The Sun.
London, England, 1850-10-08 00:00:00

WILD SPORTS IN ALGERIA.

M. Jules Gerard, the well-known lion killer of
Algeria, has just sent the following account of a re-
cent exploit to the editor of the Journal des
Chasseurs :

"I knew of a large old lion in the Smauls country
and betook myself in that direction. On arriving I
heard that he was in the Bonariff, near Batnab. My
tent was not yet pitched at the foot of the mountain
when I learned that he was at the Fed-Jong, where,
on my arrival, I found he had gained the Aures.
After travelling 100
leagues in 10 days in the track
of my brute without catching a glimpse of anything
but his foot-prints, I was gratified on the night of
the 22d of August with the sound of my lord's voice.
I had established my tent in the valley of Ousten. As
there is only one path across this thickly covered
valley I found it an easy task to discover his track
and follow it to his lair. At 6 o'clock in the evening
I alighted upon a hillock commanding a prospect of
the country around. I was accompanied by a native
of the country and my spahi, one carrying my car-
bine, the other my old gun. As I had anticipated,
the lion roared under cover at dawn of day; but in-
stead of advancing towards me, he started off in a
westerly direction at such a pace that it was
impossible for me to come up with him. I
retraced my steps at midnight, and took up my
quarters at the foot of a tree upon the path
which the lion had taken. The country about this
spot was cleared and cultivated. The noon being fa-
vourable, the approach of anything could be descried
in every direction. I installed myself and waited.
Weary after a ride of several hours over a very irre-
gular country, and not expecting any chance that
night, I enjoined my spahi to keep a good watch, and
lay down. I was just about to fall asleep when I
felt a gentle pull at my burnous. On getting up I
was able to make out two lione, sitting one beside the
other, about 100 paces off, and exactly on the path
in which I had taken up my position. At first I
thought we had b*n perceived, and prepared to make
the bust of this discovery. The moon shed a light
upon the entire ground which the lions would have to
cross, in order to reach the tree, close to which all
within a circumference of ten paces was completely
dark, both on account of the thickness of the tree and
the shadow cast by the foliage. My spahi, like me,
was in range of the shadow, while the Arab lay snor-
ing ten paces off in the full light of the moon. There
was no doubting the fact—it was this man who at-
tracted the attention of the lions. I expressly for-
bade the spahi to wake up the Arab, as I was
persuaded that when the action was over he would
be proud of having served as a bait even without
knowing it. I then prepared my arms and placed
them against the tree and got up, in order the better
to observe the movements of the enemy. They were
not less than half-an•hour traversing a distance of
100 metres. Although the ground was open, I could
only see them when they raised their heads to make
sure that the Arab was still there. They took ad-
vantage of every stone, and every tuft of grass to
render themselves almost invisible; at last the boldest
of them came up crouching on his belly to within 10
paces of me, and 15 of the Arab. His eye was fixed
on the latter, and with such an expression that I was
afraid I had waited too long. The second, who had
stayed a few paces behind, came and placed himself
on a level with and about four or five paces from the
first. I then saw for the first time that they were
both full grown lionesses. I took aim at the first, and
she came rolling and roaring down to the foot of
the tree. The Arab was scarcely awakened when
a second ball stretched the animal dead upon the
spot. The first bullet went in at the muzzle
and came out at the tail ; the second had gone
through the heart. After making sure that my men
were all right, I looked out for the second lioness.
She was standing up within 15 paces, looking at
what was going on around her. I took my gun
and levelled it at her. She squatted down. When
I fired she fell down roaring, and disappeared in a
field of maize on the edge of the road. On approach-
ing I found by her moaning that she was still alive,
and did not venture at night into the thick plantation
which sheltered her. As soon as it was day I went
to the spot where she had fallen, and all I found
were blood marks marking her track in the direc-
tion of the wood. After sending the dead lioness to
the neighbouring garrison, who celebrated its arrival
by a banquet, I returned to my post of the previous
night. A little after sunset the lion roared for the
first time, but instead of quitting his lair he remained-
there all night roaring like a madman. Convinced
that the wounded lioness was there, I sent on the
morning of the 24th two Arabs to explore the cover.
They returned without daring to approach it. On
the night of the 24th there was the same roaring and
complaining of the lion on the mountain and under
cover. On the 25th, at five in the evening, I
had a young goat muzzled, and proceeded with
it to the mountain. The lair was exceed-
ingly difficult of access. Nevertheless I suc-
ceeded at last by crawling now on my bands and
now on my belly in reaching it. Having disco-
vered certain indications of the presence of the inha-
bitants of this locality, I had the goat unmuzzled and
tied to a tree. Then followed the most comical panic
on the part of the Arabs who were carrying my
arms. Seeing themselves in the middle of the lion's
lair, whom they could distinctly smell, and hearing
the horrified goat calling them with all its might, was
a position perfectly intolerable to them. After con-
sulting together as to whether it were better to climb
up a tree or clamber on a rock, they asked my per-
mission to remain near the goat. This confidence
pleased me, and obtained them the privilege of a place
by my side. I had not been there a quarter of an
hour when the lionesi appeared; she found herself
suddenly beside the goat, and looked about her with
an air of astonishment. I fired, and she fell without
a struggle. The Arabs were already kissing my
hands, and I myself believed her dead, when she got
up again as though nothing was the matter, and
showed us all her teeth. One of the Arabs who had
run towards her was within six paces of her. On
seeing her get up he clung to the lower branches of
the tree to which the goat was tied and disappeared
like a squirrel. The lioness fell dead at the foot of
the tree, a second bullet piercing her heart. The first
had passed out of the nape of the neck without break-
ing the skull bone."

INSIGNIA. OF MAYORALTY.-- the town council of
Nottingham have determined upon having their mayor duly
arrayed at the entertainment to be given to Prince Albert
by the mayors of England at York in the course of the pre-
sent month. They were invited to consider, aye or no,
whether the chief magistrate should appear in the robes of
office. Whereupon Mr. Alderman Cullen said :—" He had
long been of opinion that some distinctive dress ought to be
attached to the mayor of the ancient borough of Notting-
ham, by which he would be known to be such. He himself
had often observed, when the judges were met by the mayor
and magistrates, that they had been at a loss to know who
was the mayor. If they were to judge from the privileges
which had at various times been conferred upon it, they
would arrive at the conclusion that the ancient town of Not-
tingham stood very high in the consideration of the rulers
of the country in time past. Thus, Nottingham was one of
the four boroughs, the mayors of which were authorised by
charter to wear their public robes on any occasion which they
might consider proper. He, therefore, did not see why the
council should not pass such a resolution as would show
that Nottingham did not stand behind other towns in the
respect paid to the office of mayor." These arguments pre-
vailed, for the council almost unanimously determined to
procure the requisite insignia.
A CARPET FOR THE '5l EXHIBITION.--We under-
stand that a plan for the working of a carpet to be exhibited
next year has been suggested to the ladies of England by.
Mrs. Purcell, of New Burlington-street. A design of con-
siderable elegance has been made by Mr. Gruner, and we
trust our fair countrywomen will not be backward in bestow-
ing some of the labour they expend on the furniture of their
lown drawing-rooms, to produce a specimen of needlework
really worthy of their trouble, and creditable to their taste.--
Builder.

INGENIOUS PIECE OF MECHANISM.—We hear
that a most ingenious mechanist— a watchmaker at Ar-
broath—is at present engaged, by commission, upon a piece
of clock-work, which, when it is finished (and it is now ad-
vanced), will, without a doubt, be a rarity in its way. It
will require to be wound up only once a month. Besides
telling the time of the day, it will also show the hour of sun-
rise and sunset, the time of high water at Arbroath daily, and
also the day of the month. The manner of its construction
will preclude the necessity of its being altered occasionally,
in any way to suit the varying number of days in the months
as they come on in succession—even leap year is provided for
with its one day more. The price agreed upon for this unique
piece of mechanism is a very moderate one—only about 10/.
—Montrose Review.

BOW TO MAKE GOOD GLOUCESTERSHIRE BACON.
—After it has been killed one day, put a light coat of salt on
the sides, and when that is disseilved, about ?,lb. of saltpetre
is used to every bOlbs. of bacon, and covered with salt as it
is lying single on the floor. After three or four days, put
four or five sides together, and turn them every three days;
after 10 days, 20 sides may be put together and turned once
a week; in three weeks from the first salting they will be
ready for the stoves, unless they are very heavy, in which
acse this should be delayed another week.
LITERARY CURIOSITY.—The following is a copy,
verbatim ct literatim, of an advertisement lately posted in
a certain village in Westmorland :—Lout or Strayed From
Coatley Fell A 11 scotch Ewes and 4 ooldens with half Bred
lams with them and 3 sheering scotch gimmers Hogs and
%Vat nar side and P a far side of all that is clip and all
Burned it Horn and Lames all ear marked with peace of fare
eare and slit nar ear and marked like cart trappings at
Tailehead the property of of T—gill near Sedbergh and
who will give me information I will please them for theaire
troubie,.— frestmon'and Gazette,

I MAGAZINES, &c.—(CONTINUED.)

'Y'.

T.lTr? "Pi. 7Ar TTYPT.7PS.r.rI7
1:-.1• the

present month is one of our greatest modern cele-
brities—Charles Kean ; nor do we recollect, among
the many admirable sketches of illustrious Irishmen
which have adorned the pages of this periodical, any
better written or more interesting than the account
here furnished of his arduous and triumphant career.
The illustrative portrait presents a striking, although
not a flattering, likeness of this eminent tragedian,
for it offers the semblance of a man older than one in

his fortieth year, such being the age of Mr. Kean,
who was born at Waterford on the 18th of January,
1811. After a period of three Sears' education at
Eton, whence the unhappy conduct of the elder Kean
towards the beloved mother of Charles compelled him
to withdraw in 1827, he was thrown on his own re-
sources,. and, in the necessity of self-support, and to
minister to the wants of that helpless parent whom
his generous heart would never suffer to remain un-
protected, he cast his lot upon the stage, making his
deblit in Norval, at Drury-lane, on the opening night
of the season, October Ist, 1827. The press—that
press now long since deservedly lavish in his praise—
was unanimous in its condemnation of his histrionic
essay ; nor for two years did he receive any encou-
ragement from that powerful engine, until some
measure of applause was awarded him for his imper-
sonation of Sir Edward Mortimer, in the Iron Chest.
Resolved to try his fortune in America, he crossed the
Atlantic in 1830, and on that distant stage enacted his
father's leading parts to crowded and admiring audi-
ences. bhortly after his return to England, in '33,
the fitful fever of Edmund Kean's life was quenched
for ever. The son, still struggling for subsistence, and
unable, from want of supeifluous means, to prevent
the seizure and sale of the valuable paternal effects,
turned his attention to provincial engagements, and
achieved marked success, in Edinburgh and Dublin,
where he repeatedly reaped increasing applause and
large remuneration; many of the principal tpwns in
the empire likewise acknowledged his rising reputa-
tion. But London was yet to conquer, and at length,
on the Bth of January, 1838, he appeared at Drury-
lane as Hamlet, with a triumphant issue never sur-
passed in theatrical annals. This character, in our
opinion the most masterly of his Shaksperian deline-
ations—and on them is his reputation mainly, if not ex-
clusively, built—he appeared in for twenty-one nights
during his engagement, and played Richard the
Third seventeen, and Sir Giles Overreach five nights.
From that day to this his professional career has been
one bright and uninterrupted triumph, and his para-
mount position as an artist cheerfully and universally
admitted. " That he has been a fortunate man,"
says the writer of the memoir, "in the general accep-
tation of the term, no one will deny ; and that he
merits his good fortune will be as readily conceded
by all impartial judges. In his early career he had
much to contend against, and his history presents
strong points of encouragement to all who are des.
tined to fight their way through the world, of what
ever calling or profession. The towering reputation
of his father, and the name he inherited, were more
frequently impediments than advantages, as inviting
invidious comparisons rather than indulgent recollec-
tions. A natural resemblance in the son was re-
proached as a positive offence ; while the
was
pal-
pable and servile imitation in a stranger was cordi-
ally hailed as indicative of kindred genius. At the
same time his high, gentlemanlike bearing, his well-
known affection for his mother, and his honourable
character, were powerful auxiliaries, backing his own
genius, and carrying him gallantly over many oppos-
ing obstacles and many prejudiced opinions. The
professional reputation of Charles Kean is erected on
a sound foundation. As Junius says, in reference to
the fame of Lord Chatham—' Recorded honours
shall gather round his monument, and thicken
over him. It ,is a solid fabric, and
will support the laurels that adorn it.' "
This is well and truthfully said. By his
Theatre, new under-
taking, the management of the Princess's he
will, we doubt not, enhance his fame as an ardent
cultivator of the legitimate drama. With the co-
operation'of those genuine comedians, the Keeleys, and
the services of such masters of their art as Harley,
Wigan, and Meadows, assisted by a most efficient
company, it would be indeed strange were his effortsto revive the public taste unattended with success.
At the same time, the lovers of the Terpsichorean de-
partment of the stage are not disregarded by the new
lessee, for the ballet is confided to the superintendence
of Flexmore, that incomparable buffo, whose singular
abilities, both of arrangement and performance, have
placed him in a rank in his peculiar line of the pro-
fession where he has hitherto met with no successful
competitor. We shall dismiss this cursory notice
of so admirable a resume of the incidents of the

life of Charles Kean by quoting a brief but just
tribute paid therein to his amiable, attractive,
and talented partner, the ci•devant Ellen Tree, to
whom, after a long attachment, he was united in
January, 1842 :—"ln chaKacters requiring great phy-
sical power, with the more commanding attributes,
something might be wanting which a few others had
excelled her in ; but in all the softer delineations, in
a just discrimination of the tenderer passions, in ver-
satility, in natural pathos, or elegant vivacity—in a
clear knowledge of her author's meaning, and in lady-
like dePortment—she was, and is, without a superior
on 'the modern stage." The correspondence, too,
between the two great heroes of the buskin, which
took place some years ago, will not fail to be read
with interest at:the present period, when Macready
is about to leave his rival sole master of the field :

TO CHARLES KEA.N, ESQ.
"8, Kent terrace, Regent's-park, London,
July 22, 1837.
" Dear Sir,—The newspapers may, perhaps, have in-
formed you that I have taken Covent-garden Theatre.
I have embarked in this hazardous enterprise, congenial
neither to my habits nor disposition, in the hope of
retrieving, in some measure, the character of our de-
clining art, or, at least, of giving to its professors the
continuance of one of our national theatres as a place for
its exercise, which most persons despaired of.
formers have met the sacrifice I am prepared to make
with a spirit highly laudable to their feelings, and I
will prove not discreditable trust the event The per-
table to their judg-
ment. Every one has consented to a reduction of his or
her claims, and I believe the names of all our principal
artists are entered on my list. Your celebrity bits,
ef
course, reached me. In the most frank and cordial
spirit I invite you to a participation of the struggle I am
about to make. I understand that your expectations
yurassistance, and give complete scope
are high ; let me know your terms, and if it be possible
I will
meet then; and do all in my power
to the full devo
elopment of your talents.
ure
" I will not further allude to the cause for which I
t o most gladly
am making this effort than to express my belief and
confidence that your own disposition will so far suggest
to you its professional importance as to insure us
against any apprehension of your becoming an anta-
gonist, should you decline (as / sincerely trust you .will
not) enrolling yourself as a co-operator.
" I remain, dear Sir, very faithfully yours,
" W. C. MACREADY."
cc TO Vr. C. ZIACREADYi ESQ.
• • "Cork, July 27, 1837.
" Dear Sir,-1 have had the honour to receive yourie
very courteous letter ; and permit me, before I auo r
that portion of it which relates to myself, to cobgmtulate
you on the assumption- of the Covent-garden manage-
ment.
" I assure you, with great sincerity, I think it a most
fortunate circumstance for the drama and the
Public that
you have placed yourself at the head of this theatre, and
.es will
g
that you occupy a position where your
ener
elevate
sustain, your taste improve, and your influencea to preside
the stage. No one could be more fitly
choselation, and
where you do now—l say this without hesi
distinctly—because, from your well-understoodwoa of
predi-
lection for our classical plays, and your
susible prefe-
parts, you will give those plays every P
- ° ,retrieve in
rence; and thus, to use your CWIT words, declining
art.'
some measure the character of our
.ard„, Connected as you now are with CO3,
allow me
con-
trolling its business, and set over its destinies,
ofthe
to wish you, for your own sake.and that
finagement. For
profes-
sion, a long term of prosperous
cd your assurances
your offer to me of an engagement, a.
development of my
of ' giving ample scope to the. full
Your invitation, and
talents,' I thank you very much.
which you offer it,
the kind and handsome manner
in h neither
are most flattering to me; and though
London just Wows, still
nation nor my interests point to
„jog proposal. But
I set duo value upon your encourse.,
s to go to London,
let me tell you frankly that, were between Mr.
there have occurred some circumstancesb
e old me bound (wore
Bann and me, whereby he might hold
in a case where a
it only partially so) to iiira ; 2,1?",, if adr. Bunn made it a
contract was perhaps but inipuer
should, of course, be
question of honour with me.
arbitrary dictate of such a
governed by the absolute and do not contemplate a
monitor. I repeat. however, -s
T
movement towards London for the present.
letter demands a few words.
"Another point in your
that my own disposition
You express your confidence
will so far suggest to me the
assure you against myP
to professional importance of
your present enterprise as ,here, should I decline your
becoming an antagonist elsesv,e.„ .„.
, le .1. ou may indeed be-
offer to co-operate with You"; mould I, oppose myself to
lieve that I could not, neithhement or any individual. But
the interests of any establis
suppose tbst my acceptance
surely you could never s
of an engagement at any time, with any manager
e ! would involve hostility
of the other great
oftheatre, ,
both the national theatres
to you. The interests
are alike important to the
public. 1 should naturally
consider my own advantage in connecting myself with
rank in the drama and its
either, consistently with
133'er7e I to assent to your view of
welfare generally;
nod"necessarily shut myself out of a large
the case, I should might deprive myself of those pro-
fessional- • I
sphere of action.
I most valued.
associations
1 freedom and independence;
professional
have
compromise my pro •
to the proud eminence you
and it does not belong
my efforts in working out
yourself attained to narrow
mp I labour hard in my profession,
my individual fume. in any way, or at any season,
in doing this, if I can
zealous for
and
e ss, while honourably -
contribute to your success,
feelings and my heart.
my own, it will gratify
I remain, dear Sir, truly yours,
"CHARLES KEAN."
gg TO CHARLES KEAN, ESQ.
"Theatre Royal,
I Covent-garden, Aug- 2, 1837.
.
" Dear Sir,--I beg WY oNervations may not be con-