down in the buggy together to-morrow; for it may be considered more respectful by the old fogies, if I travel post!"
The poor tailor looked amazed and confounded. He was completely "taken aback" by the new prospect which so suddenly opened upon his dazzled vision. He already wished his "friend (the bailiff) at the bottom of the sea."
Chattar read his thoughts in a twinkling. He saw the favourable turn, and determined to push forward at all hazards.
"If you are not particularly engaged with this gentleman," continued he, "perhaps you will spare me a quarter of an hour of your valuable time, and we can arrange the business at once; for I have really so much to do, that the sooner this is 'off my hands' the better. By the bye, I am already a trifle in your debt?"
"Don't mention it, sir, I beg,
said the unfortunate dupe. "Trigg," continued he, winking hard at the bailiff, "p'raps, you'll call upon that 'ere gent, (a very expressive wink) in Regent Street, and tell him about the business, you know, and meet me at home, and I'll make it all right with you." And, opening the door, he let out the bailiff with all possible despatch, trembling at the supposed risk he had run of offending a valuable customer.
"How's cash with you, Numps?" asked the tantalising Chattar.
"Why, sir, if so be the truth must be told, we are rayther shortish at this present time o' the year," replied Numps.
"Well, then, as I am flush, and this will be rather a heavy job, I'll rub off the old score at once; and, when we have made the calculations of what the new 'togs' for the 'flunkies' will come to, I'll advance you the money, if it will be any accommodation!"
"Oh! sir, really," cried the grateful "sufferer," quite overpowered by this graciousness, "I shall never be able to make you no amends for this here."
"Nonsense!" appropriately interrupted Chattar. "You've known me in my difficulties, and you have always had the delicacy never to bore me. I hate a dun! Numps, I consider you have now a right to my patronage. Come, take another glass, and let's to business."
Alas, poor Numps! he went home hot with villanous port at one-and-elevenpence-halfpenny per bottle, and happy in the delusion that he had got "sich a werry nice gentleman-like for a customer; so free -- so every think as a tradesman could wish for," as he told his rib.
The next morning, according to appointment, he went gaily for the expected draft upon Mr. Chattar's bankers. But the bird had flown! Yes, to the tailor's inexpressible horror, the enemy had made a retreat instead of an advance!
The subject of our illustration [not available], "It," recently came to this country from Africa, which was consigned to a well-known German merchant who has for years imported every strange animal from all parts of the. world. A reporter of the POLICE GAZETTE called at the store recently, Mr. Herman Reiche, who is a naturalist, said that he had something from Africa which puzzled him.
'IT.' The Wonderful Offspring of a Negro Woman
and an Ape Which is Puzzling Naturalists
"In fact there are two of them," he said; "two of the most wonderful youngsters that I ever run across. Come up and see them."
The reporter followed Mr. Reiche up the stairs to the third-story back room, and there, in a roomy wooden cage, were the animals or children, or whatever they are.
"I call them He and It," said Mr. Reiche. "I had She, too, but lost her in London, where she died."
He and It were amusing themselves climbing on a little swing when the reporter first saw them, but they came down to the front of the cage and sat close up to the wooden bars, peering out with an expression of great curiosity on their funny faces.
They are both males, and are thought to be about a year old.
They stand about two feet high and have long arms like those of a monkey. They are of a slaty-gray color, and have big patches of pink on their bodies and limbs. Red hair grows thinly on their bodies and heads. The heads are the most curious things about He and It. They are as round as a billiard ball, and about the same size and shape as a human baby's. The foreheads are not at all receding, but on the contrary the bump of perceptiveness stands out prominently over their big brown eyes.
The noses are flat and inclined to be retroussé. Their mouths are something like that of Mr. Crowley, but they are not chimpanzees. Their ears are aristocratically small.
They have paunches like a well-fed alderman, and shapely hands, with long, tapering fingers and highly polished nails. Their thumbs are short and spatulate, and are evidently not made for use.
They have no tails.
He and It are absurdly affectionate with strangers. The door of the cage was opened, and He came out and threw his arms around the reporter's neck as if he had found a long-lost brother. He clung to the scribe like a frightened child, and laughed heartily when he was tickled under the arms.
Then He nestled his little head on the reporter's shoulder and closed his eyes in a gentle slumber. In the meantime It was going through much the same performance with Mr. Reiche.
"I wish I knew what they are," said Mr. Reiche. "I really do. You know I take the greatest interest in animals of all kinds, and have made a study of them; but after the most exhaustive search in natural histories I can find no mention of these."
"Where did they come from?"
"I got them in London from a man who is known to me as hunter Wilhelm. He is an African hunter and explorer, and is as great a character in his way as Allan Quartermain. Well, this hunter has been in the middle of Southern Africa for the past two years and has had some wonderful adventures.
"About a year ago he came across a tribe of savages in the Zambezi River country. No white man had ever gone there before, but the natives treated him kindly, and he stayed with them a month or two.
"He learned from them that about 100 miles further in the interior there was a fierce and warlike tribe of hairy men who every now and then would swoop down on their more peaceable neighbors, tear up their crops, steal everything they could lay their hands on, and capture the women, whom they would lead off into captivity.
"If the men interfered these hairy savages would attack them with their war clubs and slay them. They were all of powerful build, and three times as strong as any ordinary man.
"The hunter did not believe all these stories, and he said so.
"Then they brought before him an old crone who said that she had once been captured by the hairy men and had lived with them for several years. She underwent many hardships, but at last managed to escape to her people, taking her two boys and a girl.
"The hunter was deeply impressed when saw the children and he determined to have them. He gave nearly everything he had to the chief of the tribe and was permitted to take them away. He was three months making his way to the coast and then sailed at once to England.
"As I said, I met him there, and, hearing and seeing the children, purchased them. The girl or She, died shortly after she came into my possession. She was older than He and It, and was about four feet high.
"She was very gentle and affectionate and thought the world of the little babies, attending to their wants with all the love of a mother. These boys came over in the steamship Wieland of the Hamburg line."
LANDING IN ENGLAND
Without a Friend, or Parent kind; --
No hearth, no home, to leave behind, --
Unkindly driven from door to door,
Poor Sacchi left his native shore
To seek Old England's friendly Isle,
And try if fortune there would smile;
So with his organ, folks to please,
And faithful Pug, he crossed the seas.
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