the lock; and this he did, whenever he saw that | Greville, a patrician cynic who rarely praises the interests of Ireland demanded it. anybody, and who, in certain parts of his Emancipation did not satisfy his political digestion. His life was in agitation. Aware of his power alike in Ireland and at Westminster, he resolved to advance a long step farther. He now began to clamor for a repeal of the legislative union between Ireland and England. Finding that it was useless to draw the Whigs further in the advocacy of Irish relief, he dissolved his alliance with them, and started forth in a design to make Ireland so hot for the English that repeal would have to be conceded. He was now in the prime of his manhood, the maturity of his eloquence, and at the acme of his power over the Irish heart. He organized meetings, at which he appeared and spoke to thousands of his excited countrymen in the rich, rugged, and vehement style of which he was so complete a master. In the House of Commons he fearlessly braved the foremost English parliamentary orators; nor could his forensic battles with men like Palmerston, ❘ amiable, hospitable, and hearty. There was a Stanley, Disraeli, and Peel, ever be forgotten by those who heard them. O'Connell had a powerful argument in favor of repeal, which he did not fail to use with great effect. The union had been effected by bribery, wholesale corruption, and utterly against the will of nine-tenths of the Irish people. Yet his crusade for repeal was a visionary and hopeless one. If it could not be accomplished under Liberal cabinets like those of Grey and Melbourne, there was little hope of forcing - the Tories under Peel to listen to reason. To the threatening multitudes who flocked in town and country in Ireland to hear "the glorious counselor" speak, and to catch inspiration from his lips, the British Government had but one response the army. For O'Connell himself were reserved criminal prosecutions and the threat of imprisonment. He fought gallantly, sturdily, for a while hopefully; but he sawat last that the battle was a losing one, and it produced despair. Even the potato-rot did not help him; and, when Pi eal he found that the result of his struggles was only to rivet the chains of national servitude in the more rigidly upon Ireland, he threw up his mission, left Parliament, and wandered Keaway to Italy to do penance for his sins, and I to die! O'Connell was a many-sided man. The idea that he was a rude and vulgar demagogue is entirely refuted, even from the dmouths of English aristocrats, who knew, 1. of e saw, and hated him. There are as many contradictory descriptions of him as there are of the first Napoleon, whom, by-the-way, he Whatever the political vices and insincerities of O'Connell and those who study his career without bias cannot but suspect that there was a great deal of the demagogue in him-in private life and in personal qualities there can be no doubt that he was generous, time when he was revered and loved by near the court-yard of hospitable Derrynane, he was charmed to see "the eagerness with which O'Connell sprang from his horse, and kissed a toothless old woman, his nurse." The home-life of O'Connell at Derrynane was that of a well-to-do Irish gentleman "of the real old stock." Some of his habits there are well worth recalling. William Howitt represents him as appearing at breakfast habited in a reddish, well-padded dressing-gown, and a "repeal" cap of green velvet, with a narrow gold band. He had a table to himself at breakfast, and sat long at it, reading his newspapers and letters. At dinner, the company, whether of guests or only comprising the family, were entertained by the traditional piper, who stood apart in an alcove. O'Connell, as a good and zealous Catholic, had his own father-confessor, attached permanently to Derrynane on a comfortable salary-a jolly-looking priest, named Father O'Sullivan. "It somewhat startles you," says Howitt, "to hear, during the day, the sound of merry children's voices from the drawing-room, and, on entering, to behold, ly all Irishmen, Orangemen of the north in- | amid all the noise and childish laughter, the holy father walking to and fro, as if totally unconscious of the juvenile racket around him, with his breviary in his hand, muttering his prayers." At nine each morning the bell county, Kerry. There, indeed, he was a demi-rang for mass, and family and servants gath god. They, beyond all others, knew of his "Why," said O'Connell, "you are an old "I believe I did, your honor, and I thought it." "Well, then, there's a shilling for you, but only on condition that you are dead before I come this way again." crying: "I'll buy a new cloak!" "You foolish old woman," said O'Connell, "nobody will give you a shilling if you have a new cloak on." ered in the chapel. The round of amusements were not unlike those of an English squire's house. There were music and games within-doors, hunting, driving, and water-excursions without. "Nowhere," says Howitt, "does O'Connell appear to more advantage than in the midst of his own family. He seems to be particularly happy in his family relations; children, grandchildren, guests, and domestics, appear animated by one spirit of affection and respect toward him. It speaks volumes that, within doors and without in his own neighborhood, the enthusiastic attachment to him is greater than anywhere else." As an orator, O'Connell undoubtedly ranked among the foremost of his time. He had all the exuberance and imagination of the Irish temperament, toned by a fine edu The old woman began to caper about, cation, and yet tinged with an exaggeration which often made it more effective. It is true that he did not display himself at his best in the House of Commons. "There," says Sir Erskine May, "he stood at a disadvantage-with a cause to uphold which all but a small band of followers condemned as base and unpatriotic, and with strong feelings against him, which his own conduct had provoked; yet even there the massive powers The journey of O'Connell toward his domain was almost like a royal progress. "At several places," says Robinson, "parties of men were standing in lanes. Some of these certain qualities strikingly resembled. joined us, and accompanied us several miles. of the man were not unfrequently displayed rabb Robinson, speaking him as he apCeared in 1830, says he was "thick-set, broadced, and good-humored, and talked with an of conscious superiority." In arguing fore the Irish courts he usually betrayed mildness of manner, address, and discreon;" and alike with judges, bar, and peoe, he seemed a sort of elephantine pet. He da large, heavy, but by no means ungainly pre; a large, square face, illumined by fat and expressive blue eyes; his nose was ther thin, with wide, sensitive nostrils; his as thick, his smile genial and very winning. Some of the men ran along by O'Connell's all their disputes to him. In fact, he was When at last the English guest arrived in A perfect master of every form of argument; potent in ridicule, sarcasm, and invective, rich in imagination and humor, bold and impassioned, or gentle, persuasive, and pathetic, he combined all the powers of a consummate orator. His language was simple and forcible, as became his thoughts; his voice extraordinary for compass and flexibility. But his great powers were disfigured by coarseness, by violence, by cunning, and audacious license. At the bar and on the platform he exhibited the greatest but most opposite endowments." It was well said of his manner of expression by Shiel, who was long his Irish rival for eloquence in the House of Commons, that "he brings forth a brood of lusty thoughts, without a rag to cover them." | Twice O'Connell's violence brought him, despite his cunning, into the meshes of the law. The first time was in 1831, when he had begun and was carrying forward his violent agitation in behalf of repeal. He was arrested by order of the lord-lieutenant, on the charge of holding meetings in violation of the proclamation. O'Connell was not yet ready to brave English justice; and after entering a plea of not guilty, he withdrew it, and pleaded guilty. The government, on the other hand, dared not proceed further; and the agitator was not brought up for judgment. His second arrest and trial took place twelve years later, in 1843. Once more monster meetings had been held, and O'Connell is said to have addressed a quarter of a million people on the historic hill of Tara. His language was so violent and threatening that Sir Robert Peel, then prime-minister, resolved to bring the turbulent "counselor " once more to justice. He was arrested, with his son and some others, and indicted for conspiracy, sedition, and unlawful assembling. The trial attracted the eager attention of the three kingdoms. The court-room was guarded by soldiers, and the judge was escorted to and from his house by a strong force of redcoats. O'Connell defended himself with vigor, though he was now nearly seventy years of age; but, after a trial of over three weeks, he was sentenced to imprisonment for a year, a fine of two thousand pounds, and to give security for good behavior for a period of seven years. The severity of this condemnation, however, had so serious and alarming an effect, not only among the Irish, but among the radical English, that the House of Lords, tempering its judicial severity with discretion, had the prudence to reverse the sentence on a writ of error; and after having been confined for four months, O'Connell found himself once more at liberty. He received an ovation at Dublin that seemed like old times. But he was old, and the government, the massiveness and quality of the literature | of Luther. In 1525 he rode the weighty wine which gathered about this renowned drama. In Goethe's lifetime, the wonder had grown colossal among the critics as to what the purpose of the "Faust"-poem could be, and endless speculations made their appearance under this inquiry. Goethe, knowing the value of mystery as an element in fame, left the critics unaided, and even augmented their difficulty by confessing that he himself did not fully know its purpose. He withheld his sanction from each and every theory put forward; so the interest in "Faust" was kept in a living condition, and cumulative withal. After a perfect comprehension of any subject, we pass on to something else, no longer in ❘spired by curiosity or the charm of mystery. It will be remembered that the First Part of "Faust" is the form of the poem most read, and likewise the part that is truest to the chief points of the mediæval myth on which the poem was founded. The Second Part, finished in the author's eighty-second year, though it uses largely the elements of the saga, has a marked departure from the plot thereof, especially as regards the destiny of Faust, who, according to all the legendary forms, went to hell at the close of his earthly career. The broad philosophy of the poet, in the Second Part, overrides the legend, in making for Faust a heavenly destiny at last, on the ground that he had never given up the struggle against evil, and that the errors, sins, and sufferings through which he had passed should naturally end in the salvation of his hero. cask out of Auerbach's cellar at the Leipsic fair-a cask which the physical force of the company present could not remove. As the light of the Reformation began to spread, the darkness of the preceding periods culminated and expired in Faust, showing that the deepest darkness just precedes the day. To what extent Faust was a personality, whether he was a man or wholly a myth, may not be determined to the satisfaction of all, but it is certain that he is a strongly representative person, that his name characterizes an epoch as real to Europe at one time as science is at the present day. I take the position that he was not a man, but a myth, claiming that the representative character he held as respects the conflict of humanity in the perfect form of the saga, first printed at Frankfort, 1587, one hundred and sixtytwo years before Goethe was born, is strong evidence, if not fully conclusive, of this view. The fact, unquestioned by any, that all the characteristic stories that had in previous ages been told of other magicians became fastened on Faust, implies that the national imagination created him. The bewildering impossibilities which surround Faust disguise a central figure, who permanently stands for the darkness and doubt, the temptation, and varied antagonism, which encompass man on the battle-field of life; also for those diviner longings and idealizations which induce painful dissatisfactions with the actual limitations of life, whose walls none may escape. It is because each man and woman of the world is, in these respects, a little Faust, that the saga and the poem are of undying interest. Asia, from time immemorial, made the conflict inherent between matter and spirit. Goethe, when a youth and in love with Lilly, for a brief time entertained the idea of taking her in marriage and coming to America. Had he done so, it is not certain that "Faust," as a drama, would have been written; but, had he written in English and to an American public, there had been no great wondering about the purpose of his drama. The American would readily have seen and said: "Goethe is a poet who believes in working up the poetic material of his own nation in its honored past. Having already | The Waverley Novels are a success on the succeeded so marvelously on the road to fame by turning into drama the brave chroni The example of Goethe, at once so successful in working up the historical materials of his own country's past into the attractions of dramatie form, was productive of results in other lands: it led Walter Scott to immortalize the chivalric legends of his country in the middle ages both in verse and in story. same line, as the great Scotchman, Thomas Carlyle, gave us to understand in these words: rather by letting him free than by condemn-cles of Götz von Berlichingen, the 'Iron | "If genius could be communicated like in Hand, the last of the lordly barons who ing him, had effectually shorn this Samson GEORGE M. TOWLE. GOETHE'S “FAUST." N the University Library at Heidelberg, method which genius, in the great master, I ter elucidation of Goethe's immortal poem, "Faust." The tendency of the German mind to look for something deep and difficult of comprehension, especially in the writings of their great national poet, seemed evident in different tendencies. ican are, doubtless, compensated for their straction, we might call this work of Goethe's the prime cause of 'Marinion' and 'The Lady of the Lake,' with all that has followed from the same gifted hand." It will be remembered that Scott's first literary enterprise was the translation of the drama "Götz von Berlichingen," written when Goethe was twenty-three years of age. Though this drama is easily translated Se and understood, it is far otherwise in the case of "Faust," as all translators confess. The subject lies very much in the weird realm of mystery and the occult powers; in the great and misdirected forces of the soul. It is the ambitious and false solution of the problem of life, ending, as all such attempts laws against which must forever end, in teaching the wisdom and goodness of the time maddened ambi tion rebels. It teaches the futility of all leagues with the devil-that is to say, of all instrumentalities not morally sacred for though Faust was deemed the contemporary { winning the highest wisdom and happiness; i 2 that the harmony between our sky and our earth, our ideals and our actual facts, can only come by well-directed efforts in so struggling against evil, whether it be within or without, as to secure the rightful conquest over it. "He that overcometh shall inherit all things "- the only solution worth trying for each and every form of the problem. The Faust story reached the ears of Shakespeare, and was once recognized in "The Merry Wives of Windsor." Marlowe, in England, had written a play about Faust, and different authors in Germany had attempted a transmutation into tragedy before the gifted Goethe lifted upon the mountainous saga the hand of a creator. Among them all one only made the grand success. The word Faust is now the eternal monument of Goethe's genius: "Striving to be gods, the angels fell: Well may we glorify the wisdom of all natural orbits and spheres. In them all may shine and do shine, from seraph to glowworm; out of them all are dimmed and broken at last. Preserved, saved, is the member of the quality of the womanly influence in leading humanity to continually higher levels: "Das Ewigweibliche * "The forever womanly Leadeth us upward and on." Goethe, born at Frankfort, 1749, dying at Weimar, 1832, had a long term in which to work out a great series of literary and I may also say scientific results, for he was what his countrymen have always called him - the "Many-sided." His genius was too calm to be tragic after the manner of Shakespeare; too serene to leave a display of dead bodies on the stage. But, without killing the body, life is often deeply tragical. To speak in metaphor, high mountains may be seen on his landscape, but not broken, wild, jagged, and volcanic, like the wildest of natural scenes. No Vesuvius or Niagara expresses him. Still, in temperament and variety, he may justly be compared to a mountain such as South America not unfrequently contains, and which iu temperature runs up through all the latitudes and zones of the earth, bearing their respective flora on its sides, and lifting its summit high spiritual world who is persistent in his strug- ❘ above its cloudy banners in the eternal light gle against evil; thus teaches one of the closing stanzas of the Second Part of "Faust." "With joy the heavenly hosts go forth to fmeet him." As Faust rises from the terminus of his earthly pathway of error, sin, and repentance, up to heaven, the prologue to the First Part, which opens in heaven, seems to grow into truer consonance with the end. If the devil in "Faust" is too much of a scholar and a gentleman in his accomplishments to answer the common conception, let it be remembered under what numerous forms of the more exterior refinements, not unfrequently of mental and social cultivation, the poison of moral evil lurks and disseminates itself. The wilds of grossness cannot retain Mephistopheles. He adapts himself to parlor, studio, and the professor's gown, in these modern times; knows habiliments of silk and broadcloth with golden ornaments, so that the symbols of lion, ass, poodle, and serpent, do not express all that appears in his manifoldness. That "Nature is the living garment of the Deity," that the "spiritual world" (Geisterwelt) "is not closed," except as the closed inner sense and the dead heart of man shut Ouk it out ("Dein Sinn ist zu, dein Herz ist todt"), es and that the divine agency is incessantly active in weaving the texture of the living cosmos, are among the many exalted sentiments of this poem. The love of Nature which always distinguishes Goethe is displayed in not a few of its passages; it was his permanent consciousness that he was a part Nature, and in accord with its order and spirit. In a former article* I spoke of the first ice universal type of the human conflict with limitation in the character conflict with he the the first woman, Eve, the earliest aspirant for deific knowledge; in looking over the last two lines of the Second Part of "Faust," it is somewhat gratifying to find the great poet fully confessing to the high rank and * JOURNAL, July 17, 1875. of sun and stars. His English biographer, I think, summed up quite happily the opinion of the highest grade of literary persons when he said, "Goethe was a poet whose religion was beauty, whose worship was of Nature, and whose aim was culture." E. G. HOLLAND. CRUELTY TOWARD ANIMALS IN DAMASCUS.t A FEW words about the street-dogs, as I have become very familiar with their habits and customs. In all Eastern towns they have sprung up from the time of the Creation; they multiply extensively, they belong to nobody, they are not held sacred, but, as they are the town scavengers, nobody kills them. In Brazil, the vulture, a large, black, repulsive bird, supplies the place of dogs, and is therefore protected by a twenty-pound penalty. With the Moslem it is a sin to take life, but it is allowable, or rather it is the practice, to torture, maim, and ill-use short of death. These poor brutes live on the offal of the town, they sleep in the streets, they bring forth their young on a mud-heap, and at a tender age the pups join the pack. They are ill-used by the whole population, and, like Ishmael, their hand is against every one, and every one's hand is against them. The people beat them, kick them, stone them, so that out of eighteen thousand you will not see a dozen * Pickering's second edition of the Second Part of "Faust," as completed in 1831 (London, 1842), translates the last stanza thus: elders with a whole body, or four sound legs. They are so unused to kindness that if you touched one it would bite your hand off like a wild beast, supposing that you were going to injure it. Were you to remain alone in a bazaar at night, shut up with them, it is probable that they would attack you in a pack, and kill you. There is a story of a sea-captain who drank a little too much, and lay down in a public place. In the morning, only a gnawed bone or two, his sailor's cap and tattered clothes, told the horrible story. It is quite possible that this should happen, the animals are so starved. Their habits are regulated by laws of their own. I have grown, in the solitude of Salahiyyeh, to learn them. At night, when profound stillness reigns in the village, you suddenly hear a dog coming down from the Kurdish burial-ground on the roots of the mountains. He communicates some news to the dogs nearest the borders of the village. There is a chorus of barking; it ceases, and a single dog is commissioned to bear the news to the dogs of our quarter. They set up a howl, which ceases after a few minutes, and one of our lot is detached, and flies down the gardens to the dogs near the Bab Salahiyyeh. Whatever the canine news is, in about twenty minutes it is passed round to all the dogs of Damascus. I cultivated the affections of those of our quarter, and found that in attachment and fidelity they differ in nothing from the noblest mastiff or most petted terrier; every time my husband or I went out, a dog was sent on guard by their community to accompany us to the border of his boundary, when he appeared to pass us on to a friend in the next boundary, to wag his tail for a bow, and to take his leave, as a savage chieftain would frank you from tribe to tribe. If a stranger comes, they set up a chorus of barking, and follow him in crowds. If a dog goes into another territory, all the others fly at and fasten on him, as if they said "Who's that, Bill?" "A stranger." "Then 'eave 'arf a brick at him!" If an English dog comes among them, they bark around and try his mettle, and he has to settle the question for himself the first day, like a new boy at a public school. A butcher in Beyrout had an awful-looking English bulldog, which had an ugly reputation, and when he turned out, every pariah filed from the bazaar. I brought with me a St. Bernard pup, a perfect beauty, as big as a young calf. He was so unusually big that I have seen country donkeys and ponies shy at him, probably mistaking him for a wild animal; but the dogs were not afraid of him he was so good-tempered that they used to worry him in packs, just like human beings. But the bull-terriers, though they were only pups, the streetdogs dared not even look at. They used to fly at the sight of the leopard, and the leopard worried them, but never touched the bullpups. I established two caldrons to collect the leavings of the house-the good was given to the poor, the refuse to the street-dogs; not less than fifty used to live near, and crowd round our door. Every time I came out they formed a flock around me. There were two in particular that I used to compassionate-one was paralyzed in its hind-quarters, and used to drag itself along by the fore-paws. I one day rolled up some medicine in a ball of meat, and threw it to the poor creature, who swallowed it greedily, and got well. The other was a half-starved, mangy, idiotic-looking cur, with one eye, too weak to fight for itself. When the caldron of food came out it got nothing, so I used to set its portion apart. No matter when I went out, where, or for how long, you would see these two poor misshapen beasts following, sitting patiently at a respectful distance if I stopped anywhere, and accompanying me home, as if they were afraid of losing sight of me, or fearing some accident might befall me without their protection. Long after I left Syria my neighbors wrote that it pained them to see my protégés there; that if they could forget me the dogs would shame them, that every time the house-door opened, the pack used to rush to it, and then sit and whine because I did not come out. You will say for the food. Yes; but it shows that they have affection, intelligence, gratitude, and memory. There is a pious custom here to the benefit of the lower animals. When a good Moslem is on his death-bed, or when during life he wants a petition to be granted, he does not give to the poor, but he leaves a legacy for bread for the dogs. Often he makes a vow, "If I gain such and such a cause, I will devote so much money to feeding the kiláb : " and you often see some one with a basket surrounded by dogs, throwing the fragments until all is distributed. There is also the Diyyet; if a man kills a pariah it is hung up by the tail, and he is obliged to buy as much wheat as will cover the body up from muzzle to tip, which is made into bread and given to the dogs. My husband tells me that in former times, at home, the same penalty was paid for killing the king's cats. My pups led me into several scrapes. One day when the baker came, one and all seemed to at seeing them? In a place where no authority | throwing huge stones as big as a melon against would take notice of such trifles, could I remain a passive spectator? I lent our camel to groom No. 2. He had to ride seventy-two miles to Beyrout, wait two days, and return. He knew exactly how he would have been obliged to treat the animal in my presence. Presently I noticed a strange odor in the stables, and found that it did not eat, and that the tears streamed from its eyes. The man said it was fatigued, and would be all right in a few hours. I rode down to the town on the donkey, and then met one of our dragomans, who said to me: "Do you know about your camel?" seen it." "When you ride back, make it kneel." I rode back to the stable, called Hanna, and said: "Make that camel kneel." I removed the cloth that covered him, and to my horror saw a large hole in his back, uncovering the spine. It was already mortifying. "Explain this!" I said. The man confessed that he had never taken the saddle off from the time of going out to coming in again; that the stuffing had given way, and that the pommel, which is like a metal stick, had run into its back and caused a hole bigger than a man's fist; that he only discovered it on returning and taking the saddle off, some eight hours before. Hitherto he had only been guilty of disobedience, and proved himself not to be trusted with an ani for the servants. Suddenly, I found to my horror that he had a bull-pup hanging to each arm and each leg. I flew down-stairs, called them off, gave him restoratives, dressed his wounds, and made him a present, especially a new suit of clothes. I was sincerely grieved and shocked, and he was very good, and never said a word more about the matter. Many people would have brought me to the tribunal. They never did such a thing before nor since. One, however, was a sneaking little thing, who secretly hated the Jews - I suppose she knew them by their dress. Some of them were very much attached to us, but the moment they came in she would go and sit by them, and when no one was looking she would take a sly bite at their legs, and then, instead of running away, sit looking the picture of innocence. None of the other three ever did so, and at first I would not believe them until they showed me the mark of her teeth. I was obliged to correct her, and and ordered warm water. Hanna returned with a saucepan of boiling water, and was about to pour it into the wound. I had kept my temper until then; I was only just in time to save the poor animal from what would have obliged us to put a bullet through its head. Hanna and the saucepan made a very speedy exit out of the stable, never to enter it again. I cured the camel, and after two months sold it for a trifle as unsound. There was a small pariah dog that lived about my door. One night I heard a moaning under the window, but it was dark, blustering, and bitter cold, and I could neither see nor find any thing. In the morning I saw my protégé lying there paralyzed with the frost. The poor little thing was past cure, it had only one paw to crawl upon. While I was dressing to go down and take it in for none of the servants would have touched it-I saw many who passed give it a kick, and the boys trying to drive it about when it could not ever after to shut her up when any of them | crawl out of the way of their brutality. At called. I scarcely know if this is a good moment to introduce an appeal for a "humane society" in Damascus; I believe it could easily be arranged if our consul-general would ask the Wali to favor the merciful project-if Europeans would form it, and make it rather a distinction to admit influential natives. While I was there I had to be my own humane society, and frequently was in trouble with the natives, caused by rescuing some unhappy brute from their cruelty. To set forth the necessity of the society, I must detail a few of the horrors I have seen. In doing so I shall rend the heart and excite the anger of my readers, especially of women of fine feeling-I will be judged by them. If they feel so much last a crowd began to collect to torment it. Its screams were piteous. I begged my husband to go out and shoot it; but he had too good a reputation to risk it by taking life. My Moslem servants would not. The Christians were afraid of the former; so I got my little gun, threw up my window, and shot it dead. The crowd quickly dispersed, with many a Máshálláh at my sinfulness, and all day I could see them telling one another, and pointing at my window. Another night I heard cries of distress somewhere in the orchards near our house. Thinking it was one of the usual brawls, and that somebody was being killed, I seized the only thing at hand, a big English huntingwhip, and ran out in the direction of the noise. a dead-wall, from which issued howls of agony. I dispersed them right and left. Some fell down on their knees, others ran, and others jumped over the wall. I was left alone; it was very dark, and I said to myself, "Where can the victim be? It must have escaped in the confusion." I was going away, when I perceived something brown near the wall. I lit a match, and found a large bundle tied up in a sack. I thought perhaps it was a girl, or a baby, but it was a big pariah dog: they had caught it asleep, laid a huge stone on its tail, bundled head and fore-legs into a sack, and were practising the old Eastern habit of killing by stoning. The difficulty was, how to let the poor animal out: it would, perhaps, think that I had done the cruel act, and fly at me. However, I could not go back to sleep and leave things thus, so I mustered courage. Firstly, I cut the strings with my knife, and pulled it off the head and body, leaving the stone for my own protection; and then, finding that it did not hurt me, I managed with considerable effort to remove the weight. The wretch behaved better than many human beings-he crawled up, licked my hand, and followed me home. I saw a donkey, staggering under a load fit for three, in a broiling sun. It passed our fountain and turned to drink. The man, grudging the moment, gave the donkey a push that sent it with a crash on the hard stones, crushed under its load, bleeding at the nose from thirst and over-exertion. Maddened by the loss of time this would entail, the owner jumped upon its head and tried to stamp its brains out with his wooden boots. The servants, hearing the noise, and seeing what I was about, thought the human brute had attacked me, and set upon him like hornets. I did not stop them till he had received his deserts. Then we obliged him to unload his donkey, to let the beast drink, to wash its wounds, and to wait while it ate barley from my stable. I also sent a servant on horseback to tell the whole story to his master. The fellow had acted, in fact, as a Lancashire "purrer" treats his wife. A man brought me his favorite cat, with back and hind-quarters crushed by a boy, and asked me if I had any medicine to cure it. I said: "Do let me have it killed; one of my servants will blow its brains out-it is horribly cruel to keep it alive one moment." "May God forgive you such sinfulness!" he replied. "I will put it in a room, and let it die its natural death" (starvation). Half an hour afterward I saw that the boys were torturing it in the street. I sent a servant to bring it in, and to dispatch it with a bullet. The man was very much shocked. A boy brought a donkey to water at the fountain near our house. It was evidently worn out with fatigue and thirst, and had either a strained back or a disease in the loins, so that the suspicion of any thing touching its back was a terror to it. Every time the poor beast put down its head to drink the boy touched the tender place with a switch, which made the whole body quiver. It might have been a cabman establishing a "raw." I called a servant, who took the donkey away, letting it first eat and drink, and sent it back to the master. The boy was never sent again. I saw a girl of about twelve or thirteen jumping on a nest of kittens on the road-side, evidently enjoying the distressing mewing of the mother. I have often seen boys steal pups in the mother's absence, carry them away per at reading these things, what must I have felt | Then I perceived forty or fifty boys in a crowd | haps for a quarter of an hour, play at ball with "But look," he said, in a whining tone; ❘ stand the necessity of putting an animal out "look what the horse is doing!" T the TL L them on the hard stones, and throw them down maimed and to starve. I have seen parents give pups and kittens to their children for this purpose, to keep them quiet. The worst thing I saw was not done by a boy or by a brutal boor, but by an educated mau, and, moreover, a European, in charge of an establishment at Beyrout. He used to tie up his horse, a good, quiet beast, and with a cow-hide thong beat its head, eyes, and the most tender parts for ten minutes. His sister used to ride the horse, but lately it had become fractious and ill-tempered through bad usage. Any one who understood animals could see that the poor brute's heart was broken from beating and starvation, or from inability to eat. The first time I saw this cruelty I "gave him a bit of my mind." My dragoman (Mulhem Wardi) held me back. "For God's sake, Sitti, don't speak to him; he will strike you; he is a madman." I begged him to consider his country, his profession, the European name before natives, his pretensions to be a gentleman. "Will you sell it to me for twenty-five piastres (fifty pence)? If I can cure it, the luck is mine; if I can't, my money is lost." To this she joyfully agreed, though she could hardly help laughing in my face at what she supposed to be my knowledge of ass-flesh. I paid my money, and drove home my donkey, but it was so weak that two hours on its three legs were required to reach our garden close by. I need not say that its last days were happy. A thick litter was spread in a soft, shady place under the trees; a large tub of fresh water, and another of tibn and corn, stood by it during the rest of its time; its hoof was washed, bandaged, and doctored daily. It grew fat, but the vet. discovered that a young hoof had begun to grow, and that from total neglect the worms had eaten it away. There was no hope that it could ever move from that spot, so I had it shot, which the villagers thought very sinful. They admired the mercy, but they never could under The poor beast was standing quite quiet, with despair in its eyes. I could not speak politely. "You make me sick, sir. Your horse is broken-hearted-it hasn't even the courage to kick you." He then said that he was of too nervous and sensitive a disposition; and I told him that in that case he ought to be locked up, for that he was a dangerous man to have charge of a public institution. I told his consul-general what had occurred, and he agreed with me that it was a scandal that pained the whole community; but it was not an official matter which could be reported to the embassador. I heard afterward that he had lost his appointment for roughness to those under him. It was a thousand pities, for he was a clever professional. I heard a story that is not bad if true-but I will not vouch for it that a person with a sense of humor sent for him, but put a loaded revolver on the table close to hand. "What is that for?" said the horse-torturer. "Oh, that," said the person, "is in case you get one of your nervous and sensitive attacks while you are attending on me!" It was added that this episode did him good. I was walking one day through the village of Bludán, our summer quarter in the AntiLebanon, and I saw a skeleton donkey standbeing near a cottage, holding up one foot, of which the hoof was hanging by a mere thread. I called to some of the villagers. "Whose animal is that?" 1 of its misery. I will not quote any more cases. What I have said will suffice to show the daily occurrences of this kind, the brutality of the lower orders, and the utter indifference of the better classes. Every person of good feeling will know what a trial it is to witness acts of cruelty and oppression, especially when exercised upon women, children, and dumb brutes. I respect the Moslem's thorough regard for the sanctity of life, which among us, perhaps, is too little regarded.* In Europe I should have complained to the police. But here there is no legal penalty for barbarous acts, and one must often become one's own police. But, right or wrong, I could not, and I never will, remain a quiet spectator of brutality. I would rather loose the esteem of those who are capable of condemning me. People of delicate health, selfish dispositions, and coarse minds, can always bear the sufferings of others placidly. These will probably disapprove of me, but I can bear it. I am sorry thus to be my own trumpeter, and to tell how much good I did; but on these occasions I have sat with and explained to the offenders why these acts are so sinful and shameful, how Allah made the animals, gave them to our care, recommended them to our mercy, and expects an account of our stewardship; how faithful, patient, and long-suffering the poor dumbling is; how dependent on our will; how it has all the toil, too often starvation and bodily injuries, at our hands. I often wonder what the brutes must think of the human race, and what a disappointment many of us "higher animals" must be to the lower. The people have listened and thought, and said, "Sitti, I never heard all this before, and I really will try not to do it again;" and they deserve the high praise not only of understanding me, but of allowing themselves to be guided by a woman and a stranger. During the last fifteen months of our residence no cruel acts took place near my house at Salahiyyeh, or at our summer quarter above Bludán. I maintain that if a society "for the prevention of cruelty to animals" were established at Damascus it would quickly bring its own reward. * My husband tells me this story of the South American gaucho: "Juan, why did you cut Pedro's throat? He was an old chum of yours." "Ah, señor, the pobrecito had a bad cold, and so I put him out of his misery." T THE AULD WIFE. HE warld has had eneugh, auld man, 'Tis time that we had gane frae it We mony a silky fleece can claim Our sheld cow leads a sleekit herd At our gay, routhie kirns: I' Rutherglen thou'st steekt eneugh But, Duncan, we are stoopt an' gray, Nor wair withi' the door; For the nestlin's that are gane. Oh! the hungry heart can na' be filled Wi' frien'ship nor wi' bread, That's longin', longin' evermair For the luve o' ane that's dead. An' we ha'e sought thro' creepin' years Our grim dool's counter-bane, Till we gae stiff an' sair wi' toil Yet here's the same auld pain. An' tho' we've ilk for ither tried To play the cheerin' part, An' hide, by smilin' o' the lips, The weepin' o' the heart; Yet ilk kens that the ither lo'es Far mair the gowan's snaw Upo' three little kirk-yard groes Than a' the hadden braw. That we are weary bidin' now Our darlin's we maun show; But shall ane gae alane aboon Whilst the ither left below? Oh, wad the mornin' sun might light Our twa brows quit o' care, Whilst our twa souls our bairnies clasped Where partin' cooms na mair! * L. A. W. S. * GLOSSARY. - Wat, wet; bieldin, sheltering; sheld, speckled; sleekit, sleek; bings, heaps of farm-produce; routhie, plentiful; kirns, harvestsuppers; steekt, shut up, stored; bens, inner apartments; rief, plenty; tent, watch, take care of; wair, to use; croone, moan; dools, sorrow's; gowan's, daisy's; groes, graves; hadden, a piece of land, the stocking of a farm, the furniture of a house; braw, fine, handsome; bidin', awaiting; maun, must; aboon, above. |