Mr. Cumming still lives to tell his own tales; and no one can hear or read his words without seeing that he has one of those ardent spirits which loves danger for the sake of danger, and that his indomitable courage and hardihood, from his early years, when he killed the deer on his father's domains, prepared him to be what he now is, the most successful of all men in his warfare with wild animals. In a note to the "Poetical Remains of Mr. Pringle," I find the following remarkable escape:--"Lucas Van Buren usually carried a huge elephant gun, as long and unwieldy as himself; but left it at home one day when he had most need of it. He was riding across the open plains, near the Little Fish river, one morning about day break, when observing a lion at a distance, he endeavoured to avoid him by making a circuit. There were thousands of spring-bocks scattered over the extensive flats; but from the open nature of the country, the lion had probably been unsuccessful in his hunting. Lucas soon perceived that he was not disposed to let _him_ pass without further parlance, and that he was rapidly approaching to the encounter. Being without his gun, the farmer, little inclined to cultivate his acquaintance, turned his horse off at a right angle, and galloped for life. But it was too late; the horse was fagged, and bore a heavy man upon his back; the lion was fresh, furious with hunger, and came down upon him like a thunder-bolt. In a few minutes he brought man and horse to the ground. Luckily, the man was not hurt, and the lion was too much occupied with the horse to pay any attention to him. Hardly knowing how he escaped, he contrived to do so, and reached the nearest house. His remarks, when he related his adventure, were concerning the audacity of the lion in attacking a Christian man; but his chief vexation was about the saddle. He returned to the spot the next day, and found the horse's bones picked clean, lion and saddle having both disappeared. Lucas said he could excuse the beast for killing the horse, as he had allowed himself to escape; but the abstraction of the saddle, for which, he added, the lion could not possibly have any use, raised his spleen, and called down a shower of abuse whenever he related the story. "We had," says Mr. Pringle, "been to tea with Captain Cameron's family, to whom, as we were only three miles distant, we considered ourselves next-door neighbours; and as the weather was fine, we rode home by moonlight, jesting all the way about wild beasts and Caffres, and not at all suspecting that a lion was dogging us through the bushes the whole way home.