In the first book of Genesis, although on the bursting out of light; on the gathering together of the waters to let the dry land appear; on the creation of the grass, the herb, and the fruit-tree; of the sun, moon, and stars; of the fishes of the sea; of the fowls of the air; of the beast of the earth, of the cattle, of every living creature, and everything that creepeth upon the earth, we are informed by Moses that on each of these successive formations "God saw that it was good;" yet, the same six important words of approval were not (as in all the previous instances they had been) especially uttered on the creation of man, the reason possibly being that of the works of creation every thing was fixed, and "of its kind" immutably "good," save human reason, which, for the weal or woe of the favoured race on whom alone it was bestowed, was gifted with an elasticity by which its character, capable of being elevated or depressed to almost immeasurable distances above or below the level of its original creation, might become either "good" or evil.

And accordingly, while the heat of the sun, the light of the moon, the brightness of the stars, the force of the hurricane, the velocity of light, the movements of the heavenly bodies, the return of the seasons, have neither increased nor diminished in the smallest degree; yet human reason, since the moment of its creation, has never continued within the same limits, simply because its cumulative powers have enabled it to inherit, increase, and transmit knowledge which, by the triumph of reason over immutable instinct, has, in accordance with the Almighty decree, given to man dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth on the earth.

As property, however, in animals as well as in acres, "has its duties as well as its rights," it might have been expected (at least by them) that when the Lord of the creation thus obtained possession of the superior physical strength of brute beasts, he would deem it just to impart to them in return a small tithe or share of any discovery by human reason that could alleviate the work which, in subjection to its power, they were required to perform; and as in mercantile firms it is usual for the partners to expend for their mutual benefit the amount of the capital they respectively contribute, it might have been expected that in the alliance which has taken place between men and horses, a similar division of profits would have been adopted. But like "Irish reciprocity," the advantages are all on one side; or in plainer terms, Reason screws all it can out of Instinct, giving to the poor brute, its owner, nothing in return.

For instance, when man found that his unshod horse could only carry him per day a small number of miles, he invented for and presented him with iron shoes, in return for which he required the wearer thereof to carry him more than double that distance.

To the old fashioned lever, attached to the extremity of which a horse revolving a mill could only draw up per day a small quantity of water, or knead a small quantity of clay, man as he improved in mechanical knowledge added a wheel, in return for which he required the quadruped worker thereof to lift treble the amount of water, or to knead treble the amount of clay.

Along the rough muddy roads that existed throughout Europe half a century ago, a horse could with difficulty draw a single man seated in his gig or "buggy." As soon, however, as by human science roads were macadamised, i.e., levelled and improved, there arose as it were out of them (like mushrooms in a meadow) innumerable descriptions of four-wheeled carriages, in which the horse, simply because he was enabled, was required to draw, in addition to his master, his wife and three or four of their children.

When by the invention of railways the locomotive engine suddenly superseded animal power, the horses, instead of sharing in a discovery by human reason which seemed to promise to them emancipation from slavery, found that by it they were merely to be transferred from good highways to bad bye-ways.

If thousands of omnibuses, cabs, and canal-boats, which have been plying seven days in the week, are suddenly restrained by human laws from running on the Sabbath, the proprietors instantly diminish the number of their horses, expressly for the purpose of continuing to give to each the same amount of work and of rest, the latter, like "the best of oats, beans, and chopped hay," being bestowed upon him solely to enable him to perform the maximum amount of work.

In short, by the common rule of three, as well as by the common rule of life, quaintly exemplified by the following extract, human reason calculates that if 7000 horses are necessary to work for seven days per week, only 6000 will be wanted to work for six days.

"Sunday and Week-day Religions.—The tides come twice a-day in New York Harbour, but they only come once in seven days in God's harbour of the sanctuary. They rise on Sunday, but ebb on Monday, and are down and out all the rest of the week. Men write over their store door, 'Business is business,' and over the church door, 'Religion is religion;' and they say to Religion, 'Never come in here,' and to Business, 'Never go in there.' 'Let us have no secular things in the pulpit,' they say; 'we get enough of them through the week in New York. There all is stringent and biting selfishness, and knives, and probes, and lancets, and hurry, and work, and worry. Here we want repose, and sedatives, and healing balm. All is prose over there; here let us have poetry. We want to sing hymns, and to hear about heaven and Calvary; in short, we want the pure Gospel without any worldly intermixture.' And so they desire to spend a pious, quiet Sabbath, full of pleasant imaginings and peaceful recollections; but when the day is gone, all is laid aside. They will take by the throat the first debtor whom they meet, and exclaim, 'Pay me what thou owest. It is Monday.' And when the minister ventures to hint to them something about their duty to their fellow-men, they say, 'Oh, you stick to your preaching. You do not know how to collect your own debts, and cannot tell what a man may have to do in his intercourse with the world.' God's law is not allowed to go into the week. If the merchant spies it in his store, he throws it over the counter. If the clerk sees it in the bank, he kicks it out at the door. If it is found in the street, the multitude pursue it, pelting it with stones, as if it were a wolf escaped from a menagerie, and shouting, 'Back with you! You have got out of Sunday.' There is no religion in all this. It is mere sentimentalism. Religion belongs to every day—to the place of business as much as to the church. High in an ancient belfry there is a clock, and once a week the old sexton winds it up; but it has neither dial plate nor hands. The pendulum swings, and there it goes, ticking, ticking, day in and day out, unnoticed and useless. What the old clock is in its dark chamber, keeping time to itself, but never showing it, that is the mere sentimentality of religion, high above life, in the region of airy thought; perched up in the top of Sunday, but without dial or pointer to let the week know what o'clock it is, of time or of eternity."—American Paper.

It may be impracticable to prevent man from taking to himself the whole benefit of every ingenious invention by which the physical power of the horse can be increased, yet surely, either by legislation or by the power of public opinion, he should be required to grant or rather transmit to the poor animal, as a gift from Heaven, the benefit of any scientific discovery that may save him from unnecessary and indescribable agony under operations almost all of which are prescribed either for the self interest, pride, or fashions of his master.

But although the avowed object of the criminal laws of England is to prevent crime by the infliction of a scale of punishments which, fearful enough to deter the guiltiest, are all divested, so far as science can devise, of bodily pain; although we deprecate any suffering on the tread-mill beyond that of ordinary hard labour; and although even for the murderer we have invented a machinery of rope, planks, and bolts to produce a sudden and almost painless death, yet, until lately, people of both sexes, of all ages, and of every sort and condition, have under the surgeon's knife been subjected to tortures which it would have been beyond the ingenuity of the most merciless tyrant that ever existed to have invented.

The screams, however, which have resounded throughout the civilized world—in private houses, in palaces, in cottages, on the field of battle, between the decks of men-of-war, and through the doors and windows of all public hospitals,—have lately, by the command and blessing of Almighty God, been suddenly stopped by the administration of chloroform, which now, diluted in the proportion of three parts of vapour to ninety-seven parts of atmospheric air, causes a patient, at no risk whatever of his life, and at a cost amounting to less than two-pence, to be bereft, not necessarily of his senses, but merely of sensation, while the knife, without the infliction of the slightest pain, is performing on his living body the most appalling operations.

"And the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof."

Now, if in return for this extraordinary alleviation, or rather annihilation of all sufferings under surgical treatment, man should deem it his duty to render public thanks to that Omnipotent Power from which it has proceeded, is it possible for him practically to perform any more acceptable act of acknowledgment than to allow the dumb creatures in his service to participate in a blessing which, by Divine authority, has been imparted to the possessors, not exclusively of human reason, but without favour or exception, of animal life?

As regards his horses, the performance of this duty is especially incumbent: for not only, like all other animals, are they liable to the accidents and ills that flesh is heir to, but some of the cruelest operations to which they are subjected—such, for instance, as cutting off and cauterising their tails, burning their sinews with red hot irons, dividing and cutting out a portion of a nerve, with other excruciating operations on young horses, under which they are often heard to squeal from pain—are inflicted on them, to comply with either a useless as well as a barbarous fashion;—or to enable them "to go for another season's hunting;"—or to make them "sound enough to sell;" or for the attainment of conveniences of which the horse derives not the smallest share: and as the high-bred, broken-down hunter has no voice to ask for mercy,—as he cannot boast of possessing reason,—as he has inherited no knowledge,—as he has no power to bequeath any,—as his whole energies have been devoted to the service and enjoyments of man, by whose mechanical contrivances he is now "cast" with his four feet shackled together, lying prostrate on a heap of straw;—just before the red-hot iron sears his over-strained sinews, or the sharp knife is inserted into his living flesh—surely, in a civilized country like England, some high power should be authorized to exclaim, not "Woodman, spare that tree!" but "Sportsman, SAVE that horse!" by chloroform, from the agonising torture to which you have sentenced him!

You are a man of pleasure:—save him from unnecessary pain. You are a man of business:—inscribe in that ledger in which every one of the acts of your life is recorded, on one side how much he will gain, and on the other, per contrÀ, how very little you will lose, by the evaporation of a fluid that will not cost you the price of the shoes of the poor animal whose marketable value you have determined, by excruciating agony to him, to increase.

As he lies prostrate, all that is necessary to save him from suffering the smallest amount of pain is, to desire the operator with his left hand to close the animal's upper nostril, while beneath the lower one he places a quarter of a pint tin pot, containing a sponge, on which is gradually dropped, from a little vial, chloroform sufficient to deprive him of sensation, which can readily be tested by the occasional slight prick of a pin; and although, when thus lulled into an unconscious state, the noble animal may, during a dreadful operation, possibly dream that

"He sees war's lightning flashing,
Sees the claymore and bayonet clashing,
Sees through the blood the war-horse dashing"—

yet, on the restoration of sensation, which usually occurs some minutes after the operation is over, he calmly awakens, raises his head, and looks around, perfectly unconscious of all that has occurred to him!

In every point of view in which it can be considered, this boon, granted by Heaven to the brute beast, should not be withheld from him by man.

On Mr. Henry Thompson, the celebrated practising surgeon at University College Hospital, and also at Marylebone Dispensary, being lately asked, "What are the occasions on which you are in the habit of administering chloroform?" he energetically replied, "For everything that gives PAIN."

If, therefore, man to this enormous extent is benefited by chloroform, what right has he to withhold it from his own animals, to whom, not only in equity, but by the laws of God, it belongs as much as it belongs to him?

Their claims are so affecting, and so obvious, the remedy that would save them from all pain is so cheap and simple, that it is, we feel, only necessary to appeal to the public to obtain by acclamation a verdict in their favour.

Professor Spooner, in an address delivered by him to the students of the Veterinary College in October last, stated that in the two chief Veterinary Colleges in France—at Alfort and at Lyons—pupils, twice a week for seven hours a day, are instructed in surgery by the "vivisection" or cutting up of living horses, who, until they actually expire, are subjected to a series of cruelties which, although Mr. Spooner professionally described and deprecated, we dare not repeat.

What a disgrace it is to France, and especially to her brave army, that while every cavalry soldier who distinguishes himself in action, covered with medals and "glory," may proudly end his days in the HÔtel des Invalides,—the horse that carried him in all his brilliant charges, &c., when he is worn out and unfit for service, is liable to be led into an arena in the heart of "The Empire," to be, before the public, not honoured nor rewarded, but, inch by inch, and bit by bit, to be dissected alive, until by the last sigh from his lungs, and by the last pulsation from his heart, he ends his account with his inconsiderate, ungenerous, and ungrateful country!

The English veterinary surgeons of the present day are so far superior to those of the last generation—they are so willing and so proud to follow in their important vocation whatever new discoveries may be humanely and successfully practised in our public hospitals, that if our Sovereign, the Commander-in-Chief of our army, our noblemen, sportsmen, and men of education, character, and wealth, would but combine together in determining to require that chloroform shall invariably be administered to their creatures "for everything that gives pain," the "fashion" would quickly be followed, even by the most unreflecting portion of our community; and England, "great, glorious, and free," would then stand distinguished in the world, not only for the strength, stoutness, endurance, weight, and swiftness of her animals, but by her merciful protection of them under surgical operations.

"A righteous man regardeth his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel."

IN GRATITUDE TO
THE HORSE,
The Foregoing Imperfect Observations,
Applicable to all living Creatures,
Are respectfully submitted
To the Consideration of the Public,
by
HIS RIDER.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.

Albemarle Street, London.
April, 1861.