D' A better to a Humane Friend. BY THE HON. MRS. EAR, On opening my local paper this morning, I noticed with much satisfaction that you and your brother magistrates had awarded the punishment of six weeks' hard labour, without the option of a fine, to a man who had brutally ill-treated a horse. Then I suddenly remembered that I had promised some time ago to write you a letter pointing out what seemed to me the inconsistencies of the position you have taken up on the much-talked of and most painful subject of vivisection. It would, of course, be absolutely impossible to-day to mention a tithe of the arguments used by anti-vivisectionists, so I will, as far as possible, confine myself to asking you three questions. I wonder if you will be able to answer any one of them satisfactorily? Firstly It would surely be only fair, before you absolutely refuse to join any society or movement that has for its object the protection of living animals from experimentation, that you should inform yourself thoroughly as to what this scientific research really means. Why, my dear, do you not harden your heart (I know it myself to be a most genuinely kind one), and visit a physiological laboratory? I would not suggest that you should so far torture yourself as to witness experiments at the Veterinary School at Alfort. You would be as appalled as I should be at the spectacle of horses cut up alive by students. But, to be consistent, you must more or less applaud, and approve of the work of such a brilliant scientist as, say, Professor Richét, of Paris, who would, no doubt, admit you to some of his "demonstrations." He has frankly told us himself that it is a love of science, for its own sake, simply, that enables him and his fellowworkers to spend hours in "fœtid laboratories," bending over "palpitating entrails," among groaning creatures, amid scenes of blood and suffering. I cannot help thinking that after such a visit your views would undergo some modification. You would realize, in a way that you assuredly do not now, something of the agony of fear, as well as the physical torture endured by these victims, you would be sickened at the thoughts of the long hours of pain and thirst to be borne by those kept alive after the experiments are over. You sat up all night with your own dog when he was ill, and like all people who have much to do with animals, you well ARTHUR HENNIKEr. know how sensitive they are to the sympathy of human beings. But a vivisected animal has probably no one near him who understands what the word pity means. Dr. Macaulay has told us that he was revolted by the "monkeytiger spirit" of the students who attended Majendie's classes, and the late Dr. Hoggan has given us a horrible description of their brutality in another famous laboratory. Ah, my dear we faddists and "bestiarians," as Professor Owen gracefully calls us, may, perhaps, in our own way, love and revere knowledge fully as much as you do, but in the words of one of the greatest and noblest supporters of our cause, we say of her, "Let her know her place, She is the second, not the first." I think I have now shown you that you find yourself in the unpleasant dilemma of refusing to lift a finger to save dumb and helpless creatures from sufferings that you would not consent to witness, hardly, probably, to read of? Secondly: You told me some time ago that you were anxious to obtain employment for an intelligent boy, the son of an old servant. He had developed, you said, scientific tastes, and was fond of studying medical books. Why do not you, to begin with, procure him a post of assistant in one of the vivisectional laboratories in London? He would see something of the work of some of our most notorious researchers in physiological science, and when he had got over his first feelings of disgust he might become interested in it. There are thousands of men in Europe and America undergoing, or who have undergone, a like process of hardening. I somehow don't think you would wish your young protegé to be numbered among them? But why not? if vivisection is morally right. Lastly: Not long after the muzzling order came into force, I recollect your saying that one day in London you had come across a stray spaniel in the streets. He had evidently been run over, for he walked on three legs, with pain and difficulty. You were touched when he dragged himself wearily after you, looking up at you with sad, appealing eyes. He was unmuzzled and had no collar. From his dilapidated appearance it was easy to see that he had no friends. You hailed a hansom and took him to that excellent little hospital in Kinnerton Street, called the New Animals' Institute. It was started, you remember, by Mr. John Atkinson, a strong anti-vivisectionist, who has been, by the way, as successful with his human, as with his four-legged patients. There, under the care of Mr. Atkinson's humane and very skilful coadjutor, Mr. Mathews, the spaniel recovered, grew fat and handsome, and you found a good home for him. Dear, surely this kindly action was one of the greatest of your inconsistencies! Science, you say, must have its martyrs, and here was one ready to hand. He had no friends who wanted to claim him. Why on earth did you not give him up for experimentation at one of our great medical schools? It is true that we have a record of experiments carried out last year in England on dogs, whose bloodvessels and hearts were penetrated by tubes, whose skulls were bored through, whose chests were cut open, and whose nerves were cut and stimulated by electricity, and some people, yourself included, might shudder at the bare idea of their fate. I think you have landed yourself in a dilemma once more. There must be men who supply the laboratories with victims, and if experimental science is such a good and noble thing, why should they be blamed? On the contrary, they too ought to be numbered among the benefactors of humanity. But you did not personally feel disposed to add the stray spaniel to the holocaust of victims! So the conclusion I have arrived at, my dear ——, is that you and I, when we come to examine this subject carefully and practically, do not really differ so very much after all. Let me know what you think The Prize of Half-a-Guinea has been awarded to the REV. T. PERKINS, M.A., in very BOOKS FOR PRIZES.-Messrs. George Bell & Sons have published their "Animal Life Readers pretty cloth bindings, stiff covers, and with gilt edges, in preparation for the Christmas Season. These handy and attractive little books about Animals are illustrated copiously by Harrison Weir and others, and are capital as prizes and presents for small folks. They vary in price from 6d. to 2s. THE ROYAL BUCKHOUNDS.-Rev. J. Stratton requests us to say that in his letter to Lord Salisbury, published in our July issue (page 180), he asked his Lordship to sympathise with "the views," and not with the news contained in his letter. We regret the misprint. A Plea for Eels. BY EDITH CARRINGTON, Author of "Animal Life Readers," etc. "Mercy to him who shows it is the rule."-Cowper. THEN the mother eel deposits her WHE eggs in the mud and leaves them, she unwittingly presents the river with some most beautiful and graceful guests. Those who know eels only in the form of a slimy and disgusting tangle upon the slab of a fishmonger, can have no idea of the exquisite ease, a very poetry of motion, with which these ribbons of living green and silver wave their way through the water. The elegant chainwork of bones forming an eel's spine is sufficiently like that of a snake to ensure harmonious curving movement on shore as well as in the pool, though the sinuous gliding is not quite the same. Girt with fins, and with the breathing apparatus of a true fish, the eel's outward lungs or gills are modified to suit his purpose as an amphibious animal. These gills lie just behind the eyes, consisting of a number of thin plates overlapping each other like the leaves of a book. So long as they are kept moist the eel can support life by impregnating his blood-vessels with oxygen, which he draws from the water. By a simple and admirable device the eel's gills can retain moisture for a longer time than those of other fishes, hence his power to make himself at home on shore for a time. This is managed by a narrow opening to the gills, which holds the water within them. The poor trout taken from his crystal home and left to die on the bank, takes twenty minutes or more to gasp out his life, at the end of that time his gills cease to do their office. But the eel is of a different habit. He is of a wandering turn of mind, of a more enterprising spirit, somewhat fond, too, of a change of diet; he will face a journey on terra-firma rather than starve. He has other reasons, too, for an annual trip to the sea-side, changes of weather affect him, and the right place for spawning must be selected. In winter he will bury himself in a blanket of mud, and await better times. Over perfectly dry ground an eel cannot creep, his gills and skin require refreshment from wet grass or a damp road, but he has been seen to wend his way at an astonishing pace, and apparently to his own satisfaction, across fields and even broad paths, without a tourist's guide, yet evidently knowing his destination, Multitudes of little eels are often seen journeying up stream, and their transit is called an "eel fare," or eel journey, from the Saxon faren, to go. When bound on these mysterious stampedes nothing will stop them. They will swarm up rocks, and cling to stones, seeming as much at home on the steep sides as a fly on a ceiling. They will wriggle up trees, and poke their investigating noses into cistern pipes with dauntless though misplaced confidence. Millions upon millions of them perish in this march of colonization, for an attempt to colonize it is. Eels that have formed the vanguard perish by thousands for lack of moisture when any obstacle, such as a dry fence, has to be surmounted-they never think of turning back, but literally stick to their post, and their dead bodies form a ladder for the rest behind. We scarcely value the eel sufficiently as a scavenger; he is one of the humble factors of life treated scornfully, because he never brags. He is an omnivorous animal, and in the stagnant places he often inhabits, his agency as a purifier is mighty. Basking on the beds of water-weed, or on the banks of his pond, the eel will snap at flies, catch mice and frogs, or even tackle The corpse of an eel, with a large rat half-way "down the red lane," was found floating, as a proof of his propensi rats. ties in this line. Below the surface he keeps in check the swarming billions of aquatic insects, or gets rid of garbage, in sea and fresh water alike, and almost throughout the globe. The dead body of a horse, taken from a ditch, was found to contain as many small eels as would make two wheelbarrow loads. They were feasting on the remains, gathering like eagles to the carcase, who shall say how? We lofty "humans" are fond of ascribing to "instinctive impulse" many of the intelligent acts by which our lower brethren earn an honest living; we say so, without exactly knowing what we mean. Corporate action, involving a high degree of self-effacement and self-sacrifice, as well as a power of talking, or communicating ideas in some way, must be necessary before a community of any sort can live, feed, and dwell in peace together. That eels do this is a proof of Nature's consideration for their race, since she has taught them to sacrifice the individual in order to preserve the species. But it would be rash to say that the eel obeys his rule blindly; he is a shrewd animal, and capable of striking out new lines for himself so as to cope with varying trials. Thus he shows, to a certain. extent, thinking power. To what else can we attribute the fact that an army of eels will quit a pond before it dries up, and seek another, so as to take time by the forelock? What gifts has the sage-probably the oldest inhabitant, who counsels this manoeuvre-in what way I1 does he warn the giddy that the end of the world is coming, and that prudent eels must pack up and seek a better? The flitting, moreover, is always performed by night, another proof of sagacity. The eel, plainly, is not a creature to be tortured; he is highly organized, sensible, and therefore sensitive. His tenacity of life, meant to be a blessing to him, is a curse, because of cruel men and women. When the eel is left to linger for days in misery, cut up or skinned alive, he undergoes the utmost which his cold, slow nature enables him to endure. And all this when a simple breakage of his spine would put him out of pain at once, no matter how brisk the writhing afterwards. The extreme muscular irritability of the eel permits. motion long after death, and his heart has been known to retain this for forty hours after being removed from the body. Edward Jesse, a great and good man in matters of mercy, says that the most humane way to kill eels is to place them in tepid water; others state that the best mode is to grasp them by the neck on being first taken out of the stream and to slap their tails smartly against a stone or post. A third method is to sever the backbone close to the head; and another to stun by a violent blow on the head, while a transverse cut near the tail will cause bleeding to death. One or other of these plans should be insisted on, and fishmongers taught that the public detest barbarity, even towards the meanest thing that feels. A Spanish Bull Fight. [BY A NAVAL T was a lovely day in October that a gay party of English ladies and gentlemen, including myself, belonging to the garrison of Gibraltar, embarked at the New Mole, Gibraltar, in a gunboat, to go across and see a bull fight at Algeciras, in Spain, by special invitation of the august Governor of that town, who bears amongst his numerous other high-sounding titles, that of "Governor of Algeçiras and of Gibraltar, now in temporary occupation of the British." I do not suppose that any of us really looked forward to the actual bull fight itself, but were probably actuated by the various motives that move Society to bore itself; some went because they wished to be able to say they had seen one, and some because "everyone who was anyone was going. The trip across the land-locked bay was accomplished successfully. No one was seasick (the sea was like a duck pond), we did not encounter any hostile fleets, and in due time we anchored off Algeçiras and were landed in OFFICER.] boats at the pier head. In groups we wended our way through the quaint old Spanish town to the grand amphitheatre, where all the rank, fashion, and beauty of the neighbourhood were gathered to see the cruel sport. It was certainly a gay scene, and repaid one thus far for going. The brilliant colour of the ladies' dresses and parasols, and the smart uniforms of the Spanish officers scattered about, gave the appearance of a bank of flowers. Gaily dressed picadors, matadors, and toreadors swaggered about in the arena, and gensdarmes fussed around, looking intensely fierce all about nothing, and everyone was on the tiptoe of excitement for the show to begin. At last a big bell rang, and the great doors at one end of the arena were thrown open, and a stately cavalcade of gaily dressed cavaliers and "artists of the ring" rode and marched round the arena to what, I honestly believe, was intended for a tune, played by a regimental band. After going once round the cavalcade formed up in front of the Governor's box, and the band played the Spanish national anthem whilst the cavaliers saluted. The Governor, bareheaded, bowed his acknowledgments. Then the procession filed back through the big gates, and only those who were to take part in the first" act" remained. Then other doors were opened (with extreme caution), and amidst breathless silence, in walked the bull, calm and dignified. He sniffed the air as if he scented danger, and finding things did not look as bad as he expected he began to search about the ground for possible tufts of grass. This was too pastoral a way of spending the time for the spectators, so they hissed. Then a gentleman, I think they called him a toreador, whose duty it is to awaken the bull to a becoming sense of his responsibilities, began his gruesome work. He and his fellow toreadors had short sticks, with a barb at one end and a lot of gay-coloured ribbons at the other (like a consumptive guitar), and these they plunged into the fleshy parts of the unfortunate bull, giving him excruciating pain every time he moved. This had the desired effect, and the bull lashed his tail, roared, and began a sort of preliminary canter round the arena. Then more banderillos, as the barbed sticks are called, were stuck into him, and things began to get lively for the "infantry," and the "cavalry" had to be called into play. The mounted "artists' are called picadors, and consist of cavaliers in gay clothes, padded with sheets of lead, and riding on gaily caparisoned chargers (mostly worn-out old cab horses). They are armed with long lances, and they canter round the bull giving him playful prods with their spears, and then gallop away out of danger, amidst the cheers and plaudits of the civilized and enlightened subjects of the "most Christian king." Sometimes the bull charges the picador and, overtaking him, plunges his long horns again and again into the poor horse's side, until it is turned almost inside out, and in trying to escape it treads on its own entrails. The poor brute, if able to walk, is then led out, and its inside is pushed back into place, and the wound roughly sewn up, and in canters the gay knight again, full of beams and benevolence, to repeat his courageous prodding, and without a thought for the agonies of the poor beast he is bestriding. This goes on until the bull is supposed to be worked up to a sufficient degree of fury, and then the matador comes bowing in, to give the coup de grâce. Often as many as eight poor horses are done to death in this way before the bull is considered "ripe." The coup de grâce is the only phase in the whole ghastly show that really requires pluck, and has even a germ of "sport" in it. To my mind, true sport should entail danger to the sportsman as well as the quarry. Well, as I said, the matador comes in, a princely gentleman in all the gorgeous finery of an Old World Spaniard, with a crimson Kamarband round his matadorian waist, and walks to the centre of the arena and takes off his hat and bows to the Governor's box, and, with another sweeping bow round the tiers of seats, prepares for action. He has a red shawl on his left arm and a rapier in his right hand, and he infuriates the already maddened bull by waving the red shawl in his face until the poor beast determines to "go for him." Then when the bull charges, the matador takes a steady aim with his rapier, and, judging to an inch where to stand, keeps the point levelled at the bull's neck, and the bull charging with all his force receives the point of the rapier on the vertebræ of the neck, and, if skilfully done, the spinal cord is severed, the poor baited animal dropping stone dead. If successful, the "house' applauds to the echo, but if the rapier misses its point the matador is hissed. When number one bull has been disposed of, number two has to go through the cruel tortures, and so on. In the meantime, the horses which have been killed are being flayed and cut up, and sold for meat to the rabble outside-I suppose to help to pay for the expenses of the show. I myself, I almost blush to own it, saw one wounded horse brought into the ring four times before it was finally despatched, and the first bull I saw killed five horses before it received its own death blow. Naturally, I have the greatest objection to killing a fly, unless it is in the interests of justice, but when I had been at the bull fight for about half-an-hour, I was longing to see the picadors, matadors, and all the other dors gored to death, such was the cruelty and absence of sport in the whole "entertainment." There are wooden shelters at intervals round the arena, and when the bull becomes too personal in his attentions the brave (!) but discreet performers take shelter till the tyranny is overpast. No shelter is provided for the bull. Once, I was told, the authorities tried a Scotch bull that was famed for its ferocity. I must tell you that a good deal of the (regrettable) immunity of the performers is due to their skill in taking off the bull's attention by red shawls when he presses the matador too closely. This Scotch bull had a stern Presbyterian disregard for such gewgaws as draperies, and devoted his bovine attention entirely to the men themselves, so much so that at last the whole lot took shelter in the wooden screens. The bull followed to where he saw the largest collection of plump toreadors and matadors, and getting into the shelter reduced about five of the performers to the consistency of raspberry jelly, and finally a gensdarme had to come in and despatch him with a bullet from his carbine. Since then the authorities have decided that a Spanish bull gives better sport. In the particular show that I went to see five bulls were killed and about fourteen horses, and one man was carried out on a stretcher, I fear only wounded. The barbarity of the whole thing exceeded anything that could possibly be believed by the gentlemen of England who live at home at ease. We were all heartily glad to get on board our British gunboat again, and steam away back to where the dear old Union Jack made such scenes impossible. Although the naval officers on |