of the village school used regularly to stop before the house to see
the monkey, when she would dance up and down the boughs of the trees
overhanging the lane, making an occasional wicked dash at the nearest
little one, when the circle would break with a scamper and scream. She
was very jealous of any child that came to the house, and once when a
baby was the object of general admiration, managed to pinch its cheek.
All the animals seemed to like her: the cat was her special friend;
but when Pussy had four kittens, Poppet would turn the poor mother out
of her bed, and nurse the babies herself; and very nicely she did it,
sitting up holding them properly, giving a funny little giggle when the
little furry things tickled her. I am sorry to say she was not always
so gentle, as she was met dragging a kitten down-stairs by the tip
of its tail, thumping its little head on every step. The old mother
came regularly to say good-morning to Poppet, making that caressing
tone in which a cat speaks to its kittens. Poppet usually returned the
attention by dragging open Pussy's mouth to see what she had had for
breakfast. When she had finished her own morning meal, she would sit in
the saucer and rock it up and down; or placing the saucer on her head,
look like a little heathen Chinee.
At last Poppet got to be too expensive a luxury. In one week she
broke an unusual number of valuable things. She began the campaign by
dragging the breakfast-room clock and two large old china bowls off
the chimney-piece; of course the china was smashed to atoms, and the
clock so injured, that ever since its voice has been most painfully
cracked. The next exploit was to send a large globe spinning down from
a high bookcase, thereby breaking the stand to fragments. Then in a
dance along the hall, she sprang on to one tip of a pair of immense
horns, bringing them down, and causing them to snap on each side of the
mounting.
Every one's patience was now exhausted, and 'Poppet must be got rid
of!' was the universal cry. A visit was paid to a celebrated menagerie
then in the town; but the monkeys' quarters were found so cold and
dirty, and their little faces looked so sad and anxious compared to
Poppet's contented well-fed look, that we decided it was impossible
to send her there. It was useless to offer her to our friends; her
fame had blown far and wide, and how we could keep 'such a tiresome
mischievous creature' was the wonder of all who knew us. At last it was
decided it would be more merciful to poison her than to give her where
she would be ill-used or ill-fed. It was a cruel resolve, but what were
we to do? The error had consisted in our ever trying to domesticate
such an untamable creature. Poppet must die, and in as simple a way as
possible. Prussic acid being said to be instantaneous, was to be the
agent of destruction; and as I was supposed to have the most nerve in
the family, notwithstanding my objections it was unanimously resolved I
should administer it. The poison remained under lock and key for some
time; at last, worked up by several dreadful breakages, I gave it in
some grapes, and retired from the room feeling like a murderer, leaving
poor Poppet extended insensible on the rug. In about half an hour I
returned, expecting to find her quite dead; but no; there she was,
sitting on the fender, scratching her legs, and looking only a little
languid. The revulsion of feeling was so great, and her invalid airs so
comical and coaxing, that we felt rather ashamed of having attempted
the life of so winning a creature. I may observe, however, that that
feeling died away as she recovered and the old amount of mischief
went on; and all looked very blue when some one read 'that monkeys
frequently lived to be a hundred years old;' there seemed nothing for
it but that Poppet should go as a family heirloom to the only son.
Then it began to be whispered I might try another dose, but I steadily
refused; till at the end of one hot summer afternoon which I had spent
in my room, I went down-stairs, to find my mother looking very white,
and hear her say: 'If I had known you were in the house I wouldn't
have done it;' and to find that poor Poppet had been very effectually
'done for' at last; that for the first time in her little tricksy
roguish life she was really quiet. She was buried in the garden, and a
headstone with a suitable inscription erected to her memory.
Now that the anguish for the loss of old friends (in glass and
china) has been blunted by time, as we sit round the fire 'between
the lights,' the recital of Poppet's pranks is listened to with rapt
attention by the children; and I often think, with Frank Buckland,
that many a more valuable friend may be less missed and less sincerely
mourned than a pet monkey.
MY BABY.
They made a little crown in heaven
When she was born--
Only the breath of angels on it;
Neither flower nor leaf upon it;
Never a single thorn.
Slowly it grew in form and beauty
As the days passed on--
Tinged her eyes with love-light's dawning;
Ruby lips to love-words forming;
Lisping future song.
Brighter still the crown was budding
As the year grew old;
And my simple heart beguiling,
Angels shewed it to me smiling:
So the days grew cold.
'Look! O mother! look upon it!'
(Baby lay asleep);
'In the heavens' sunny bowers
Twine we everlasting flowers;
Think upon it in the hours
When you will weep!'
'Look! O mother! fair we've made it
For an angel's head!'
There was something strange and wild
Struck my heart--the angels smiled:
I turned to look upon my child--
And she was dead.
F. ROCHAT.
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