ff to march against the robbers, and to bring back the booty
hidden in the caves of the baboons. But the animal warriors were too
cunning. They sent out scouts, to watch the enemy's movements, told off
about fifty of their number to guard the entrance to the caves, and
posted the rest at various points. The soldiers saw the baboons
collecting large stones, and the old grey-headed rascal, who had been
ring-leader in raiding the camp, was seen giving orders like a real
general. At a scream from him they rolled down great stones upon the
men, who were forced to retreat.

Comic as the monkey-folk sometimes are, they can make very touching
appeals; they plead very earnestly in their wordless way for their own
lives, and still more tenderly on behalf of their helpless young. A
letter from Demarara thus describes a meeting between a mother baboon
and two men with guns. Mr. S---- levelled his gun to shoot her. The
animal seemed at once to understand what would probably take place, and
appealingly held out in each hand a baby baboon. His friend said, 'Don't
shoot.' 'No, I was not going to,' said Mr. S----. So Mrs. Baboon and her
family escaped unhurt, the mother showing, it will be agreed, something
greater than ordinary instinct.

[Illustration: "Balancing the bag on his friend's head."]

Something greater? Yes, love; the greatest of all instincts, higher than
reason itself. It is when filled with love for her defenceless babe that
the animal-mother learns, by many a wonderful makeshift, to appeal to
our pity, and forgets herself for its sake. A beautiful instance of this
was lately given in the _Daily News_.

A labourer, going along a lane, met a little robin redbreast. She flew
boldly within reach of his hand, almost dashing against his face, and as
he passed on tried to hinder him, uttering all the while piercing cries.
At last he stopped at a hole to which she kept flying, and found a rat
in the act of carrying off one of her nestlings. The labourer was able
to kill the enemy by a blow of his stick as it darted across the lane,
and the small mother, after hovering with a different and triumphant
note over the poor little dead bird, went gladly home.

In countries where snakes abound, the shriek of a bird whose nest is
threatened serves as a signal to its winged neighbours, who throng to
the spot and drive away, or often kill, the enemy. Sometimes the ways
in which creatures communicate are altogether mysterious. An old