66 
THE LION HOUSE AT THE ZOO 
a cheaper rate than any professional models in the 
trade. We wonder in how many characters the old 
Nubian lion, “ Prince,” appeared? He has striven 
with Hercules, carried Una, been vanquished by 
Samson, and shot by Nimrod. He has roared at 
Daniel, and eaten martyrs innumerable ; and he still 
lives on canvas to entertain Androcles in his den, or 
dies, the last of his race, in the desert cavern of some 
artist’s fancy. 
“ Ars longa , vita brevis ,” is, perhaps, a saying which 
would appeal to the hungry lions equally with the 
artistic visitors to the Zoo, as feeding-time approaches. 
At two o’clock p.m., the animals awake, stretch them- 
selves, and yawn, showing the width of their enormous 
jaws, and rows of gleaming teeth. The public grows 
interested, and the artists desponding. Even the 
little lad in knickerbockers, the work on whose easel 
suggests the story of Michael Angelo’s first essay in 
sculpture, drops his brushes and runs to the steps at 
the back to watch his sitters in action. Then follows 
the mauvais quart d’heure before dinner, — in this case 
unduly protracted. All the beautiful lithe creatures, 
pacing ceaselessly to and fro, noiseless as ghosts, seem 
to be performing a kind of “ grand chain,” which 
becomes faster and faster as their impatience and 
hunger increase. As the howling of the wolves in 
their distant cages is heard by the lions, excitement 
breaks beyond control, and the roars of the hungry 
beasts only cease as the truck of food is emptied. 
As a spectacle, the sight has a certain interest. But 
