years ago a gentleman was presented with a black-and-tan
terrier. One evening he went to St. John's Wood, London, to fetch it
to his own home, some five miles on the south of the Thames. For the
greater part of the way the dog and his new owner travelled (in the
dark of course) outside an omnibus. The terrier was confined for a
week and then set at liberty. Next day it disappeared, and it was
afterwards learnt that it arrived at its old home--ragged and
starved--six or seven days after effecting its escape. As the dog had
been taken on a vehicle right across London, over the river, and in
the dark, to a strange district nine miles from its home, its finding
its way back to St. John's Wood must be regarded as a remarkable
instance of canine intelligence.

Anecdotes of Apelles.

Some interesting anecdotes have been preserved about Apelles, who
flourished during the latter half of the fourth century before
Christ, and who was considered to be the most famous painter of the
ancient world. Alexander the Great once visited his studio, and
exhibited so much ignorance of art that Apelles desired him to be
silent, as the boys who were grinding his colours were laughing at
him. He painted an ideal portrait of this celebrated king, of which
Alexander said, "There are only two Alexanders--the invincible son of
Philip, and the inimitable Alexander of Apelles." The painter's
disposition was so generous that he purchased a picture of an artist
whose talents were not recognised as they deserved, and spread a
report that he would sell it again as one of his own. His industry
was such that he never allowed a day to pass without painting one
line--a habit which has become proverbial in the Latin phrase, _nulla
dies sine linea_ ("No day without a line"). Apelles was not above
criticism. When his paintings were exposed to the public view, it is
said that he used to conceal himself near them so that he might hear
the comments of onlookers. A cobbler finding fault with the shoe of
one of his figures, Apelles at once corrected it. But next day when
the cobbler ventured to criticise the legs, the painter came forth
from his hiding-place and recommended the cobbler to stick to the
shoes--advice which in the words of the Latin version of the story
also has been adopted as a proverb, _Ne sutor ultra crepidam_ ("Let
not the shoemaker overstep his last").

Drawing the Badger.

Badger-baiting was a brutal sport at one time in vogue in this