Certainly they like the sun; and we have often seen a pair at the Zoological Gardens sunning themselves after their breakfast with great delight. They sit on a bar, close to the wires of the cage, and climb four or five feet up it, clinging close to their iron prison, just in the range of a sunbeam. They spread out their black hands, and enjoy the glare, becoming sleepy and disinclined to pay any attention to nuts, cakes, and other temptations. They peer down at you with their expressive eyes, and give an occasional twist to their tail, to pull it close to them, probably after a long experience of the habits of the other Monkeys in the cage, who certainly have not an overwhelming respect for them. It is curious to see them climbing slowly, and without the great exertion and bounds of some of the Guenons, and to notice their marching, head and back downwards, whilst they crawl along the under-side of the roof of their house, looking down every now and then in a cunning sort of manner. [Illustration: WANDEROO.] Broderip used to watch one, when the Zoological Society’s collection was in its infancy in Bruton Street, and a right merry fellow was he. “He would run up his pole and throw himself over the cross-bar, so as to swing backwards and forwards as he hung suspended by the chain which held the leathern strap that girt his loins. The expression of his countenance was peculiarly innocent; but he was sly--very sly--and not to be approached with impunity by those who valued their head-gear. He would sit demurely on his cross perch, pretending to look another way, or to examine a nut-shell for some remnant of kernel, till a proper victim came within his reach; when down the pole he rushed, and up he was again in the twinkling of an eye, leaving the bare-headed surprised one, minus his hat, at least, which he had the satisfaction of seeing undergoing a variety of transformations, under the plastic hands of the grinning monster, not at all calculated to improve a shape which the taste of a Moore [the hat maker of the day], perhaps, had designed and executed. It was whispered--_horrescimus referentes_--that he once scalped a bishop, who ventured too near, notwithstanding the caution given to his lordship by another dignitary of the Church, and that it was some time before he could be made to give up, with much grinning and chattering, the well-powdered wig which he had profanely transferred from that sacred poll to his own. The lords spiritual of the present day, with one or two exceptions, are safe from such sacrilege. Now it would be nearly as difficult to take a wig off a bishop as it once was to take the breeches off a Highlandman. But another Wanderoo, confined in the open part of the gardens in the Regent’s Park, was of a different temperament. There was a melancholy about this creature. He would climb his pole, ascend to his elevated house-top, and there sit for half an hour together, gazing wistfully