THE LION. 



117 



spring-bucks an> gr.i/.ing at the rising of the sun, and by observing, at the same time, if they appear 

 frightened and run oft', they conclude that they have been attacked by the lion. Marking accurately 

 the spot where the alarm took place, about eleven o'clock in the day, when the sun is powerful, and 

 the enemy they seek is supposed to be fast asleep, they carefully examine the ground, and, finding him in a 

 state of unguarded security, they lodge a poisoned arrow in his breast. The moment the lion is thus 

 struck, he spring.* from his lair and bounds off as helpless as tlio stricken deer. The work is done ; 

 the arrow of death has pierced his heart without even breaking the slumbers >of the lioness which 

 may have been lying beside him; and the Bushman knows where, in the course of a few hours, or 

 even less time, he will find him in his last agonies, or actually dead. 



It is only when fearful of being disturbed in their operations that lions carry off the body from 

 the spot where it has fallen ; and even in such cases' they never transfer it to their dens, but seek out 

 some solitary place in which to glut their ravenous cravings. When satisfied, they quit the carcase, 

 to which they never return, and retire to their dens to sleep off the effect of their gluttonous meal, 

 not again to awake until their renovated appetite stimulates to a repetition of the slaughter of prey. 



TIIK I.ION OK ISAIIBAUY. 



A disgraceful lion and dog fight took place at Warwick many years ago ; and two or three weeks 

 after Wedgebury, the proprietor of the dogs that were set on Nero and Wallace, went into Womb- 

 well's menagerie, of which they formed a part, when it was at Oxford races. He was standing within 

 a quarter of a yard of the den in which Nero was confined, when the lion, recognising his voice, made 

 a dreadful plunge at him, and, protruding one of his paws between the iron rails, seized hold of the 

 back part of his coat. Wedgebury, however, got away, without any injury to his person an escape 

 truly providential, as Nero's fury was absolutely terrific. 



Sir George Davis, who was English consul at Naples, when a great plague raged there, retired in 

 consequence to Florence. Visiting, one day, the menagerie of the Grand Duke, he noticed a lion at the 

 further end of one of the dens, which the keepers stated they had been unable to tame, though every effort 

 had been made for upwards of three years. Yet, no sooner had Sir George reached the gate of the 

 den, than the lion ran to it, reared himself up, purred like a cat when pleased, and licked the hand that 

 was put through the bars. The keeper was astonished, and, frightened for the safety of his visitor, 

 entreated him not to trust an apparent fit of frenzy, as the lion was the most fierce and sullen of his 

 tribe he had ever seen. This, however, had no effect on Sir George, who insisted on entering the 



