chamberlain in the exercise of his functions.
The pride of the animal is sometimes carried
to such an excess, as to degenerate into
disdainfulness. Bucephalus, according to
Plutarch's account, when once caparisoned,
would condescend to speak to no one of lower
rank than Alexander. The Arab poet Eldimiri
also relates that the caliph Merouan had
a horse who would not permit his own valet
de chambre to enter his apartments, without
being called. One day, when the unfortunate
groom had forgotten the rule, the horse,
indignant at his want of respect, seized him by
the back, and crushed him against the marble
manger. But, without invoking further
testimony to demonstrate a truth which is
clearer than daylight, the book of Job,
composed three thousand years ago, under the
cover of a tent in the open Arabian desert,
overflows with magnificent allusions to the
warlike and chivalrous nature of the courser.
Here our enthusiastic zoological psychologist
is obliged to hint, "in a subdued whisper,"
that the thorough-bred horse is slightly
carnivorous. M. Toussenel wrote, too, in
ignorance of an anecdote which has been
recently circulated in the English newspapers.
A Doncaster stallion, having some violent
objection to being taken out to exercise,
cunningly allowed the jockey to get upon
his back; but, when his master approached
to adjust the stirrups, the animal suddenly
seized his thigh between his teeth, turned
him over and began to worry him as a cat
worries a mouse; throwing the jockey over
his head unharmed. Perhaps the gentleman
between his teeth thought at first that the
noble thorough-bred was only in play; but,
when stripped of his coat, shirt, and a few
other garments, the joke, he felt, was
becoming serious. The victim's son, however,
came to the rescue and used a stable-fork so
effectually over the brute's head and face,
that the victim was saved from being eaten
up alive, with only a few bruises on his head
and teeth-marks in his thigh.

The Town Council of Athens had to make
their choice between Minerva, the goddess of
wisdom, and Neptune, the god of the waves ;
who warmly contested the honour of becoming
patron saint of the new parish. The goddess
of peace, when requested to display her
talents, caused the earth to send forth the
olive tree, the emblem of toilsome but profitable
labour;—a dull-looking plant, with hard,
knotty wood, and harsh, intractable fruit ;
but capable of producing, if labour be bestowed
upon it, an abundant supply both of light
and riches. The god of the sea then took his
turn. He vehemently struck the earth with
his trident, and out there sprung from it a
fiery horse, who instantly exhibited his
qualifications by kicking and neighing viciously,
very much after the prompt and stormy
fashion of the boisterous raiser and ruler of
tempests. The wise and liberty-loving people
of Athens had the good sense to prefer the
symbol of emancipative industry—of free
trade, in short—to that of oppressive aristocracy;
and they were fortunate in their
choice. Who can doubt that Rome would
have voted for the gift of Neptune ?

If you want thoroughly to understand the
character and institutions of the patriarchal
world, you have only to put a few questions
to the horse. Amongst the patriarchs of the
Arab tribes, the horse, the companion of the
glory and the perils of his chief, stands the
first in his affections : his wife and children
only hold a second place. Coquettish
attentions, tender caresses, and poetical praises are
his by right. His genealogical tree is better
kept than that of the family, just as his mane
is more artistically brushed and polished than
the raven tresses of the wife. The reason is,
that in the patriarchal world the warrior
caste is everything ; and the barbarian father
has the right of life and death over his wife
and children. It is a sorrowful fact that the
oppression of the weak, and the misery of the
labourer, are always in direct proportion to
the prosperity of the horse. Every revolution
which exalts the people abases the horse.
This profound remark has escaped the
sagacity of historians in general.

If we follow the fortunes of the horse, the
panorama of the successive phases of the
human race will unfold itself before our eyes,
The horse is the first conquest of the dog ; he
is one of the pivots on which the very existence
of a patriarchal tribe hinges. (One day
or other, the tribe appears in the character of
conquerors, and deserts its tents for the palaces
of Babylon. That is the transition from the
patriarchate to barbarism. The victorious
horde is soon obliged to organise itself, in
order to insure a firmer settlement upon the
conquered territory. The first step it takes,
is to ennoble the services of the horse, who
has contributed his share in the achievement
of success. The dogs and the horses
of the Gauls in every battle sided with their
masters. The ennobling of the horse is,
properly speaking, the institution of the
feudal system. The highest functionary of
state, next to the king, is called Constable
(comes stabuli, or Count of the stable) ; then
comes the Marshal (maréchal, or shoeing-smith
and veterinarian) ; then the Grand
Esquire (first footman to the horse), and so
on. The apogee of the horse's splendour tells
of the flourishing times of ennobled feudality
and chivalry. The horse is mentioned, in the
songs of the poets, side by side with the
noblest heroes. But fortune changes after a
time. Gunpowder has killed both the
horse and feudality at one blow. The spirit
of inquiry rises, and protests; the dawn of
popular liberty is breaking on the horizon.
The war-horse has told us of days that are
past, of the patriarchate and barbarism, of
Abraham and Semiramis, of Athens and
Rome; it will just as easily explain to us the
spirit of the present time, and perhaps, if we