lieved that it was in course of his training operations. But those who were behind the scenes knew very well that when the accident occurred Macarthy had no business near the animals at all; being, in fact, the night watchman, and having surreptitiously introduced certain friends to the cages after the show was shut.
Crockett was another famous tamer. He had been one of Sanger's bandsmen, but took to lion-taming at Astley's. One night all the lions got loose and had a glorious celebration all to themselves in the theatre, wandering over the auditorium, and breaking whatever it seemed desirable to break, beside killing an unfortunate keeper. Crockett was sent for in all haste, came, and entered the theatre armed with—a switch! With this he coolly proceeded to drive all the animals back into their proper quarters, shut them all up, and went home again to bed without a scratch.
When the lion-king fever was at its height, it occurred to the proprietor of Hilton's menagerie that the next sensation ought to be a lion-queen, and accordingly his niece became the first. She was followed by others, but the taste for female performers received a check in 1850, when Miss Blight was killed by a tiger at Wombwell's. Nevertheless, among those whose depraved taste leads them to witness wild-beast performances merely to gloat over the tamer's danger, lion-queens have since been popular.
But among the famous lion-tamers of this century Van Amburgh and John Cooper hold the highest places. Van Amburgh was a Dutchman, with a fine, well-built figure, who came to London just before the beginning of the present reign. Sir Edwin Landseer (who was only Mr. Landseer at the time) painted a picture representing Van Amburgh in the midst of his animals, and this was exhibited at the Royal Academy. A better advertisement for the tamer could hardly be conceived, and soon Van Amburgh's performances became more fashionable than any animal performances before. The great Duke of Wellington once asked Van Amburgh if he had ever experienced a fear of his lions, to which the tamer answered that he never had, and, further, that if ever he did, or if he suspected that the animals had ceased to fear him, he would give up the business at once. Van Amburgh made a moderate fortune, and died peacefully in his bed, although more than one newspaper paragraph had reported his death by claws and teeth, at intervals during his professional career. But a premature obituary notice in a local paper short of copy is a sort of thing which a lion-tamer must expect now and again.
John Cooper, the lion-tamer.
Mr. John Cooper divides with Van Amburgh the honour of king of lion-kings—indeed one would be doing little injustice to the memory of the brave Dutchman in placing Cooper alone quite at the top of the tree, the Royal Academy picture being Van Amburgh's great claim to remembrance. Mr. Cooper has not been killed by his animals, of whom he has trained his thousands, neither has he died peacefully in his bed. He is alive and well at this moment, fifty-one years of age, although he scarcely looks it, and capable, one would imagine, of living quite fifty-one years more. We have had the advantage of some personal acquaintance with Mr. Cooper, and purpose to set forth some incidents of his extraordinary career, and some of his own opinions and impressions in the matter of his profession.
He is a man of about the middle height, stout and powerful of limb, kindly and intelli-
