So when the ring with joyful shouts rebounds, With rage and pride the imprison'd courser bounds: He frets, he foams, he rends his idle rein, Springs o'er the fence, and headlong seeks the plain. Lucan. On the Cruelty of Horse-racing. HORSE-RACING has been promoted by royal encouragement, and is followed by the nobles of the land, and by professional sharpers, for the purpose of obtaining money according to a code of laws, which honesty has no concern with, called the laws of honour! This sport is as little connected with humanity as with honesty. The horse is a most useful, willing, noble animal, so tractable, that no person, under the influence of reason, can ever think of misusing a creature distinguished by such valuable properties. Yet, strange to assert, there is scarcely a man pos sessed of a good horse, that fails either for sport or profit, to push its goodness to its destruction, instead of prudently husbanding his good fortune. If a horse can trot ten miles an hour, it is not long before a wager is laid, that he trots twelve miles; if this should be accomplished, so much the worse for the excellent beast, higher wagers succeed under an increase of task, till his spirit and powers sink at last under the whip and spur. The savage church-going christian calculates in his favour the difference only between the bet and the price of his nag. It is certain, that horses are more noble and more valuable animals in this world, than five out of ten of their masters. Out of a catalogue of cruelty and abuses to this beautiful species of the horse, we shall select two or three instances only. "A young jockey, who rode for various employers, described very feel ingly the painful situation in which he then found himself: he had ridden the horse of a gentleman who kept several in training, and of whom he had received many favours; but though he had exerted all his skill with one horse, he found it impossible to win. He was engaged to ride the same horse again. He represented to his employer the impossibility of winning. His reasoning, however, was not calculated to make any impression on the flinty heart of this Smithfield sportsman. He abused the lad for his tenderness, and his orders were to Make him win, or cut his entrails out. Mark, if you do not give him his belly full of whip, you shall never ride again for me. I'll find horse, if you'll find whip and spur!' The generous animal ran three four-mile heats without flinching, with such an excses of exertion, that his eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets: but he was unsuccessful. I saw him with an aching heart,' says our humane author, literally cut up alive, from his shoulders to his flanks,' To my great mortification, no one rebuked the thick headed miscreant, who was the author of this useless piece of cruelty, except his jockey, who declared he would perish for want rather than ever again repeat such an infamous piece of business." Lawrence on Horses. Two horses started April 16, 1793, at Whitechapel church, to proceed one hundred miles, that is, to the fifty mile stone at Colchester, and back again, in twelve hours. On their return one of them died at Boreham, the thirty-second mile-stone, having performed sixty-eight miles of the journey. The other crawled through Chelmsford, with a lad on his back, and died at Widford, the twenty seventh mile-stone, falling short thirty three miles. Sherborne Weekly Entertainer, 27th May, 1793. Ar the Harlowbush fair, on Wednesday, a poney, about twelve hands high, was engaged, for a wager, to run one hundred miles in twelve hours. The little animal went sixty miles in six hours; but at the eightieth, its heart broke, and it fell down dead. Bell's Messenger, Sept. 21st, 1801. Mr. W's mare Tuneful, who has bolted every race she ever ran before, was Tuesday last rode at Newmarket, in winkers, with her tongue tied with whipcord. Salisbury and Winchester Journal, |