THE BARN. 



horses do n't do these things, and the presumption is 

 therefore that they can not. But if we had only four 

 big hoofs, and could eat nothing but hay and oats, 

 and whinner, could we act much differently from our 

 horses, no matter how magnificent a brain we might 

 have concealed beneath our great long ears and coat 

 of hair? Is it not man's superior equipment which 

 gives him his power, and which has developed his 

 brain? If we should become horses and dogs, would 

 we, I wonder, be as intelligent as they? 



If we could only know, doubtless we should find 

 in these great dumb beasts — dumb, so far as our speech 

 is concerned — with their soft lips and great coats of 

 hair and waving manes and sensitive nostrils — I say 

 doubtless, if we could only know, we should find a rich 

 soul life there; associated, as their life is, with all the 

 influences of Nature, the water, the dewy grass, the 

 fresh earth, the sky — all those facts that we account 

 most beautiful and sacred and uplifting in our own 

 lives. And why not in theirs? 



Books do n't teach a man everything. There is a 

 great deal that can, and ought to be, learned outside 

 of books in the school of life, among men and animals, 

 and with the flowers and grass under the blue sky. I 

 can not give any other interpretation to certain things 

 I have noticed among my dumb animal friends and 

 companions through this world than that the animals, 

 however vaguely or dimly, share with us the same feel- 

 ings and sensations and, so far as I know, the same 

 thoughts, that the varied experiences of life give rise 

 to and intensify in our own minds. They certainly 

 have a sense of mystery, and, rudimentary though their 



