I tried to teach Moses to be cleanly, but it was a hard task. He would listen to my precepts as if they had made a deep impression, but he would not wash his hands of his own accord. He would permit me or the boy to wash them, but when it came to taking a bath or even wetting his face, he was a rank heretic on the subject, and no amount of logic would convince him that he needed it. When he was given a bath he would scream and fight during the whole process. When it was finished he would climb upon the roof of the cage and spread himself out in the sun. These were the only occasions on which I ever knew him to get upon the roof. I don’t know why he disliked the bath so much. He did not mind getting wet in the rain, but rather seemed to like that. He had a great dislike for ants and certain large bugs. Whenever one such came near him he would talk like a magpie, and brush at the insect with his hands until he got rid of it. He always used a certain sound for this kind of annoyance; it differed slightly from those I have described as warning. Moses tried to be honest, but he was affected with a species of kleptomania and could not resist the temptation to purloin anything that came in his way. The small stove upon which I prepared my food was placed on a shelf in one corner of the cage, about halfway between the floor and the top. Whenever anything was set on the stove to cook, he had to be watched to keep him from climbing up the side of the cage, reaching his arm through the meshes, and stealing the food. He was sometimes very persevering in this matter. One day I set a tin can of water on the stove to heat, in order to make some coffee. He silently climbed up, reached his hand through, stuck it in the can, and began to search for anything it might contain. I threw out the water, refilled the can, and drove him away. In a few minutes he returned and repeated the act. I had a piece of canvas hung up on the outside of the cage to keep him away. The can of water was placed on the stove for the third time, but within a minute he found his way by climbing up under the curtain, and between that and the cage. I determined to teach him a lesson. He was allowed to explore the can, but finding nothing, he withdrew his hand and sat there clinging to the side of the cage. Again he tried, but found nothing. The water was getting warmer, but was still not hot. At length, for the third or fourth time, he stuck his hand in it up to the wrist. By this time the water was so hot that it scalded his hand. It was not severe enough to do him any harm, but quite enough so for a good lesson. He jerked his hand out with such violence that he threw the cup over and spilt the water all over that side of the cage. From that time to the end of his life he always refused anything that had steam or smoke about it. If anything having steam or smoke was offered him at the table, he would climb down at once and retire from the scene. Poor little Moses! I knew beforehand