In about twelve months the little spaniel sickened and
died. For a time the lion did not appear to conceive otherwise than that
his favorite was asleep. He would continue to smell of him, and then
would stir him with his nose, and turn him over with his paws. But
finding that all his efforts to wake him were vain, he would traverse
his cage from end to end, at a swift and uneasy pace. He would then
stop, and look down upon him with a fixed and drooping regard, and again
lift up his head, and roar for several minutes, as the sound of distant
thunder. They attempted, but in vain, to convey the carcass from him.
The keeper then endeavored to tempt him with a variety of food, but he
turned from all that was offered, with loathing. They then put several
living dogs in his cage, which he tore in pieces, but left their
carcasses on the floor. His passions being thus inflamed, he would
grapple at the bars of his cage, as if enraged at his restraint from
tearing those around him to pieces. Again, as if quite spent, he would
stretch himself by the remains of his beloved associate, lay his paws
upon him, and take him to his bosom; and then utter his grief in deep
and melancholy roaring, for the loss of his little play-fellow. For five
days he thus languished, and gradually declined, without taking any
sustenance or admitting any comfort, till, one morning, he was found
dead, with his head reclined on the carcass of his little friend.
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