at the same time, they have assisted many humane causes in other places. While a few other societies have succumbed to the depressing influence of popular indifference, that of Manchester has held on its way, and has done a great and good work in quietly but persistently propagating humane and ethical principles. We can only wish the Committee a hearty Godspeed.

We asked Mr. Benjamin Sugden who, as will have been seen, was one of the founders, and, at one time, Hon. Sec. of

appears best to you, for they express my feelings upon this matter." The quotations were as follow:

"Like the Athenian idolators who said, 'we also are his offspring,' I believe that "the" physical life of man is the immediate emanation of God; that underneath the human life is the divine life; that sympathy and sanctity are the two forces that sway us and save us." Of this the typical vivisectors know nothing, or make no account. To them, as the late Du Bois Reymond put it, "Nature is utterly devoid of any spark of Deity. No Truth, no God, no mercy are to be found." Science appears

the Manchester Society, to send us his profession of faith. He replies, under date" Manchester, July 10th:-It is altogether out of my way to write a 'profession of faith.' From the moment, now over twenty years ago, when I first realized what vivisection was, I have hated it with my whole soul, and shall do so unto the end. On the enclosed sheets I have strung together a few quotationsfrom the Bible, Shakespeare, Carlyle, and others. Use the whole, or in part, as

to be their God-" Science, the New Messiah, in whose paths they cast their palms, though few would say he cometh in the name of the Lord." I believe that cruelty is the most devilish of all sins, and that "we must not so reverence ability as to be blind to the qualities of the heart. Evil is always evil, as good is always good. Devil is always devil, and Satan cannot cast out Satan. Wrong never comes right." To hope for good from vivisection is like seeking the living among the dead. With Carlyle we ask "How can a man without a clear vision in his heart have any clear vision in his head? It is impossible."

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AN

MY DEAR GABRIELLE,

The waning days of the month, warning us of the rapidly passing summer, suggest the break-up of the London season, and your flight from town. May-be you are even now en route for the South Coast and its glorious yachting carnival; or perhaps flying to some distant Scotch moor, to green Ireland, to Switzerland, the valley of the historic Rhine, or even still farther afield. Happy! happy Gabrielle! Away from the sights which appal, to something fresher and fairer; away from " the roaring loom of Time" as we understand it in London, to a change of scene and experience, an experience which, one may hope, will be a little pleasanter than that which so often meets your gaze in London.

I do not wish to convey to you that any other place is a change for the better, because some places are decidedly not. A lady writes me that her sister and the husband of the latter, who wintered in Spain, report that "the people about Bilbao seem to surpass all that she has ever seen in inhumanity to horses; such poor

things they were, scarcely any working without, but almost all with, large wounds. When they reached Swiss and French territory, on returning, it was quite comforting to see the horses looking fairly cheerful and not as if their lives were a burden." A visitor to Teneriffe has told me a somewhat similar tale about the open, raw wounds on the mules there. Such scenes are not impossible even in this country, for do not the R.S.P.C.A. and the police frequently prosecute persons guilty of them. But we are in advance of Spain and other countries in this respect-that under our laws all domestic animals are protected and there is a large and growing public opinion against cruelty.

Much, however, remains to be done. One of the most depressing sights of the dying London season has been the numberless cases where bearing-reins were in use. In the Park, in the streets, bearing reins were as fashionable as they could well be, and the Royal carriages, with their scarlet-coated servants, which have been in evidence everywhere con

veying the Queen's guests, were, with out exception, drawn by horses with bearing reins! One other matter: Twice attention has been publicly drawn in the Press to the royal patronage of aigrettes, or egret plumes. The Weekly Sun, with genuine regret, referred to their presence in the hat or toque worn by the Princess Victoria at the opening of the Blackwall Tunnel, and the Daily News, a week or two later, describing the dress

at

some great society function-the Queen's Garden Party at Buckingham Palace, I believe-recorded that the same Princess's headgear again relied on the aigrette for its principal adornment.

Ladies assure me, on the solemn word of their milliner, that their aigrettes are only imitations, "though every bit as good as the real." But I have yet to learn that the West End milliner is, like George Washington and the modern vivisector, of unimpeachable veracity. Only recently the experiences of a lady friend with a Brompton Road milliner have convinced me that Sapphira was a most hardlyused lady. The struggle to survive amongst the shops, nowadays, the high rents, and the high salaries paid to the principal employees in "smart" establishments has produced, in some instances, such terrible competition for business, that the most shocking lying and deceit are employed to induce a purchase. Some of these milliners assert most glibly when they discover a customer reluctant to purchase a hat or toque with an aigrette, that "these are only imitations, madam, I assure you." My dear Gabrielle, there is only one course to pursue-refuse aigrettes of any sort, real or imitation, and you will help to kill a trade in plumes, productive of the most heartless cruelty and bolstered up by the most pestilential lying. Meanwhile get some of our leaflets on "Murderous Millinery" and "The Bearing-Rein," and circulate them.

But I anticipate. I opened with a reference to the impending holiday flight, meaning to lead up to a suggestion. Don't close your trunks and boxes without placing in them some humane literature for distribution. Mr. Ernest Bell has some back copies of the Animals' Friend for the past month or two, and leaflets as above, with others addressed to cabmen, etc., which you will see duly noted in the advertisements on the cover. Now send to him at 5, York Street, Covent Garden, London, for a batch. You will

help the good Cause, you will help the animals, you will induce people to read and think, and you will make the Animals' Friend more widely known. We particularly want our friends to do our advertising for us in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, where we have comparatively few friends. A lady subscriber informs me that one of her two copies is sent every month to a different friend or acquaintance, with an earnest, pressing note to "take it in and make it known." Go, thou, Gabrielle, and do likewise. Wanted-every reader of the Animals' Friend to be its free advertising agent. We will send subscription forms to any one applying for them. Put one in a spare copy and send it to a friend; or slip one in a letter when you write. All he or she has to do is to go to the nearest newsagent and order it, showing him the slip; or to fill in their name and address, and post it to us at 5, York Street, Covent Garden, and we will do the rest. You could so easily get one fresh subscriber every month if you would make up your mind to do it, and then, what a great virtue woman's persistency would become.

And now, Gabrielle, I sit appalled at the sight of the letters before me. Letters to the Editor, poetry by the bushel, anecdotes by the score, short articles and long articles, suggestions, applications for advice and information, etc., etc., etc. And you, in some distant part, are having your little growl because something you sent me months ago has not yer appeared. What a gash you made in the paper under that "yet. Here have I sacrificed myself two months out of the past six to afford more space to-correspondents anxious to be heard, mostly fair and charming I freely admit, and yet forty pages per month would not suffice to embrace all for which my impatient public demands instant attention. But a start must be made somehow and somewhere.

We are all glad to hear that Mr. Justin McCarthy, M.P., the most interesting of historians and the most amiable of men, is now on the high road to recovery after a tedious illness. Mr. McCarthy, as some of our readers are aware, is a devoted lover of cats, and when some months ago I had the pleasure of taking tea téte-a-téte with his daughter, Miss Miss Charlotte McCarthy, while her father was unfortunately confined to his room, I learned then much of the extraordinary intimacy. which prevailed between the latter and his animal friends. Of Miss McCarthy's