f
the cage, which leaves just enough room to put the meat in; then he
picks out the piece he means for that animal and thrusts it through at
the end of an iron rod. The lion or tiger pounces on it, and growling,
carries it into a corner of its den. The keeper replaces the bar, and
goes on to the next one, and so on until all are fed. Then a deep
silence follows; there is only a licking of great lips, a sort of
purring of content, and a sound of bones being crunched or scraped, and
we can look at the animals more easily than when they are running about.
Here in front is a magnificent lion, with a great tawny mane; his broad
nose is wrinkled as he crunches his bone. He has torn all the meat off
it almost at once, and his rough tongue has licked it clean until it is
quite polished; but he still goes on chewing it with those huge white
teeth as long as your finger--teeth that would crunch through your arm
in a moment. This old fellow is usually good-tempered for a lion, but
when feeding-time comes his wife Mrs. Lioness has to go into the back
den shut off by a little door to eat her dinner alone, or they would
fight. Suddenly Mr. Lion raises his head and looks round grandly, as if
he were ashamed of all those people who come to stare at him. He was a
king in his own country, and now, alas! he is only a captive king.
Perhaps he sees a woman carrying a little baby in her arms, and he fixes
his eyes on that baby until it is out of sight. What a delicious morsel
it would make for dessert! But he knows he cannot get through his bars;
he learnt that long ago when he was first brought here. He was not born
in the Zoo--oh no; he had been caught when he was full grown. He
remembers quite well the wild, free life, where, if he were not sure of
a dinner every day, at least every now and then he got more than he
could eat. While he licks his bone he is in a quiet mood, and if you
listened very hard you might hear him talking.

'Yes,' he says (Lick, lick), 'that bone was very good, but there wasn't
enough on it, and now I'm not going to get any more until to-morrow. Oh,
those stupid humans, how they do stare! Have they never seen a gentleman
eat his dinner before? They would open those silly round eyes a bit
wider if these bars were not between us. I wish they could have seen me
that day we caught the zebra. It was grand that!' (Lick, lick.) 'I had
hunted all one night without getting even the whisk of a tail; and also
during the day in