table to receive their prizes. One carried off a
silver cup of the value of ten guineas (which he
declared would be many times filled and emptied,
too, before the night was out); another, a crisp
new five-pound note, which he handled not
exactly in the manner of a bank-clerk; a third,
four golden sovereigns; a fourth, two pound
ten, looking quite an enormous sum in virtue of
its being partly in silver and wrapped up in
brown paper; a fifth one pound, and so on,
down to five shillings. I should not omit to
mention, that one of the donkeys that received
a prize was forty years old. For the best part
of that time it had worked hard, brought up a
large family, and never once been chargeable to
the parish. At an agricultural show in Bucks,
that donkey might compete with any old man
in the county. By the way, the extreme age
of this animal—looking none the worse for its
years—suggested to me that the reason why no
one ever sees a dead donkey, may be that they
never die, but survive from generation to
generation.

Without being very demonstrative in their
politeness—it is not easy to touch your hat
when you are holding a donkey with one hand,
and two pound ten, partly in silver, with the
other—the costermongers all seemed perfectly
satisfied with their prizes, and cheered right
heartily again and again when the chairman
mentioned the name of an excellent lady—there
present—who had been one of the most active
and generous promoters of the show.

So far, the exhibition was in all respects
highly gratifying, both as an evidence of good
that had been attained, and as a promise of
greater good to be attained in the future. But
unfortunately for my favourable impressions, I
lingered for some time in the Hall, and witnessed
the grand finale—which was an exhibition of
donkey-racing. The proverbial rule of the
donkey race-course is, that the hindmost wins;
but that was not the rule on the present occasion.
A heavy, long-legged costermonger, and
a great hulking sweep, got upon two poor
animals, much too small to carry them, and
endeavoured to urge them round the ring by
tugging at their mouths, and kicking them in
the ribs with their heavy hobnailed boots. The
managers of the show had considerately forbidden
the owners of the donkeys to bring sticks or
whips with them; but the donkeys enjoyed no
exemption from blows on that account. As
they were unwillingly urged round the arena,
they were poked with umbrellas, and banged
witli walking-sticks by every one of the
spectators who could get within reach of them.
I will say nothing harsher of the racing than
that it was an error of judgment. If the show
had been got up purely with a view to profit,
the manager would have had his justification.
He could have pointed to the crowds who
rushed into the Hall at four o'clock on
purpose to see the races. They would not come
before to inspect the donkeys in their stalls,
and take stock of the results of the teaching
of humanity. They would only pay their
shillings to be amused—to see animals driven
against their will, and used against their nature.
Yes, "used against their nature." In this one
sentence is contained the whole objection to
donkey-racing. The animal was not intended
to be a racer. He is not adapted for it. It
is not "his nature to." One does not need to
be an "eminent naturalist" to discover this.
The fact is patent to the most ordinary
observation. The donkey has a large head, and a
large body upon very slim, and somewhat short
legs. It is evident that those legs were not
intended to carry that heavy unwieldly body
along at a rapid rate. It is obvious, too, that
his foot was not designed so much for speed,
as to enable him to tread securely. The hoof
in its natural state is furnished with extremely
sharp rims, leaving a hollow in the centre, and
this provision is manifestly designed to fit him
for travelling on slippery ground, and for
ascending the precipitous sides of hills. In fact,
the donkey is a beast of burden for the mountain,
as the camel is for the sandy desert, the
elephant for the jungle, and the horse for the
level plain. The donkey is constantly protesting
against man's misuse of him. If he could speak,
he would say plainly " I am not a racer," but,
as he can't speak, he does the best he can to
convey his meaning to his insensible master.
When he is urged too fast, he obstinately holds
back and kicks; when he is laden too heavily,
lie lies down; but if well fed and well treated,
he will always do the work he is fitted for.
He will carry a reasonable burden without a
murmur, and he will trudge on for miles over
the roughest roads patiently and steadily,
without showing any signs of fatigue. At
future donkey-shows—and I hope there will be
one every year there must be no racing, even
to please the sensation hunters.

From what I saw at the Agricultural Hall, I
had reason to believe that costermongers'
donkeys were better treated than was generally
supposed. But thinking it probable that only
the best specimens had been chosen for exhibition,
I determined to pursue my researches in
quarters where the masters of the donkeys were
not under the eye of ladies and gentlemen of
the Humane Society. With this purpose I
went down to Billingsgate at six o'clock in the
morning, when the costermongers were arriving
in their donkey-trucks for their supply of fish;
and afterwards visited the New Cattle Market at
Islington, where, every Friday afternoon, large
numbers of horses and donkeys of the humblest
class are exposed for sale. At Billingsgate, I
saw from forty to fifty donkeys. I saw them
arrive with their empty trucks, and I waited to
see them depart with their loads; but, in the
course of two hours I did not notice a single
case in which a donkey was ill treated. On the
contrary, they seemed to be used with great
kindness and consideration. The first thing the
costermongers did on jumping out of their trucks
was to relieve the donkeys of their bridles, and
set baskets of food before them; and generally,
when they came up from the market with