manoeuvre, which I have often known them practise, deserves to be mentioned for its ingenuity. A party will divide, some crouching at small distances from each other, whilst the rest make a detour up the wind. Arrived about a mile above their companions, they commence roaring loudly, charging down wind. Away rush the herds in frantic haste, and, in their alarm, losing their accustomed caution, become an easy prize to the formidable ambuscade.

Man they generally avoid, and their haunts are far removed from his habitation; but at night, especially if it is dark or rainy, they are bold and daring, and will frequently spring over the high cattle-fence with which the Kaffir kraals are surrounded, and kill their prey inside.—A. 13. in the “ Field.”

the heat of the sun. They will both soon have an ample supply; only wait awhile, till their master has

slain his victim. The sun disappears—then the Lion’s thunder-roar peals along the plain—night comes on.

Darkness He makes the earth to shroud, While forest beasts securely stray, The lions roar their wants aloud

To Providence, who sends them prey.

Who can listen to the chanting of the 104th Psalm —that grandest of grand poems on nature’s works and St. Paul’s Cathedral,power—in Westminster Abbey or without feeling a thrill run through him when the deep bass notes of the organ and the swell of human voices proclaim that

“ THE LIONS, ROARING AFTER THEIR PREY, DO SEEK THEIR

MEAT FROM GOD ?”

Who, again, can doubt the beauty of the many passages in Holy Writ* where this noble beast is mentioned, or can gaze upon the sculptures of nations long passed away, without feeling that the Lion is to man himself, perhaps,indeed a noble beast—next the most glorious specimen of the handiwork of the

Creator? Shall not we, therefore, feel proud that the Lion is by

See lions mentioned by Job, in Appendix.

GOD.

FROM

MEAT

THEIR

SEEK

PREY

THEIR

AFTER

ROARING

LIONS

THE

all and everybody considered as equivalent to the Englishman and the English nation! The Lion has gigantic strength, individually and collectively—so has the Englishman. The Lion is playful and kind in disposition when properly and respectfully treated—so is the Englishman. The Lion loves fair play; he gives notice of his displeasure with a word, and follows it by a the Englishman.blow—so does

The Lion has a good appetite, and his principal and best-loved food is beef. Who can say that the Englishman does not resemble him in this point?

Let us, therefore, for once go and see the Lions at dinner at the Zoological Gardens, even though they are prisoners, poor beasts.* But we must first go into the kitchen to see the dinner prepared for the Lions. Our old and civil friend William Cocksedge—who has had over thirty years’ long and faithful service with the lions, and who really loves his beasts; and, if action mean anything, is beloved by his beasts in turn—shows us the good things he has provided for his pets. The daily rations of the lions are alternately beef and horse; and each beast is

I hear there is just a possibility of a large space being enclosed at the gardens, with strong iron palisading, so as to form one gigantic cage, in which rocks, &c., will bo placed; forming, in fact, a gigantic “ den ” for the lions. What a treat it will be to see the noble creatures in comparative freedom, and bounding about with the graceful movements peculiar to the cat tribe

allowed from eight to twelve pounds of meat, weighed with the bone.* The “ lordly dish ” in which the dinner is brought is a wheelbarrow kept sweet and clean; the knives and forks are provided by the lions themselves in the shape of sharp teeth and claws; and the dinner is “ served ” on an instrument well suited to the purpose. Cocksedge also, from time to time, provides condiments with the meat; for upon it he occasionally sprinkles a proper allowance of common flower of brimstone, or sulphur, as this keeps the animals in good health and condition, upon the principle of occasionally giving our own youngsters a treat of brimstone-and* treacle by way of a change.

It has been aptly remarked that the nearest way to the heart is down the mouth, and this maxim holds good as well with beast as with man; besides this, it is wonderful how the human and the brute memory, though

oblivious of other matters, never forgets the dinner hour. There is a story of a cavalry officer, who, when examined by the commanding officer as to the meaning

A lion costs, Mr. Bartlett informs me, about 3s. per diem for his food. Bather expensive pets, are lions, when there are many of them. f Some few years since, the lions and other carnivora at the Zoological Gardens were seized with an epidemic, which threat-ened to destroy them all. This terrible calamity was, however, averted by Mr. Bartlett’s giving them chlorate of potass, a medicine both he and I recommended for the Binderpest, or cattle disease. See my lettter in “The Times,” Cct. 19, 18G5.

of the various trumpet calls, confessed, after many bad shots as to their signification, that he really only knew but two, and they were—“ dismiss” and “ dinner.” So, too, the lions know well their dinner call, whicn is simply the rumbling of the wheelbarrow over the stone pavement in front of their dens. It is most curious to witness how well the poor brutes know this welcome sound. The big leopard sits up on his haunches, and makes a sort of half-yawn, half-laugh, showing his pink lips, his rough tongue, and his ivory teeth, as much as to say, u Well, I am ready at all events.”

The tigers, Bill and Bess, jump one over the other at a game of leap-frog, as though they were perfectly indifferent as to what was going on. As we ourselves when waiting for dinner, have but one thought (and that is, “ How soon will dinner be ready?” but do not care to show that this thought is uppermost in our minds), so do the hungry carnivora attempt to while away their time in feline conversations about the weather, and looking over sawdust albums.

Then, again, look at the old Lion—a hearty old fellow strong, powerful, in good health; his noble eye gleaming with pleasure; his mane—long, glossy, thick—is all bristled up; his tail lashes quickly and eagerly from side to side. Of course he is not hungry; oh, dear, no! but yet why does he pace up and down in front of the bars of his cage like a sentry on a cold frosty night?

And why does he perpetually sweep his magnificent mane against the bars, reminding us of the marble lion in the statue of Andromeda and the lion? And why does he attempt impossibilities, by doing his best to peer round the corner to look for his dear friends Cocksedge and the wheelbarrow? They at last appear in company, and then look at the games all the hungry creatures begin. The lions Jane and Jack dance the sailor’s hornpipe, accompanying themselves with their own elegant music. The jaguar skuttles round and round his den, and the hysena plays the bagpipe for the lot. Then comes Cocksedge; he gives a bit of meat to the

jaguar. u Here you are, you saucy old hussy; give us your paw for it; well, you want a bigger bit, do you?” Pussy purrs assent. “ Here’s a good pennyworth; then you can eat the rest by-and-by for your supper. Don’t be greedy now, my pet.” What a treat it is to see how these wondrous carnivora clutch their meat through the lower bar of the den! How proudly they retire with it to the rear of the den, and how some of them seem really to enjoy it Let us wish them u hon appetit.”

Alas! alas! but a short time after I saw the old lion so thoroughly enjoying his dinner, Mr. Bartlett kindly sent me word that the old natriarch had died very

STATE.

LYING

MONARCH

THE

suddenly, and at the same time lie invited me to be present at the dissection.

It appeared that the lion was quite well on Saturday night, and ate his food heartily as usual; but when the keeper came on Sunday morning, behold, the poor beast was extended full length, dead and stiff upon the straw of his bed, having apparently died without a struggle. Alas! poor Lion!

The able pencil of Mr. T. C. Carpendale enables me to partially represent the grand and really magnificent appearance of The Monarch of the Desert lying In State. The artist has endeavoured to give the idea of a very old lion, who has lived his full term of years free and unmolested in his native desert. But the u grey hair came upon him!” his teeth and his claws became unequal to their work, and he could no longer provide himself with food. He wanders along the sandy wilderness, till, faint and exhausted, his strength will carry him no further. He stumbles against a rock, and falls to rise no more. (See Plate.)

But Mr. Carpendale shall describe his drawing in his own words:—

the lion’s tomb.

Palo twilight, deep’ning, sheds a sober gloom,

And dimly lights the lion’s lonely tomb;

Th’ awakened plunderers of earth and air

Around the dying chieftain’s couch repair;

! *!

While, high in air, with dark and shadowy wing,

Behold th’ expectant vulture hovering

Mark how she lingers in the starry sky,

And tunes her plaintive, funeral song on high

Near, and more near, athwart the fading light,

She screams terrific to the peaceful night,

Chanting her farewell sonnet to the sun—

Sad emblem that his mighty race is run.

In admiring the marvellous beauty of the Lion, whether we regard him under his royal title as “ King of Beasts,” or whether as a dead animal before us for anatomical examination, we cannot but be struck with many parts of his bodily economy which the occasion of his death enables us to inspect without persona]

danger. I will therefore, with the reader’s permis* sion, give some details of the wondrous anatomy of the

Lion, as it is not often that the opportunity offers ol examining such a fine specimen as that which died in the Gardens, in December 1860.

Having hauled, with difficulty, the huge carcase of our Lion upon a table in the Society’s dissecting-room, in company with a few medical friends at the Gardens, we carefully searched for the cause of his death, and the verdict was, “ Died from congestion of the lungs, caused probably by the excessive cold.”

Our defunct ftiend had been in the Gardens about twelve years, and when he arrived was a cub so small as to be easily lifted by a man into his den. He was a famous roarer, and those who lived near the Gardens

must frequently have heard his thunder-like voice at sunrise and sundown. His height at the shoulder was about 4 feet; length of the body, 5 feet 8 inches; of the tail, 3 feet 5 inches; altogether a very large and powerful animal. There is very much to be admired in this gigantic representative of the cat tribe; in it we find monstrous strength combined with great activity and elegance of form, amounting to positive beauty. Again, we see how admirably each organ is suited to co-operate with its neighbour; how the padded feet correspond with the nocturnal eye, how the scissor-like teeth are adapted to work with the pointed claws, and how the whole muscular system, closely locked and knitted to the

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