ds, and suffer the
worst effects of his displeasure, rather than be thus driven out from
mankind. His master, as was customary for the proconsuls of Africa, was
at that time getting together a present of all the largest lions that
could be found in the country, in order to send them to Rome, that they
might furnish out a show to the Roman people. Upon his poor slave
surrendering himself into his hands, he ordered him to be carried away
to Rome as soon as the lions were in readiness to be sent, and that for
his crime he should be exposed to fight with one of the lions in the
amphitheatre, as usual, for the diversion of the people. This was all
performed accordingly. Androcles, after such a strange run of fortune,
was now in the area of the theatre, amidst thousands of spectators,
expecting every moment when his antagonist would come out upon him. At
length a huge monstrous lion leaped out from the place where he had been
kept hungry for the show. He advanced with great rage towards the man,
but on a sudden, after having regarded him a little wistfully, fell to
the ground, and crept towards his feet with all the signs of
blandishment and caress. Androcles, after a short pause, discovered that
it was his old Numidian friend, and immediately renewed his acquaintance
with him. Their mutual congratulations were very surprising to the
beholders, who, upon hearing an account of the whole matter from
Androcles, ordered him to be pardoned, and the lion to be given up into
his possession. Androcles returned at Rome the civilities which he had
received from him in the deserts of Afric. Dion Cassius says, that he
himself saw the man leading the lion about the streets of Rome, the
people everywhere gathering about them, and repeating to one another,
'_Hic est leo hospes hominis; hic est homo medicus leonis_.' 'This is
the lion who was the man's host; this is the man who was the lion's
physician.'"

We are glad to repeat this anecdote, although some may call it "stale
and old." The last time we were at the Zoological Gardens, in the
Regents Park, London, we saw a lion very kindly come and rub itself
against the rails of its den, on seeing a turbaned visitor come up, who
addressed it. The man had been kind to it on its passage home. It was
by no means a tame lion, nor one that its keeper would have ventured to
touch.

SIR GEORGE DAVIS AND THE LION

Steele, in the 146th _Guardian_,[141] has followed up a paper by
Addison, on the s