cisely as if they were before a looking-glass. The rhesus grinned, then laughed, and at last turned his back to the picture, uttering grunts of satisfaction, as if he expected to be scratched. The Java monkeys stared at the picture; with the skin of their foreheads drawn back, their lips pushed out and constantly moving, they regarded it from a distance and close up, to find out what it was. The other species likewise recognized the nature of the pictures, but without exhibiting as strong excitement as the two species mentioned. The least intelligent of the number was the sajou, which, examining the portrait from the head down and moaning, stretched its hand toward it, trying to tear it with his nails. Evidently it did not recognize the portrait either as one of itself or of another monkey, while it took in pictured insects very well, and was frightened at the sight of the painting or drawing of a viper. Notwithstanding these examples, I was careful not to generalize so as to extend to a whole species the faculties of a few individuals belonging to it. Among monkeys, as with man and other animals, there are individuals of extensive and individuals of very limited gifts in the same species. None of the many monkeys could distinguish pictures of landscapes or houses, in respect to which they were precisely like savages.
Only a few dogs give any signs of intelligence before their image in a glass. Some just distinguish it and remain quite indifferent; others growl or bark, but they seldom try to determine whether a second individual really exists. I have remarked the same of cats, and Blanchard's cat in Paris, that dashed furiously at a looking-glass, is a unique example.
The rhesus looked into the mirror with a joyous air, stretched out his ears, drew up the skin of his forehead and his eyebrows, puckered his lips, grinned and laughed, and turned his posterior to the glass. This gesture is general among some kinds of monkeys. I had already described it as a peculiarity of a mandrill, when Darwin, having read my article, sent me a letter on the subject, asking me what significance I attached to it. I answered him that, according to my experiments, the gesture was a mark of simian politeness. Once in position, the monkey expects to be scratched, just as when we extend our hand to another person we expect to receive his. Darwin verified my observation, and compared the gesture with certain forms of salutation among savages, such as those by feeling the belly or rubbing noses. My rhesus, not succeeding in getting scratched by his image, turned around and passed his hand behind the glass to feel for it. I took the opportunity to pinch him sharply behind the glass, when he became very angry, not at me, but at the image. His face turned red, his ears were extended, and his jaws gaped open repeatedly. The gaping was so irresistible that he could not stop it, not even to chew or swallow. It is a sign of great anger and violent nervous disturbance. It occurs very frequently with the pavions, almost regularly, and the animal is
