“Nothing that anybody could say would hold her back, and so away she went to General Wilson's headquarters. She marched in on General Wilson and asked for her horses back. She had a sweet and winning way, and when she cried and told him how heartsick she was for her horses, and how much she knew they missed her, the General let his feelings get the better of his sense of duty, and gave her an order for every horse taken from the circus.

“One of Wilson's orderlies afterwards gave a reason for giving the horses back, which, while it is not so romantic, may be partly true. The horses were all trained for ring service and most of them were trained to dance to the music, and to fall upon their knees and sides upon being touched upon the haunches with a spur or the whip. The whole bunch was turned over to a military band as their mounts, and the orderly said that during the four days that the band was mounted on those beasts there was not an hour when one of them was not dancing around so that he could not keep time, or else horse and man—sometimes three or four of them—were rolling on the ground together, the musicians having unwittingly given the horse his lying-down cue.”

The boys laughed heartily over this anecdote, and then Charley told a story he had read somewhere about a horse which belonged to a lady who used to ride him in the hunting field. She had had him for three or four years and was constantly petting him and giving him sugar and other dainties. There was a great friendship between them and the horse manifested his affection for his mistress in many ways.

One day while jumping a hedge, horse and rider fell into a ditch; the lady was quite under the horse, her head being between and slightly in front of his fore legs, but there was only a little of his weight that rested on her.

Several men came to her assistance, and at first it was thought that the only way of rescuing her would be by digging her out. It was finally decided to move the horse forward and then lift him up, but there was great fear that in his efforts to rise he would trample on the lady and seriously, if not fatally, injure her. She was able to speak with the men, and told them she was confident the horse would carefully avoid harming her. Her confidence was justified by the result, as he managed to get on his feet without giving her the least scratch, beyond a slight mark on her face, which was made by the first movement of his knees and could not be avoided.

Then George told about two horses belonging to Mr. Allen of Minnesota, that were greatly attached to each other. One day Mr. Allen tied them with strong ropes, about fifty yards apart, where they could eat the grass close to the shore of the little lake. Then he went to a house a little distance away and lay down to take a nap. He hadn't been there long before he heard the sound of a horse's footsteps, and a moment afterward one of his favorites put his head into the door.

The animal gave a slight neigh and then started back towards the lake. Mr. Allen was greatly surprised to find that the horse had broken loose from his fastenings, and also that he had left his mate; surmising that something was wrong, he immediately followed to the edge of the lake, where he found the other horse lying in the water with his feet entangled in the rope, and devoting all his efforts to keep his head above the surface. Mr. Allen at once proceeded to extricate him from his trouble, and as he did so the other horse manifested his joy in every way he could.

“Three things that mark the intelligence of the horse are shown by this incident,” remarked Mr. Graham. “In the first place, he had the sense to understand that his mate was in serious trouble; secondly, he knew his master could relieve him; and thirdly, he realized that he must exert all his strength to break his own rope, a thing he had never done before and never tried to do afterwards.”

Next Charley read a little incident which he said was written by Charles L. Edwards for the American Naturalist. It was in these words:

“While riding along a country road in the environs of Cincinnati, Ohio, about the first of last October, I noticed a remarkable and very amusing display of animal intelligence. In a field beneath some trees, at the bottom of a very high hill, stood facing each other a donkey and a young bull. The bull was standing very patiently, slightly nodding his head up and down, while the donkey, with a rather heavy stick about two feet long in his mouth, was scratching his companion's forehead. Once the donkey dropped his instrument, but, without hesitation, lowered his head, picked up the club again with his teeth, and continued scratching very gravely, to the evident satisfaction of the bull. We often see two cows 'rubbing horns,' and whether this was a return for a similar favor from the bull or not, the donkey very clearly realized his poverty in the matter of horns and happily supplied the deficiency.”

“Folks call the donkey stupid,” said George, “but certainly that one showed a great deal of intelligence. Is the donkey really as stupid as he is said to be?”

“He is not,” answered Mr. Graham, “and there are plenty of anecdotes to show his intelligence. He has been known to open a gate by carefully lifting the latch, and after returning to the yard, he would shut the gate, so that any trespass of which he had been guilty during his absence would not be laid to his charge.

A donkey will follow a kind master or mistress just like a dog, and he fully equals the horse in showing his appreciation of kind treatment.”

Gen. John A. Dix owned a donkey that lived to the age of forty-two years, and endeared himself to his master and the members of the family by his docility and almost human intelligence.

The little creature was, after the death of the general, domiciled at the family country seat, West Hampton, Long Island, where almost luxurious accommodations were provided for his comfort; but old age, and the absence of those who, in days gone by, patted his shaggy coat, and the sound of whose voices he would recognize and greet, no doubt tended to hasten physical ailments, which necessitated the request that an officer of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals should put an end to the suffering of an endeared and most affectionate animal who, although he outlived his master and mistress, at last succumbed to the inevitable. He was buried near where the waves of Long Island Sound wash the sandy shore of West Hampton, and a mound of green sod marks the spot where lies the body of the humble friend of the honored soldier, who issued the famous patriotic mandate: “If any one attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot.”

“Does the mule equal the horse or donkey in intelligence?” George asked.

“It is generally conceded that he does not,” was the reply, “but he is far from being the stupid animal that many people suppose. He has a keen nose, and can often scent danger of which his rider or driver is ignorant. He has a great dread of an Indian, and it is a common saying in the Far West that a mule will always give warning when Indians are about. On this subject Dr. William A. Hammond tells a good story:

“One day, while the Doctor was stationed at Fort Webster, in what is now Arizona, he started down the canyon on a very fine large mule. The beast suddenly stopped abruptly and would not budge a step. Spurs were used to no purpose. There he stood as firm as a rock. Dr. Hammond pulled him around and galloped back to the fort. The next morning it was ascertained that at a point scarcely a hundred yards in advance of where the mule gained his victory some Apache Indians had ambushed the road; and, but for the brute's keen nose, and ears, and in resisting an obstinate man, short work would have been made of mule and rider.

“Mules live to a great age when they are properly cared for,” continued Mr. Graham. “Until quite recently there was a mule named Jennie on Blackwell's Island, that had been there forty years, and she was supposed to be nearly twenty years old when she became a public charge.

“Jennie has an interesting history. About forty years ago her owner had a mild attack of lunacy and was consigned to the insane asylum. He had traveled across the continent from San Francisco with Jennie it was said, and became so attached to the beast that he could not be persuaded to part with her, and the two were carried to Ward's Island together. The mule and the lunatic were about the same age then, and were devoted friends. In all kinds of weather they roamed about the asylum grounds together. One day Jennie was taken across to Harlem to be shod. The boat was moored and the animal tied to a tree by the bank, while the keeper went off to find the blacksmith. When he came back for the mule she was no longer in sight. The broken halter was lying on the ground, and Jennie was found that afternoon, still wet from her swim, with her old friend on the island. At length the lunatic died, and Jennie fell into the hands of the Board of Governors, and was set to work on Randall's Island. She dragged brick carts and lawn rollers for awhile, her size and age-unfitting her for heavier work, and was used for distributing bread in the morning among the various buildings. She was saddled, too, sometimes, and ridden by the children and their nurses.

“Twenty-five years ago the keeper of the stables asked permission to kill her as an incumbrance. Isaac Bell was then one of the Charities Commissioners, and through his influence and interest in the matter, an order was issued declaring that Jennie should be retired from active service and live in the comparative luxury of the island's stables and grass plots as long as she pleased. The mule was moved once more, this time to Blackwell's Island, and took her quarters in the stone stable at the south end of the almshouse grounds. Keepers and inmates have been changing ever since, but in all the twenty-five years the venerable mule has seemed to grow scarcely a day older. She still draws light loads when the keepers harness her for exercise, and the Irishman in a striped jacket who is her involuntary groom stands in as great awe of her hind legs as ever. With the rest, however, she is good humored and docile, and has long been caressed as a pet.

“And let me say,” continued Mr. Graham, “that if you ever own a mule, don't disfigure him and make him unhappy by clipping his mane and tail. Nature has not made him as beautiful as the horse, but, in the language of one of his friends, 'she has endowed him with those gifts useful to his race, and among those are a good mane and tail; if not as an adornment, yet as a protection against his enemies, the tormenting, biting flies. To shear these does not add to his good looks; on the contrary it makes him appear more unsightly. He is not to blame for large head and long ears; why then should these be made more disproportionate by clipping the mane? and why should the tail be reduced to a mere pendant tuft, when both are needed to protect the poor, overworked creature from his winged enemies? It is to be hoped that mule-owners will learn to consider this custom as senseless, as a sin against the comfort and protection of this good servant, and treat the despised mule with more humane consideration.'”

“I found some verses to-day,” said Charley, “that I liked very much. They were in a paper called Our Dumb Animals, and illustrate the advantages of kindness to the creatures that cannot speak to tell their wants. Shall I read them?”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Graham: “Read them, and let your playmates read them, too.”

Thereupon Charley slowly read the following:

“UNCLE JAKE'S DUMB CRITTERS.”

“I don't know much of languages, such as the scholars tell.

But the language of dumb critters I understand quite well.

And I think, sir—yes, I think, sir—that their voices reach the sky.

And that their Maker understands the pleading of their eye.

And I shouldn't be surprised, sir, if at the judgment day,

Some cruel, heartless human folks should be as dumb as they.

My house is not so elegant as many are, I know;

But my cattle are all sheltered from the wintry winds and snow.

And they are not kept on rations that leave nothing but the frame.

Or in the spring returning to 'the dust from whence they came.'

Ah! God hath wisely ordered, sir, that in a money way,

Starving, abusing, critters are the things that will not pay.

If any of my flock are sick or hurt in any way,

I see that they are cared for, sir, by night as well as day.

My letter's on their wool, sir—'tis all the brand I know;

My lambs—they are not tailless, for God didn't make them so.

Some say sheep don't need water, but I tell you it's a lie!

They're almost frantic for it, sir, the same as you or I.

My horses—you have seen them, sir, they are just what they seem;

And, if I do say it myself, they are a splendid team.

They wear no foolish blinders, and from check reins they are free;

And they never had a hurt, sir, that had been caused by me.

The way they do my bidding now.'tis really a surprise!

They know my very step, sir, and thank me with their eyes.

My pig pen, over yonder, I'd like, sir, to Lave shown;

My hogs—they never are the 'breed' that is but skin and bone;

I know, sir, that to fatten them they need both food and drink,

A shelter and a bed, sir, will help it on I think.

I have a yard on purpose, they can root whene'er they choose—

It seems to me like cruelty, so rings I never use.

There's one thing more I want to show, 'tis Hannah's hen-house, here—

Our poultry always pays us well, and just now eggs are dear—

'Tis warm and clean and bright, you see, with gravel on the ground;

There's food and water standing here each day the whole year round.

But maybe I have tired you, sir—forgive an old man's pride;

But somehow I love dumb critters, and I want their needs supplied.”

“There's one thing in those verses I want to ask about,” said George, when his brother paused. “Uncle Jake says his horses 'wear no foolish blinders, and from check-reins they are free.' Now I want to ask why horses are made to wear blinders in harness, when they don't wear them while under the saddle! I know that the carriage horses in our stables don't wear blinders, but I never thought to ask why.”

“It's because I've given strict orders that none of my horses shall wear them,” Mr. Graham answered. “And my reasons for so ordering I will give in the words of Dr. Humphreys, who has studied the subject and long ago converted me to his way of thinking. Dr. Humphreys says it is charitable to suppose that intelligent people are not designedly cruel. In most cases they are so, more from thoughtlessness than design! Nay, they are often quite astonished to learn—when their attention is called to the subject—that they have long been inflicting some cruelty unwittingly upon some of their dumb servants. This is a busy world, and we live in a very busy part of it, and we may, perhaps, be excused for not looking at every step lest some luckless worm be trod upon.

“'The custom of having wagon or carriage horses wear blinders,' says Dr. Humphrey, 'originated at a period when horses were supposed to be thoroughly vicious and ill-trained, ready to run upon the slightest provocation; to take fright from seeing any passing object,—looking back in anxious dread of the whip—all of which supposes a condition of things now pretty well passed away. Horses are better bred and better trained. The Arab proverb well says: 'The pure blood horse has no vice.' He only wants to know what is required of him and he will do it if within his power. A driver who is fit to drive a horse rarely or never strikes with his whip. A mere motion of the rein or whip is all the horse requires, and all that most horses will submit to. The bad temper and the bad tricks of horses, are made so, nineteen times in twenty, by the causeless brutality of driver or trainer.

“The use of the horse's eye is important. He should see what is before him, and on each side of him, and the ground on which he treads. Objects on either side of him do not frighten him if he sees them. It is the sudden appearance of unaccustomed objects that frighten nervous horses. The blinders contribute to this, and so far from being a preventive are a provocative of fright. Give the horse the use of his eye, and let him see the object, and he is rarely or never frightened. A shying horse is a horse who does not see clearly. If blinders were necessary to prevent horses from being frightened, why not use them on saddle horses; and the fact that they are never so used, disposes of the whole argument in their favor.

“The horse needs his eyes to see the ground upon which he steps. We may not think so, but all animals are even more careful than men where they tread. A horse running over a human body will not step upon it if he has his eyes. But with the eyes half covered with blinders, he may do so, a consideration of no small importance in a crowded city.

“Has it ever occurred to ask ourselves what right we have to deprive horses of the use of their eyes. They minister to our convenience and pleasure, and we give them their food and care. Nay, we may even render them serviceable. But we have no right to deprive them of the light of day or the joy of beholding surrounding objects. To assume that they do not prize or care for it argues but slight acquaintance with their nature.

“Again, the non-use of an organ tends to destroy it. Fortunately the mass of our horses are not born of those whose eyes are habitually blinded, or we should, ere long, come to a race of no-eyed horses. But even now the blinding has not been without its curse. The eye of the horse is not so fine as that of the ox, the deer, or the gazelle, to say nothing of the increasing frequency of weak eyes—defective vision and blindness.

“And all this comes of heedlessness. We do it because we are accustomed to it. We don't think of the pleasure of which we are depriving our mute friends. We don't think how much better the horses would look with the use of their eyes, or of how much light the eye would add to the picture.

“The harness maker doesn't think of it. His business is to make as much of the harness as possible. To him 'there is nothing like leather.' The coachman doesn't think of it. So long as his position on the box is secure, he is satisfied.

“Occasionally a sensible man—and very often he's a poor man—is seen driving his horse or team without taking from them the use of their eyes—and how other horses or teams must envy those fortunate ones. But the great mass with huge blinders drawn tight over their eyes, blunder on in the dark, their drivers and owners utterly unconscious of the wrong they are doing or the misery they are unconsciously inflicting.

“And in the same spirit of thoughtlessness,” continued Mr. Graham, “the check-rein, or bearing-rein, as the English call it, is used upon horses. There ought to be a law making it an offence punishable by a heavy penalty, to fasten a horse's head high in the air, as we see the heads of many carriage-horses fastened. Mr. Bergh, the founder of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, has done much toward breaking up the abuse, but it still continues, in spite of his efforts. Many articles on the subject have appeared in the Society's paper Our Animal Friends. Here is one of them, it is entitled: “the check-rein.”

“'Under the mistaken idea that this device in some way adds to the beauty of the horse, this poor, patient, helpless servant is submitted to the most cruel and prolonged torture. The horse is one of the most beautiful animals, because of his fine proportions and graceful curving outlines. His beauty can be enhanced only by good feeding, care and grooming. Clumsy, heavy, ill-fitting harness, trappings which conceal his body from view, and all devices which cause him to assume unnatural and constrained positions, always tend to mar his good appearance. Notice how his beauty is spoiled at once by destroying the graceful curves of his natural position, and introducing the straight lines and angles incident to the use of the overcheck. The grandeur and nobility of the animal's appearance are sadly marred by putting him into this foolish position, with his eyes gazing upward into the sky, his nose sticking straight out before him, and his straining and craning so ungracefully and uncomfortably. If any driver, or any one else, thinks it is not cruel to fasten a horse's head in such a position, let him try it himself. Put a man into this terrible, unnatural position, with the hot sun blazing into his eyes, unable to watch his steps, give him a burden to draw or carry, whip him into a smart run over the rough roads and streets, and he will soon understand why a horse with an overcheck is continually restlessly tossing his head and turning it from side to side in his vain effort to get relief from his excruciating misery. Stand up, throw the head back, and look steadily at the ceiling for five minutes, and without any bit to chafe the torn and bleeding mouth, you will get a vivid and lasting impression of what torture is. A horse allowed to hold his head in a natural position makes a beautiful and pleasant picture, while one tortured and disfigured by a strap extending over the head, is an exhibition causing discomfort to the beholder, and awakening his kindest sympathies and arousing his indignation. The overcheck contrivance was originated by a horse-jockey, whose horse, when rapidly driven, made a whistling noise in breathing. How any gentleman or lady of intelligence can consent to ride behind a horse which is being tortured with such a silly contrivance of cruelty it is difficult to imagine.'

“In England,” continued Mr. Graham, “one of the most indefatigable workers for the abolition of the bearing-rein, is Mr. Edward Ford-ham Flower, who has published a book on the subject. In this book he says:

“'It is a severe penance to any man who loves a horse to walk along the fashionable streets or the park, and to witness the sufferings of horses from this absurd and cruel practice. Little does the benevolent dowager who sits absorbed in the pages of the last tract of the 'Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals,' know of the sufferings of the two noble animals by whom she is leisurely drawn along the 'Lady's Mile.' She probably fancies that the high prancing step, and the toss of the head which scatters flakes of foam at every step, are expressions of pride and satisfaction at their task, when in fact they are occasioned by pain, and a vain attempt to obtain a momentary relief from their suffering. Let any one watch the horses in the park, or standing as they do for hours at the theaters, shops, etc., with foaming mouths, and tongues swollen and hanging out, trying to get a little ease to their poor heads and necks, by tossing them up, putting them sideways, or in any possible position, vainly appealing to their unheeding or ignorant masters, or coachmen, to slacken, if only for a few minutes, the torturing rein, and then say if we can call ourselves a humane people!

“'It must be a source of grief to see the number of animals in carriages to whom this bearing-rein is applied.. The first thing is, whatever may be the form of the neck of the horse, to bring him, so to speak, into the same line, and the bearing-rein is introduced in order to bring his head into the required position. He is then attached to a carriage, and what is the next step? Perhaps the carriage is ordered to the door a couple of hours before it suits the convenience of the riders to enter it, and they let the horse stand there exposed to the heat of the sun and the biting of the flies; and there is the wretched animal with his head stuck up in the air, unable to drive away a fly. The bewigged brute and idiot of a coachman, of course, thinks it a very fine thing to sit behind these poor animals with their stuck-up heads; but his master ought to know better.'”

Mr. Graham said that any person who doubted the ability of a horse to pull more with his head free, than when it is held by a check-rein, could easily convince himself by making a trial with a team. He then told a story about the Scotchman Macadam, who invented the road bearing his name. On one occasion Macadam was on the outside of a coach, traveling on one of his own roads, when the horses stopped, halfway up a hill. Macadam was taunted with the failure of his system, for there were those who disbelieved in his plan, or were jealous of the reward granted to him by the Government. Macadam quietly got off the coach, went to the horses' heads, and loosed the four bearing-reins. The horses stretched their necks, put their shoulders to the collar, and easily reached the top of the hill. He thus vindicated the success of his system, and taught his fellow passengers and the coachman a lesson of humanity and common-sense.

Mr. Graham added that Barclay and Perkins, the great brewers of London, who own hundreds of horses, have forbidden the use of blinders or binding reins on any of their animals.

The following, under the title “A True Horse Story,” is taken from a recent number of Our Animal Friends:

“On Madison Avenue one day I paused to pat the nose of a beautiful horse which stood by the curb, and commiserate his misfortune, for this beautiful animal, though sleek of coat and shapely in body and limb, was apparently suffering most excruciating torture. His head had been checked inhumanely high, and the cruel bit, drawing tightly in his mouth, disfigured an animal face of unusual charm and intelligence. I was just fancying that the horse had begun to understand and appreciate my words of sympathy, when the lady who sat in the carriage holding the reins fumbled in her pocket, produced a lump of white sugar, and asked me to give it to the horse.

“'He is very fond of sugar,' she explained, 'and I have quite won his heart by feeding it to him. I always carry sugar in my pocket while out driving, and give him a lump at every opportunity. I never knew a horse to be so fond of sugar. Will you please give him another lump?'

“'Certainly,' I replied; 'I see that you are quite as fond of the horse as he is of sweets.'

“'Yes, I think everything of him.'

“'Then why do you torture him?'

“'Torture my Prince?'

“'Yes, that is just what you are doing. Do you know that the poor animal suffers agony because his head is checked so unnaturally high? His neck is drawn out straight, producing a most ungraceful angle, he holds his head awkwardly, the bit is hurting his mouth, and that graceful curvature of neck and carriage of head which are in his nature are now entirely lost. Why do you check him so high?'

“She didn't know. She was not aware that high checking was a source of pain to horses, nor that it destroyed their natural beauty. She was amazed at the discovery.

“'May I trouble you to unloosen his check?' she asked.

“When the strap was unsnapped, the horse immediately lowered his head, straightened the cramps out of his handsome neck, shook himself to make sure that he had actually been released from bondage, and they looked around with such a grateful, delighted expression in his intelligent eyes that his mistress declared no more checking straps should be used upon him.”

Cobweb and Major had both been broken to harness, as well as to the saddle, and some days after the conversation recorded in this chapter, Charley tried Cobweb in a dog-cart which his father had given him. Check-reins and blinders formed no part of the pretty creature's harness, and he seemed to appreciate his freedom from those abominations of modern custom. Major was tried in the afternoon of the same day, and his performance fully justified the faith that the boys had in the reformed system of driving. Not only did George and Charley declare that they would never use blinders or check-reins on their horses, but they chorussed the evils of the old practice to their young friends, several of whom were induced to follow their example. And of all those who did so, not one returned to the cruelties he had so unthinkingly practiced, simply because it was the fashion.

How horses can be cured of their maladies by kind and proper treatment, is told in the following extract from the life of Sir Astley Cooper. His coachman was instructed to attend every market-morning at Smithfield, and purchase all the lame young horses which he thought might possibly be convertible into carriage or saddle horses, should they recover from their defects. He was never to give more than £7 ($35.00) for a horse, but £5 ($25.00) was the average price. In this manner thirty or forty horses were sometimes collected at Gaelis-bridge, his farm. Once a week the blacksmith came up from the village, and the horses were brought to him for inspection. Having discovered the cause of their lameness, he proceeded to perform whatever seemed to him necessary for the cure. The improvement produced in a short time by good feeding and medical attendance, appeared truly wonderful. Horses which were at first with difficulty driven to pasture, because of their lameness, were now with as much difficulty restrained from running away. Even one fortnight at Gaelisbridge would frequently produce such an alteration in some of them that it required no unskillful eye in the former owner to recognize the animal which he had sold. Fifty guineas were paid for one of these animals, which turned out a very good bargain, and Sir Astley's carriage was for years drawn by a pair of horses which, together, cost him only £12 10s.