ble; there are now (September, 1851) six young
leopards in one den at the Zoological Gardens: of these, five are about
the same age, and grew up as one family; the sixth was added some time
after, and being looked upon as an intruder, was quite sent to Coventry,
and even ill-treated by the others; this he has never forgotten. When
the keeper comes to the den, he courts his caresses, and shows the
greatest pleasure, but if any of his companions advance to share them
with him, he growls and spits, and shows the utmost jealousy and
displeasure.

In the same collection, there is a remarkably fine, full-grown leopard,
presented by her Majesty, who is as tame as any creature can be; mutton
is his favorite food, but the keeper will sometimes place a piece of
beef in the den; the leopard smells it, turns it over with an air of
contempt, and coming forward, peers round behind the keeper's back to
see if he has not (as is generally the case) his favorite food
concealed. If given to him, he lays it down, and will readily leave it
at the keeper's call, to come and be patted, and whilst caressed he
purrs, and shows the greatest pleasure.

There were a pair of leopards in the Tower, before the collection was
broken up, which illustrated well the difference in disposition; the
male, a noble animal, continued to the last, as sullen and savage as on
the day of his arrival. Every kindness was lavished upon him by the
keepers, but he received all their overtures with such a sulky and
morose return, that nothing could be made of his unreclaimable and
unmanageable disposition. The female, which was the older of the two, on
the contrary, was as gentle and affectionate as the other was savage,
enjoying to be patted and caressed by the keeper, and fondly licking his
hands; one failing, however, she had, which brought affliction to the
soul of many a beau and lady fair; it was an extraordinary predilection
for the destruction of hats, muffs, bonnets, umbrellas, and parasols,
and indeed, articles of dress generally, seizing them with the greatest
quickness, and tearing them into pieces, almost before the astonished
victim was aware of the loss; to so great an extent did she carry this
peculiar taste, that Mr. Cops, the superintendent, used to say that she
had made prey of as many of these articles as there were days in the
year. Animals in menageries are sometimes great enemies to the
milliner's art; giraffes have been known to filch the flower