One of the most remarkable things that I noticed in Karl Hagenbeck's menagerie is the marvellous unity and loving-kindness which is brought to pass amongst his animals. They are fondling and playing with each other the whole day long. Like the younger animals, they took their seats upon the rickety pedestals which are provided for them. It was a wonder to me how such huge beasts were able to balance themselves so easily and comfortably as they did upon such small and slender supports. One of them, however, came to grief in a most amusing manner. The human beings were standing talking together in the middle of the circle, when suddenly a loud crash and an indignant howl was heard. We all turned to see what was the matter, as did also the wild beasts themselves; one of the lions had suddenly tumbled down off his perch, or rather the perch had fallen with him, and there he lay, more startled than hurt, wondering what on earth had happened. It was partly his own fault, poor dear fellow, for he had fallen asleep whilst waiting for the performance to begin, and so lost his balance. But his look of indignant surprise was so ludicrously human that none of us could help laughing. However, both he and his pedestal were speedily reinstated in their former position, and a lump of sugar soon restored him to his usual tranquillity of spirit. "And will the animals be arranged round the Chicago circus like this, Mr. Hagenbeck?" said I. "Everything will be exactly as you see it to-day," he replied. "Perhaps, if anything, on a bigger scale." At this moment the band struck up a stirring tune, on hearing which the animals delightedly pricked their ears, and all became life and animation at once! "My animals love music," said Mr. Hagenbeck, "and they perform twice as well with a band as they do without." The first thing that took place was the riding round the circus on a pony by a full-grown lion. Round and round they went. The pony spiritedly enough; the lion, it must be confessed, looking, as wild beasts generally do when engaged in such performances, rather a fool. "The ponies and dogs were at first dreadfully afraid of the lions and tigers," explained Mr. Hagenbeck, "but they soon got over it. These two animals were the rage of all Paris when I was performing there a year or two ago. Four ponies refused altogether, but at last we managed to persuade this one to accomplish the trick." "Has your brother-in-law never been hurt by any of these animals?" "Only once," said he, "when he tried to separate a dog and a tiger which were fighting, and the dog bit him. The dogs are frequently very plucky, and sometimes attack the lions."