THE LIVE LIONS OF LONDON, BY A. H. B. CUT INTO TWO PARTS.-PART II. The way we received-consequent on the "turn of speed," in shooting" through the water-carried us far towards our destination, the Tower of London. The old-fashioned, firm-bottomed wherry having recovered its equilibrium, submitted itself with all due propriety to the skilful management of our oarsman, and we had no further difficulty in reaching those stairs, or stone steps, which at high tide are all but covered by those waters, which wash and splash against that dreaded spot, where still echo the groans and sighs of those who have entered there, leaving all "hope behind," known for many centuries past, and recognized even at the present day as the "Traitor's Gate." A thousand fearful histories instantly filled my juvenile mind, and terrible scenes of slaughter rushed to my recollection-for the History of England was then fresh in my schoolboy memory. Being of a timid, nervous temperament, there also arose within me a very strong apprehension of ghosts; and as we landed, proceeding along the esplanade, so terrified was I by the awful imaginary spiritual presence of many of the famous victims who had suffered through misplaced confidence in their loyalty, that I instinctively seized my brother by his coat-tails, and hung back, dreading to enter the regions of despair. As we passed over the drawbridge and moat, I trembled at the thought of those headless queens, for whom thousands have and will for ages to come weep and shudder at their unhappy fate. The desperate despatching of the harmless smothered princes-burning bishops-martyrs of the true faith-regicides-conspirators-the "Gunpowder Plot"-and many of the best defenders of our country's honour and glory-all presented themselves before me, passing in horrible procession, and bearing in their spectre-like hands a silver salver laden with the bloody proofs of their decapitation. My agitated memory, as I stood wondering at the mysteries of the Great White Tower, quickly called up the names of the brave Sir William Wallace, for whose unmerited end Edward I. stands accursed by every true Scot, the brutal Wat Tyler, Cade, Simon Sudbury, the pious Archbishop of Canterbury, Henry VI., Perkin Warbeck, Sir William Stanley, and a host of other celebrities-the burnt-offerings and sacrifices of a barbarous epoch in England's still imperfect history. It also awakened the tender impressions, as well as the detestable butcheries of the good Sir Thomas More; poor, kind-hearted, innocent Anne Boleyn; the guilty Queen Catherine Howard, and her slanderous friend, Lady Rochford, both of whom were executed on the green within the Tower; also the beautiful, learned, gentle, wise, and worthy of a better fate, the well-beloved Lady Jane Grey. All of these and many more illustrious statesmen, patriots, martyrs, and sufferers of every description "stopped the way" of my thoughts; indeed, I verily believe I should have stood there until now, had not my brother suddenly exclaimed, "Now youngster, H H we will just take a peep at the Regalia and Armoury first, and then, my boy, hurrah for the lions." Proceeding immediately to the Jewel Tower, half conscious through positive fear of its importance, I gazed bewildered on the dazzling treasures which lay exposed in all their glitter. What I then and there saw or fancied I saw, for my anxiety to get to the lions was almost unbearable, and greatly interfered with any interest I should otherwise have taken in the royal baubles, I will here recount for the benefit of such of my readers, more especially our country cousins, who have not feasted their eyes and other senses on the insignia of monarchical rule. Many of you may say, as I say, "I would far sooner see the noble lion wag his indignant tail than look upon a modern Solomon, arrayed in all the glories of an earthly head and heart-ache creating crown." "O polished perturbation! golden care! That keeps the ports of slumber open wide Again, how feelingly and truthfully we are assured, on the experience of one of the wisest of the Lord's anointed, Henry IV., of its feverish effects on the unlucky wearer: "Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose To the wee sea-boy in an hour so rude, And in the calmest, and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." However, let us hasten to despatch these national emblems of misrule, and their not very creditable histories; for they have been "popped" so often that they literally smell of the "pawnbrokers," and now enter the presence of the more ennobling "king of beasts." Descending by a passage, no longer to be seen, we appeared to leave the main body of the Tower; and indeed I imagined that we were about to quit it altogether, a short turning, however, to the left brought us to a part of the fortress which I had not before observed. Up in the corner of a long low range of buildings, facing the moat, but still not visible from the outside of Tower Hill, stood a lusty lushy beef-eater, cane in hand, and otherwise prepared to show his zoological authority and knowledge; a sentinel, armed cap-à-pie, marched to and fro in front of the doorway, which gave sure token that we were about to enter the presence of royalty. Passing these national obstacles we unhesitatingly walked through a large arched entrance, and gazed without further ceremony upon the king of beasts. The question most likely to follow such a dénouement, such a sudden unveiling of the mightiest of the animal creation as I now witnessed, was, "How came they there? and what was their object?" We will first of all try and solve these difficult queries, then proceed to discuss the merits of the brutes themselves. From all the information I have been enabled to collect it is more than probable that with the Romans came the wild beasts to the Tower of London; whether it was built by Julius Cæsar originally, or not, a fact not yet satisfactorily settled by antiquaries. At any rate, as they introduced into England the games and sports of the Roman amphitheatre it is only natural to suppose that they should have made some stronghold the depôt of the instruments of their pleasure, and a portion of the Tower of London seems to have been set aside for that purpose time out of mind. The earliest allusion to the beasts located within its walls is that of an intelligent foreigner, Paul Hentzner, who visited this country in 1598; he says that "in coming out of the Tower we were led to a small house close by, where are kept a variety of creatures, viz., three lionesses, one lion of great size, called Edward VI., from his having been born in that reign, a tiger, a lynx, a wolf, exceedingly old-this is a very scarce animal in England, so that their sheep and cattle stray about in great numbers without any danger, though without anybody to keep them; there is, besides, a porcupine and an eagle; all these creatures are kept in a remote place, fitted up for the purpose with wooden lattices, at the Queen's expense." This is comparatively a modern account of London's "live lions," would we could find one of more ancient date, when no doubt the noble Roman strutted in all his glory, followed by his magnificent mastiff, through our unfinished but promising city, and wending his way towards the arena. We have further evidence, however, to offer concerning the menagerie in the Tower. In Mr. Nicholls's "Progresses of James I." we find the following: "But there was a place after the party had viewed the Mint in which James especially delighted-from thence to the lions and other wild beasts there kept and maintained for his Highness's pleasures and pastimes." The only additions which this eccentric monarch made to the Tower were in connection with these amusements. "This spring of the year (1605) the King builded a wall, and filled up with earth all that part of the moat or ditch about the west side of the lion's den, and appointed a drawing partition to be made towards the south part thereof, the one part thereof to serve for the breeding lioness when she shall have whelps, and the other part thereof for a walk for other lions. The King caused also three trap-doors to be made in the wall of the lion's den for the lions to go into their walk at the pleasure of the keeper, which walk shall be maintained and kept for especial place to bait the lions with dogs, bears, bulls, boars, &c." This same famous tract also tells us that "James I. passed triumphantly from the Tower to Westminster that he might not altogether disappoint the people; but no proper procession took place on account of the plague. James, however, frequently visited the menagerie to witness the combats of lions with dogs. The menagerie continued to be a place of public exhibition until its inhabitants were removed to the Zoological Gardens." Nevertheless, the Zoological Gardens were not the immediate or direct depository of these famous beasts, the long known, often baited, "live lions of London." What was until lately, only a few months since, the Royal Academy in Trafalgar Square, was, many years ago, the Royal Mews, where stood in all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of royal horses, the King's town steed. On the building of Buckingham Palace, by that fuzbos of dandies the first, and, thank God, the last gentleman of that description in England, George IV., the team was removed to Pimlico, where they now are. The stabling in Trafalgar Square being thus rendered vacant, the "live lions" of the Tower, previous to their being admitted to the Zoological Gardens, were there accommodated with apartments, and remained there undisturbed a considerable time pro bono publico. It is there that I last saw them; there that I heard their last royal roar; from that day the lions and tigers ceased to be a national institution, and the long admired and upheld constitutional menagerie from that day fell into the hands of the vulgar, and were spread throughout the country, as witness Wombwell's, Cook's, Titus's, Manders's, and many other travelling exhibitions of feline grandeur. The reader will very naturally say, "These are not the lions that you invited us to partake of," this is "not the right tap on the literary canvas of England's wild beast show;" and you are right, for however interesting the subject of the distribution of our monsters throughout our land may be to private speculators, or public companies, it certainly has nothing to do with the State in which I first gazed upon the living emblems of British valour. Directly I had placed my foot in the interior of the second door of this famous collection I attempted to withdraw, but my brother being behind me stopped my egress. Immediately facing me was a bounding, raving, rampant lion from the deserts of Africa. Perceiving that we were strangers, he placed his broad black nose against the bars, and stared with that peculiar inquisitive, searching, wild glare, which asks without noise a thousand questions, "What do you do here, sir? Why are you come to disturb my royal rest? but don't imagine that I am angry with you; I am merely surprised at your insignificance and insolence!" But now the warder, the bold national rump-steak devourer, the regal bodyguard of self-importance, who is himself as great a curiosity, and quite as great a beast, if not greater, than the lion, came to our assistance, with his crimson tunic so gaily emblazoned, and his round black velvet hat, and its party-coloured ribbons displayed so fantastically round its band, like a May-day sweep, and with his everlastingly set speech, began to describe the history of the "hanimals,' first handing you a catalogue or list of the "hanimals," for which he received sixpence each, and which I think I had better here reprint for the edification of future generations. I will then repeat, as near as I can recollect, the text of our warder's information; and this with all due respect, for not even the lapse of time since he first entered on the duties of his wardenship, now some centuries ago, and the continual iteration of the same facts, have at all dimmed his consciousness of the respect due to his oracular announcement that "You har hay looking at the live lions of the Tower of London.' All listeners at each influx look around with new curiosity and revived wonder; he, the great orator, is satisfied, and goes on, for nothing can disturb him; and despite the earnestly upturned eyes and eager expressions of the audience, and the unmeaning questions with which he is momentarily interrupted and bothered, he finds a courteous, if not a satisfactory, answer to all comers. But let us get on, for other parties are waiting at the door of our show. The lions, and they were really magnificent specimens, consisted of seven "live ones," and an old gentleman that they had stuffed amongst themselves out of respect for his longevity; and he stood with that grim, fixed, and unmeaning stare which no doubt you have all en |