But Massica was frequently ungovernable. She hardly obeyed any one except Schöpf, the director of the gardens; and when in good-humour she would sit on his knee and put her muscular arms round his neck with a caressing gesture. But, in spite of this, he was never quite secure from her roguish tricks. She was able to use a spoon, though somewhat awkwardly; and she could pour from larger vessels into smaller ones without spilling the liquor. If she was left alone for any time, she tried to open the lock of her cage; and she once succeeded in doing so, but on that occasion she stole the key. It was kept hanging on the wall; and she, observing it, took it down, hid it in her armpit, and crept quietly back to her cage. When the occasion served her purpose, with the key she easily opened the lock, and walked out. She also knew how to use a gimlet, to wring out wet clothes, and to blow her nose with a handkerchief. If allowed to do so, she would draw off the keeper’s boots, then scramble with them up to some place out of reach, and, when he asked for them, throw them at his head. She, like the clever gorilla before described, died of consumption. When her illness began, she became apathetic, and looked about with a vacant, unobservant stare. Just before her death, she put her arms round Schöpf’s neck when he came to visit her, looked at him placidly, kissed him three times, stretched out her hands to him, and died. ‘The last moments of Anthropoids,’ remarks our author, ‘have their tragic side!’ Did space permit, we might give many other details of a similar character as to the habits of the orang-utan, the gibbon, and others of the larger apes, both in their wild state and in captivity; but the above are sufficient to illustrate the family to which they belong. A much more interesting matter remains to be considered, namely, what is called the ‘anthropomorphism’ of these creatures, that is, their relation physically to the highest of all the mammalia, man.