Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 May 1875 — WHAT A SICK MONKEY DID. [ARTICLE]

WHAT A SICK MONKEY DID.

The performances of Wogglam’s grand combination circus had drawn to a close. I was waiting in what is called in the posters “ the zoological department,” in order to allow the throng to pass out, when I was attracted by two men w T ho stopped before a cage of animals containing a happy family. “Monkey seems to mope. Anything wrong, Chufflers?” inquired one of the men. “Yes, sir; he’s hurt, and bad. Early this morning this here van was a standing here. Borne green hand let fall a heavy tent-pole. Monkey ’ was asleep, and happened to have a forearm hanging through the bars. From the way he t squealed and has been melancholy ever since I’m afeerd besides a broken arm he’s got hinternal injuries.' Been a-wor-rying over him most all day. Never do to have him there all night; the rest of ’em would chaw him up before morning.” “Know anybody in the place?” asked the other man. “ Not a soul,” wqs the reply. “ More’s the pity,” said the first speaker. “ What with the jolting he’ll get tonight it will be too much for him. It’s hard times for him,, Chufflers, but you will have to shoot him. Shoot him good, and see you have a big hole dug to put him in. Get some of the hands right off with the spade. Pass into the ticket van and You’ll find my revblver in the drawer. Poor old Moses! He was a tip-top monkey. Reiche never sold me a better one.” ' There was kindness about the man’s words; such a true expression of regret while ordying the monkey’s execution that I became interested. “ The performances are over, sir. We strike the tent in a few minutes, sir,” remarked the taller of the two men, evidently the proprietor of the concern. “ You must excuse me,” I said, “for having overheard your conversation. What you are about to do may be in a certain sense human, but it seems such a pity. Maybe the monkey is not so badly hurt.” , “Can’t say,” was the sententious reply. . “ But are you a professional .party?” “No,” I answered. “ A monkey as is hurt is a goner and past cure. Mr. Chufflers makes a business of oping knowing in such lines. To show you, sir, that I wish well for Moses —and you look like a humane party —if you’ll take that monkey, and ten dollars is any object for his board for a month, why, I shouldn’t mmd standing that amount.” And with this Mr. Wogglam exhibited a plethoric pocket-book. 1 ” Just then Mr. Chufflers, who had left us, returned and said: “ Hole dug, sir;” and he tapped ominously on his breast'

coat-pocket, where I saw the bulge, of a revolver. “Wait a moment, Chufflers,” interposed the manager; “ I am trying to negotiate about Moses with this gentleman, who seems inclined to take him.” “It would be a real charity, sir,” pleaded Mr. Chufflers, “es you would tend to him. There ain’t a man in this here concern that hasn’t a liking for Moses, and it goes agin my heart to put a hole in him. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll pack him up in a basket and send him round to your house. He is quite likely to come round in time, with care and quiet, which is two things that isn’t known in a traveling circus.” “Well, sir,” said Mr. Wogglam, drawing out a huge gqld watch, “we strike canvas in ten minutes for a show pinte some forty miles off. See here: if you cure Moses I ain’t got no claim on him. He is yours.” Here Mr. Chufflers disappeared and returned again in a moment with a champagne basket. Just then the demolition of the tents commenced, and Mr. Chufflers was busy giving some peculiar admonitions to the crowd of helpers. “Ax your pardon, sir,” he'sain. “ Now',sir, it is either this,” and he pointed to the basket, “ and home and happiness and his diverting tricks, which they would be an ornament to your family circle, or it’s a four-foot hole in the middle of the ring, with no head on to Moses worth mentioning,” and Mr. Chufflers examined critically the caps on his revolver. I gazed at the poor beast cowering in the corner, swaying himself from side to side with that involuntary movement so familiar to people in pain. The rest of the happy family, mostly composed of nocturnal animals, were following their peculiar instincts, and seemed to be growing more restless every moment. The cat deliberately clawed her way over the poor monkey. The opossum rudely jostled him, while a raccoon brutishly tumbled on him. A supercilious whiffet barked spitefully at Moses, if to add insult to injury, an impertinent bantam, with a flutter, lit on the poor monkey’s shoulder and crowed shrill in his ear. Evidently the social disposition of the family had been shaken to its center, and its incongruous parts were developing traits of the most opposite and discordant character, fl’he balance-wheel of the complex animal mechanism having been broken, the remaining elements were out of gear and fast getting beyond control. Certain was it that a revolution had set in.* 4 * If the monkey had been once king, every prestige! of his birth and position was being swept away. Even the scavengers of his realm refused him homage, for now a procession of loathsome rats were crawling over him. Had the monkey been| alone in his cage I might have felt truly sorry for him; but in the midst of this tumult of lower animals Moses seemed to me a type of human suffering, martyrdom and resignation. I suppose a certain tell-tale - face of mine evinced the sentiments I felt.

“ Bully for you, sir,” said Mr. Chufflers ; “ heart in the right place.” “ There ain’t champagne in this town good enough for this party,” cried Mr. Wogglam, triumphantly. “ Chufflers, take the gentleman’s address. We will adjourn to the hotel—and, Chufflers, just as soon as you have ambulanced Moses, you join us.” Nolens volens, I had fully committed myself; there was no way of refusing the invitation, and to a neighboring hotel we went; for Clamville rejoices in a wonderful hostelry. “ Family man, sir?” inquired Mr. Wogglam. “ Yes," I replied. “ All well and hearty? Glad to hear it. That’s a great blessing. I have but one child, a girl, and a sad invalid. I was a poor man once, and hadn’t no big show when I begun. Mebbe you have heard of Signor Slabsilanti and his child? That was me and my daughter years ago. She was a twelve-year-old child then —kid we call ’em- -but as graceful as a fawn and as plucky as a rat-terrier, when the horse she and me was riding, as never had been known to stumble before, came down all in a heap. It was a dislocated hip, and she never did get right strong again. She’s most twenty now, though it’s little pleasure she knows. Here’s Ghufflers; sit down, old man, and help yourself. Here is to all our health, and Moses in particular, and to all of us seeing one another this time next year, when, if the generous public of Clamville don’t spend all their money on lecture shows, we expect to have the posters around again with the combination. Drop me a line about the monkey, care of my wife;” and Mr. Wogglam gave me his address in some Western town. “Es,” said Chufflers, in a doleful way, “ the worst should happen, and Moses pegs out, take half a pound of arsenic to two pounds of lard, and grease him welland send him with this here card to a friend of mine inTNew Yorkand the keeper somewhat laboriously executed some writing on the back of a card, which he presented to me.” “ It’s time to break up this ere conwiviality,” continued Mr. Chufflers. “ I have got to see the elephants put on the train. They would be sure to put ’em head to the wind, which makes ’em cross and ugly.” "We all shook hands and parted. The ten dollars was offered to me, which I of course refused. Mr. Chufflers’ card was as follows: “To Mr. Billy Potanner animal, and bird stuffer William street New York, this gent and Moses is both friends of mine belike he may hsend his body by express in which case stuff and send him back at my expense. Nun but the best artificial ize is to be used with a real branch of a tre in a glass case with natural background, he was boss of our happy family and we commemeretes his departure from this life in this way with respect Alfonso Chufflers.” The possessor of a sick money! Was it a subject for congratulation? It might have been the Clamville champagne which sent scampering through my head, as I walked homeward, the - whole romantic literature of monkeys; Then came fresh to me the storjy of my great-great-gi'and-dame’a monkey, the one she had in Surinam, which amiable creatvire brought water, built the fire v and to

these domestic qualities united the accomplishment of whipping bad children. Philip Quarl’s, Edgar Poe’s monkey, and Hawthorne’s organ-grinder’s monkey—the latter like a grotesque gargoyle clambering up the Gothic structure of the House of Seven Gables—all these trooped through my brain. Quaint pictorial and sculptured monkeys, such as illumined the borders of monkish missals, the grinning monkey faces from mediaeval friezes, gibbered at me. The whole gallery—those fantastic conceptions of Tintoret, Veronese and Titian, among the ancients, and the later productions of De la Roche, Kaulbach and Landseer—kept trooping alongside of me. But, with all this romance of Simian lore, had any of these distinguished authors, even Frank Buckland, or of the painters, Hammerton included — had any of them ever had anything to do with a sick monkey? That was the question. In myself I placed no reliance. I must confess my main stay was in my brother-in-law, Dr. Parry, who, having no practice to speak of in a large city, had come to Clamville to spend the summer months with me. —:_-L As 1 mounted the steps of my house the door was opened by my wife. Her first words were: “Itis in a basket, oh! Left in the most mysterious way a half hour ago, with particular instructions not to open it until you came home. I am not very curious, you know, but” — here my wife paused, noticing, perhaps, a smile of incredulity on my lips—“wellj not very, I mean. It has worried me so, though, and my brother Ambrose has been so silly with his unfeeling jokes about it. He—he”—and my wife struggled with a tear—“ he says it’s a baby. There! It is moving now! If it is anybody’s child”—and here the brave little woman braced herself up for it —“ promise that, if its parents can’t be found—that we may care for it. Baby’s old clothes could be of use, and ” “ Mv dear,” I said, “ it ain’t a baby; it’s a monkey.” “ A what?” cried out my wife, pitching her voice in a clear soprano note as high as “f” sharp, “a monkey! and baby but seven months old! It will be carrying our precious one to the housetop, and cramming all kinds of dreadful things in its mouth. I believe the story!” “ But it is a sick monkey,” I said apologetically, “ with a broken arm—one of a late happy family—and his name it is Moses;” and I detailed my story. “ What on earth are all you people chatting about down there; and what is the mystery about the basket?” cried out my brother-in-law, Dr. Parry, wto joined us in the hall. “ Ambrose,” I said, “in that basket there is a dilapidated monkey—arm fractured.” “Delightful!” exclaimed the doctor. “ It is a charity patient,” I added. “ My practice, exactly,” responded the doctor. “Well, Ambrose,” chimed in my wife, “we leave the case with you. I am going to bed.” “And I, too,” I added. “Call me up if you want anything.” “Stop,” cried the doctor; “are you heathens! Sister, the keys of your medicine chest —and all your old bandboxes. You, sir,” and he addressed me, “ give me your old skate-straps and your glue-pot.” “ Are we Brahmins, that we should keep a monkey hospital?” asked my wife “I should not be surprised if we were,” the doctor replied. “We are Ayrans, and at last an atavism or a penchant for our ancestral type is simply asserting itself.” “ Stuff!” replied my wife, and marched forthwith to bed. Dr. Parry took the basket with the monkey in it to his office—and I followed him. “Here is your glue-pot; here is the pasteboard from your wife’s hat-boxes; build a fire and get your glue-pot on the boil,” said the doctor authoritatively. “ You are not going to stick Moses together, are you?” I inquired. “ Now listen, oh, my brother,” said Dr. Parry, assuming the pose and manner of a lecturer. “ I will commence by saying that this novel case will develop not only miracles of the healing art but will give you an insight into those ingenious mechanical devices which the inventive mind of the true surgeon improvises. , Assistant, request the patient to approach ; or, in plainer terms, bring on your monkey.”

“ That, is decidedly cool,” I replied. “ I respectfully decline. You have entire charge of the case. “ Surgery,” continued the doctor,“ has it§ perils. We will then introduce Moses ourselves.” Saying this he cut the hSOrd Which held down the lid of the basket where Moses was ensconced. Then, leaning with one hand on the edge of the basket, he continued: “There must always exist a certain degree of confidence" between the patent and his surgeon—kind words, gentleness, assurance of benefits to be conferred, tend to calm irritability. Here, Moses! Moses! good boy! We are going to try and make you as springy as when you bounded lithe and free in your native, wilds." Saying this. Dr, Parry introduced his hand carefully into the basket. There was first a whimper, then a chatter, and last a snap.” “Confound it!” cried the doctor, bounding into the middle of the room, “ the rascal has bitten me. Fortunately my coat-sleeve has got the best of it. Anyhow, it shows quite palpably the vitality, the vivacity of the patient. Assistant,"fasten that sponge to,the end of my cane there and pour chloroform plentifully on it.” I did as I was directed. Then Dr. Parry carefully opened the lid of the basket and applied the sponge inside. There was a terrible row in that basket —the bobbing up and down of a black head, the exhibition of some very white teeth, and then all was still, “ft takes,” said the doctor, “ twelve ounces of chloroform and five minutes to„chloroform a monkey. There he is, sleeping like an infant, with a gentle thoracic movement. Air: Here is an important fact for publication. You may chloroform a monkey all over, save his tail; and that apparently, the power of anaesthetics.” Hereupon the doctor took out Moses carefully, who showed no signs of life, and placed him on the table,

taking a tape-line from his pocket, requesting me to note down certain figures, which he commenced calling off as follows : Around the neck, 9} inches; from the shoulder to hip, 10} inches; around the chest, 16$; arm, s}; length of arm, 15}; waist, 11 inches; tail, 1 foot 3; no, it’s four—l give up the tail. That will do, you tailor’s apprentice. Fracture between elbow and wrist, besides a bad bruise in the lumbar region. Assistant, could you pull out his tongue? You would rather not? Then I will. Good. Furred to a degree. Typhoidal symptoms, liver complaint. I ought to find some new monkey disease here, for *you know that some one has said that ‘ the science of medicine does not exist in order to cure diseases, but there are diseases in order that there should be a science of medicine.’ ” “ Is this case ajgrave one?” I asked. “ Certainly, ffflfll monkey, when everything runs into consumption. Now, joking aside, put him back and help me.” Thereupon the doctor skillfully made a whole series of splints out of the pastetioard, adding to it bits of wood, and very shortly had built up a complete set of paper armor. Parts were moistened in water to shape them, and dried on the spots and smeared with the hot glue. Presently the work was done, and now Moses gave signs of life again. “It is hard,” said the doctor, “but'we must chloroform that monkey again. It is the second dose 1 am more afraid of, but here goes.” The second application was made in smaller quantity, but was even more rapid in its eliect upon the monkey. In a minute more the armor was all in place, strapped on the monkey, and he looked like a goblin crusader. “ There are so many things which have to do with any peculiar organisms,” said Dr. Parry, as he was about laying poor Moses again in his basket, “that we should recall what Mr. Mills says, to-wit: * That the existence of. a date tree, a lion (we may add even of a performing monkey), is the joint result of many natural laws —physical, chemical, brological, and even astronomical.’ It is, therefore, the surgeon’s duty to allow no loop-hole for escape. Pray observe the patient’s tail. See how it still undulates. We will tuck it up gracefully, give it this daub of glue, and secure it to his waist-band, otherwise he might use it in an involuntary way prejudicial to the case.” The history of that monkey and of his convalescence and ultimate recovery would require too long a time to narrate. For two whole nights Dr. Parry sat up with the patient. More than once chloroform had to be given Moses, with an application of new bandages. Maybe Moses had more lives than a cat, but* he eventually came round. Once on the mend his recovery was surprisingly rapid. Advantage having been taken of his well-known kleptomaniac instincts, it was only necessary to pretend to hide from him the medicine we wanted him to take in order to get him to steal it and swallow it. Dr. Parry gave him phosphates, for the strengthening of his brain, in large quantities. The first positive assurance of his being in a normal condition was caused by a terrible caterwauling in the room. Our unfortunate cat had ventured in. Moses had her by the tail and was experimenting with her, swinging her around as if intent on solving some problem of the centrifugal theory. Whether this was a reminiscence of his happy-family days or hot I am not prepared to state.

What was strange was the peculiar manner in which sympathy was developed for Moses in Clamville. Little boys going to school would loiter on our pavement by the hour, in order to get a glimpse of Moses. Neighbors commenced sending kind messages to the house about Moses. One good old lady even offered her carriage, for the purpose of giving the monkey an aiajpg. My wife declares some people left their cards on Moses. I became the recipient of packages of medicines forwarded to me by enterprising persons. Borne were accompanied by letters urging a “single trial and a certificate from either Moses or myself,” and the carrot cathartic, parsnip purge and turnip tonic offered me the sole agency for the State provided I would affirm that “ Moses owed his life to a free usage of that invaluable remedy.” What is more wonderful, the doctor got practice through Moses. Baby colics became epidemic in our streets and all Clamville was afflicted with whitlows, and occasional fractures made their appearance, and the door-bell became a nocturnal grievance. If Moses’ cure brought its rewards it bore its penalties. We were interviewed. Why, in addition to the simple story of the monkey, my wife’s personal appearance, her age, my political opinions and the varied articles of clothing hanging in the garden to dry were catalogued—quite facetiously, of course—and spread before 100,000 readers, I am at a loss to say. This October I was in receipt of the following letter, which I read to the doctor and my wife • Deab Sir —Through our traveling agent, who passed through your enterprising town some weeks ago, I hear that Moses is well. Chufflers, whose zebra shows some Sign of founder, wants to know, having a high respect for your brother-in-law, Dr. Parry’s abilities—he wants to know if he would like to undertake curing the zebra. Qf course the monkey is yourn, but if SSO will fetch •hip him to me C. O. D. But my few lines is mostly writ for another purpose, as follows: My wife, she says, has got a presentiment that the doctor’who cured Moses might do our daughter some good. Mebbe she dreamed it. I don’t never take on to view contrary to hern, for she made me by her good advice what I am. This, then, is to say that if Dr. Parry will come to our place and take charge of our suffering girl, and do the best he can, we don’t ask any more. It ain’t out of the way in me in a case like this to say that money ain’t no object. Hoping to hear from you by return mail, I am, with great respect, Saul Kosiosko Wogglam. P. S.—My programme-man mostly does my writing, so you’ll examine this. Chufflers begs to send some love-birds to your madame. Thfey are pretty Creatures, and I hope the cage I have chosen will %rove acceptable, likewise ornamental. 8. K. W. “ Will you go?” I asked. _ “ Certainly,” said the dbctor, without a moment’s hesitation. “ Would you mind taking a friend with you? I inquired.

“You mean Moses?” said the doctor. “ Not a bit.” “I mention with regret,” added my wife, “ that a tendency Moses has to go to sleep in the baby’s crib, though original, is not generally pleasing, and that certain substitutions of food Moses insists on for my own darling are detrimental to infantile nourishment.” The doctor and Moses left “the next day. The monkey had no regrets. In fact, of late he had assumed a swaggering and swashbuckler air.' lam inclined to think his long sojourn in the happy family had so fully imbued his ideas with that peculiar condition of existence that he thought he was superior. Certainly he presumed on our good nature, and had commenced to bully ns. Moses’ adieu was touchingly evinced by his lolling out his tongue, and winking to my wife in a singularly impertinent, yet patronizing, manner. Hefe is the last episode in this monkey history. It is a letter from Dr. Parry to his sister, my wife, read by me to her at breakfasttable: L. December, 1874.— Mt Dea* Sister—Residence here is both agreeable and profitable. It is probable that I will cast anchor in this thriving town. How it is I can hardly state, but I have been so busy that I trust this will excuse my having written to you so rarely for the last month or so. The young lady, the daughter of the gentleman at whose instigation I came here—this young lady I found had been miserably treated. Some mechanical appliances, novel ones of my own, have given the most fortunate results. Our invalid declares herself freer from pain than she has been for years. A week ago she put aside her crutch, and I see no reason why, God willing, she should not in time be perfectly well. Her resignation under sufiermg, her amiability ana sweet temper” (My wife— < “Ahem! is that underscored?’ “No,” I said, “allow me to continue”]—must accelerate her cure. Miss Wogglam is highly educated and a thorough musician and sings and plays delightfully. I cannot express to you the gratitude of her parents. [My wife—“He is gone.” “ Who is gone?” 1 asked. My wife—- “ Read on.”] The young lady’s father, one of the most important men in the place, and her mother overwhelm me with gratitude. Kinaest regards to your husband. J am, most affectionately, * Ambrose. P. S.— Moses is well, and, I believe, professionally employed. A. “ That is all. Stop, there is an inclosure. It feels hard. It is probably Moses’ photograph.’’ “Nonsense,” said my wife. “It can be nothing else than the young lady’s picture. Hand it to me quickly. What a pretty, modest, girlish face. Somewhat saddened by pain, spiritualized like, which adds to its charms. I knew it, felt it, was sure of it. Here are the young lady’s initials and my brother’s interlaced on the back. He is gone, certain. They both want to intimate to “Whois gone?” I inquired. “Don’t be enigmatical.” “ How stupid! As sure as I am your wife, that brother of mine will marry that girl,” replied my lady, showing me the picture. “Ah! I see. Well, I should not be surprised,” was my answer.