the wrongs of horses--the saddles that gall, the spurs that
prick, the snaffles that pinch, the loads that kill.

At this a vicious-looking nag, with mane half pulled out, and a
"watch-eye," and feet "interfering," and a tail from which had been
subtracted enough hair to make six "waterfalls," squealed out the
suggestion that it was time for a rebellion, and she moved that we take
the field, and that all those who could kick should kick, and that all
those who could bite should bite, and that all those who could bolt
should bolt, and that all those who could run away should run away, and
that thus we fill the land with broken wagons and smashed heads, and
teach our oppressors that the day of retribution has come, and that our
down-trodden race will no more be trifled with.

When this resolution was put to vote, not one said "Aye," but all cried
"Nay, nay," and for the space of half an hour kept on neighing. Instead
of this harsh measure, it was voted that, by the hand of Henry Bergh,
president of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I
should write this letter of remonstrance.

My dear gentlemen and ladies, remember that we, like yourselves, have
moods, and cannot always be frisky and cheerful. You do not slap your
grandmother in the face because this morning she does not feel as well as
usual; why, then do you slash us? Before you pound us, ask whether we
have been up late the night before, or had our meals at irregular hours,
or whether our spirits have been depressed by being kicked by a drunken
hostler. We have only about ten or twelve years in which to enjoy
ourselves, and then we go out to be shot into nothingness. Take care of
us while you may. Job's horse was "clothed with thunder," but all we ask
is a plain blanket. When we are sick, put us in a "horse-pital." Do not
strike us when we stumble or scare. Suppose you were in the harness and I
were in the wagon, I had the whip and you the traces, what an ardent
advocate you would be for kindness to the irrational creation! Do not let
the blacksmith drive the nail into the quick when he shoes me, or burn my
fetlocks with a hot file. Do not mistake the "dead-eye" that nature put
on my foreleg for a wart to be exterminated. Do not cut off my tail short
in fly-time. Keep the north wind out of our stables. Care for us at some
other time than during the epizooetics, so that we may see you