REMINISCENCES FROM THE MELBOURNE ZOO. 
71 
There were four members of the kingly caste in a row, three 
lionesses and one magnificent lion, not yet fully grown. One of the 
lionesses was very old, and was painfully crippled with rheumatism, the 
price she paid for long years of captivity. She had a cub of eight or 
nine months old in another part of the gardens, but even this baby had 
rheumatism, and its twin had died of it in early infancy. Poor old 
Girlie rose slowly and with great difficulty when Mr. Wilkie spoke 
caressingly to her. It was painful to rise, but she would have endured 
more than that to get the soothing rub down she expected from her 
friend. She stretched herself out and then flattened against the bars 
for the petting, and as she enjoyed it she purred happily, her big eyes 
closed, and her whole face a picture of pure contentment. In the next 
cage, sprawling on her back, with her four paws up in air like a frolic- 
some young puppy, lay another lioness, who immediately rolled over and 
scrambled to her feet the moment she heard a well-known whistle. She 
was just as eager for some petting as old Girlie. 
But while this pretty idyll was going forward, I became conscious 
of a villain in the background. A great lion was pacing impatiently 
backwards and forwards from his den to his promenade ground, and 
was showing his teeth and snarling in most unkingly fashion. His tail 
lashed about angrily, and each few minutes he crouched as if for spring- 
ing before he resumed his restless prowl. He was so uncommonly 
vicious that I sought explanations. 
“Ah,” said Mr. Wilkie, “that conduct is because I am unarmed, and 
am inside the railings. Watch him as I go nearer.” 
It was amazing to see such an exhibition of unrestrained hate. As 
he went up to the beast it crouched for springing, snarled uncontrollably 
and almost foamed at the mouth in its desperate attempts to break 
through those mighty iron bars. Then, as Mr. Wilkie walked quietly 
past the fine sunning cage, the big lion followed him, making a series 
of ineffectual and undignified snaps, just as a furious terrier will do 
at passers-by through a fence, only a strange, indrawn snarl replaced 
the staccato bark. 
“Now,” said Mr. Wilkie, “lend me your umbrella for a moment.” 
Wonderingly, I did so, and my astonishment did not decrease when 
I saw the immediate effect of the ruse. With every manifestation of 
abject fear the lion sprang back instantly, and ran, backwards, towards 
his grotto, and there he hid like a great coward, timorously peering 
around the corner to make sure that the man with the stick was at a 
safe distance from him. He did not once leave that improvished barri- 
cade while the umbrella remained in Mr, Wilkie's hands, but the moment 
