removed, refused
to take any food, and, in a few days, pined himself to death.

A remarkable instance of docility in a lion once took place in the
menagerie at Chester, in England. A strange keeper, having fed a
magnificent lion one evening, neglected to fasten the door of the den.
The watchman, when going his rounds about three the next morning,
discovered the king of beasts deliberately walking about the yard, and
surveying the objects with apparent curiosity. The watchman went to
call the proprietors, and when they arrived they found the lion
_couchant_ upon the top of one of the coaches in the yard. With very
little entreaty, the monarch of the forest deigned to descend from his
throne, and very graciously followed a young lady, the proprietor's
daughter, back to his den.

Some time ago, for the purpose of seeing the manner in which the lion
pounces upon his prey, a little dog was, most cruelly, thrown into the
den of one of these animals in the Tower Menagerie. The poor little
animal skulked, in terror, to the most remote corner of the lion's
apartment, who, regarding him with complacency, refrained from
approaching him. The little trembler, seeing the lion's mildness,
ventured to draw near him; and soon becoming familiar, they lived
together thenceforward in the most perfect harmony; and, although the
little dog had sometimes the temerity to dispute his share of food with
the king of the beasts, yet he magnanimously allowed him to satisfy his
appetite before he thought of making a meal himself.

A lioness in the Tower of London once formed such an attachment for a
little dog which was kept with her in the den, that she would not eat
till the dog was first satisfied. After the lioness had become a
mother, it was thought advisable to take the animal away, for fear that
her jealous fondness for her whelps might lead her to injure it. But
while the keeper was cleaning the den, the dog, by some means, got into
it, and approached the lioness with his wonted fondness. She was
playing with her cubs; and, seeing the dog approach, she sprang towards
him, and, seizing the poor little animal by the throat, seemed in the
act of tearing him to pieces; but as if she momentarily recollected her
former fondness for him, she carried him to the door of the den, and
suffered him to be taken out unhurt.

To the traveller in Africa, the lion is formidable not at night only;
he lies in his path, and is with difficulty disturbed, to