An Irishman named M'Carthy, but who called himself Signor 3Iassarti,
has been exhibiting as a lion-tamer for some years. He seems, however, to have broken some of the rules of his profes- sion, entering the cages when "in liquor, but not drunk," and without the hot bar of iron the lions dread. The beasts either dislike the scent of liquor —all cats are sensitive to odours—or they • perceive its effect upon the steadiness of the eyes, and on Wednesday at Bolton one of five in a cage struck the poor Irishman down. The others then fell on him, bit great pieces out of his thighs, tore away his scalp, and were only driven off by the irons. The scene lasted ten minutes, during which the excited audience impeded the officials in every way, and the man died on reaching the hospital. Nobody seems to have thought either of using a rifle or feeding the lions.
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