A LION KILLED ON HIS OWN HEARTHSTONE. 303 



which was not a large one, and as I had been all around it 

 I was sure that she had not passed out after entering it. 



As the conviction forced itself on ray mind, my heart beat 

 so full with emotion, that I was obliged to keep quiet for a 

 moment or two that my blood might flow on its accustomed 

 course. 



When I became perfectly collected again, I carefully pushed 

 aside the branches that impeded my view with the end of my 

 gun. I was right — there lay the lioness only five steps from 

 me, stretched on her side, with her head pillowed on one 

 paw, dreaming in perfect quiet, with the soft respiration of a 

 girl in her slumbers. 



I made ready to fire, but when my gun was at my 

 shoulder, and my eye ran along the barrel, I found myself in 

 a most perplexing situation. 



The lion was lying in such a manner that I could see the 

 whole of her form, and yet being obliged to fire while kneel- 

 ing, I feared lest the horizontal position of her body should 

 injure my shot. 



In a dangerous position, haste or delay are equally bad ; but 

 inspiration came to my mind to free me from my troubles, 

 and I adopted a bold course. Kather than send a doubtful 

 ball into the jaws of the animal, or into the uncertain region 

 of the heart, I resolved to awaken the lioness, and only shoot 

 her when she should raise herself up. In order, therefore, 

 that her awakening might be calm and natural, I proceeded 

 with the greatest caution. While my left hand held my gun 

 to my shoulder, with the right I broke a little twig at my 

 side. 



The lioness slept on. I broke another a little louder. 

 Hardly had my hand reached the trigger before the lioness 

 was on her belly. Her eyes lazily opened, her ears were lain 

 back on her head, her lips moved up and down, and her 

 glance, fearful with its fixed intensity, wandered around her 



