XLII 



Of all horse-flesh, so to speak, the patient little com- 

 monplace every-day ass takes the lead. There is no de- 

 nying him the palm. Were I a Homer or a Dante, or eke 

 a Holmes, I would indite an epic, or at least pen an heroic 

 rhyme to the character, strength, and courage of this 

 noblest of the equine race. In every country where se- 

 vere economics are thrust upon the people, the ass comes 

 to the rescue and does the work which no other creature 

 alive can do. He lives on nothing; he is rarely fed — in 

 times of drought or extra hard work a pittance of barley 

 — but is turned loose to find what he may. He is never 

 vicious or obstinate, but works on hard and faithfully 

 till his poor old ears flop downward from age, his head 

 droops from weariness, and he literally falls under his load 

 and dies in his tracks, after serving his often cruel master 

 some score or more of years. When he is put to work as 

 a yearling — for he often is — he does not last so long. I 

 have ridden one at eighteen months which had been 

 trained but two weeks, and yet was gentle, bridle-wise, 

 and well-gaited. Where is there such a horse? 



The habit of cruelty to the ass, though universal, is 

 sometimes only thoughtlessness. It is bred in the bone. 

 You will see a child cuffing and beating a donkey which 

 is standing under its load at the door, " just to learn how." 

 The utility of the ass is always recognized. yEsop, who 

 tells us that to the ass's prayer for a less cruel master Jove 

 replied that it was beyond even his power to change the 



