ke the best of things, and not quarrel with a
man who had a lion for a friend, stepped up on his box, and drove
away rattlety-bang to Regent's Park, some three or four miles'
drive. The lion was much astonished, and sat bolt upright on his
hind legs, looking out of the window. He did not appreciate the
BEAUTIES of London; he was disgusted with the noise, and growled a
little. The driver heard him, and drove all the faster. Poor Lord
Lion, his temper was tried; but he bore it better than most lions
would. At last, the cab stopped at the house of the gentleman's
mother. He sprang out, and rang the bell: "Does Mrs. B. live here?"
"Yes, sir." "Is she well?" The footman turned pale as ashes, and
scampered off as if he thought the lion would devour him. The
gentleman ran up stairs, and the lion after him. In another moment,
the arms of the son were around his mother. Presently, the lady saw
the lion. She had heard of her son's pet, and saw she was in no
danger. She begged her son, however, to put him down in the yard and
keep him chained, or she should not have a servant in the house. The
lion was not happy chained. The gentleman, finding, moreover, that
he could not go into the streets with his friend without being
followed by a mob, at last placed him in the Tower, where there were
other lions, and gave many charges that the pet lion should be well
treated. Many years afterwards, the gentleman returned from another
voyage to India; and, after seeing his mother, went to the Tower to
see his friend. When he came to the large cage in which the lion was
confined, the keeper said, "This is our finest and our fiercest
lion." "Open the door," said the gentleman. The keeper, not knowing
him, objected. The gentleman insisted, and entered. The lion was
lying down, and, seeing a man in his cage, for a moment looked
angry; in another moment he rose on his hind legs, put his paws
around his old master, and showed the greatest delight at seeing
him."

"Why, he was almost as good as a dog," said Frank. "But now, Mother,
please tell us the story about a bear which you said you heard on
your journey last summer."

"I ought rather," said Mrs. Chilton, "to call it the story of a cow,
for she was the heroine of the tale. I was travelling with a small
party among the White Hills. When we stopped to dine, we saw a
number of people assembled around the door of the hotel, and found
that they were looking at a black bear that had been just shot.