But, to return to the earthly lot and position of this poor, libelled animal.  Among all the four-footed creatures domesticated to the service of man, this has always been the veriest scapegoat and victim of the cruellest and crabbedest of human dispositions.  Truly, it has ever been born unto sorrow, bearing all its life long a weight of abuse and contumely which would break the heart of a less sensitive animal in a single week.  From the beginning it has been the poor man’s beast of burden; and “pity ’tis ’tis true,” poor men, in all the generations of human poverty, have been far too prone to harshness of temper and treatment towards the beasts that serve them and share their lot of humble life.  The donkey is made a kind of Ishmaelite in the great family of domestic animals.  He is made, not born so.  He is beaten about the head unmercifully with a heavy stick, and then jeered at for being stupid and obstinate! just as if any other creature, of four or two legs, would not be stupid after such fierce congestion of the brain.  His long ears subject him to a more cruel prejudice than ever color engendered in the circle of humanity but just above him.  True, he is rather unsymmetrical in form.  His head is disproportionately long and large, quite sufficient in these dimensions to fit a camel.  He is generally a hollow-backed, pot-bellied creature, about the size of a yearling calf, with ungainly, sloping haunches, and long, coarse hair.  But nearly all these deformities come out of the shameful treatment he gets.  You occasionally meet one that might hold up its head in any animal society; with straight back, symmetrical body and limbs, and hair as soft and sleek as the fur of a Maltese cat; with contented face, and hopeful and happy eyes, showing that he has a kind master.

The donkey is really a useful and valuable animal, which might be introduced into America with great advantage to our farmers.  I know of no animal of its size so tough and strong.  It is astonishing, as well as shocking, to see what loads he is made to draw here.  The vehicle to which he is usually harnessed is a heavy, solid affair, frequently as large as our common horse-carts.  He is put to all kinds of work, and is almost exclusively the poor man’s beast of burden and travel.  In cities and large towns, his cart is loaded with the infinitely-varied wares of street trade; with cabbages, fish, fruit, or with some of the thousand-and-one nicknacks that find a market among the masses of the common people.  At watering-places, or on the “commons” or suburban playgrounds of large towns, he is brought out in a handsome saddle, or a well got-up little carriage, and let by the hour or by the ride to invalid adults, or to children bubbling over with life.  Here, although the everlasting club, to which he is born, is wielded by his driver, he often looks comfortable and sleek, and sometimes wears a red ribbon at each ear.  It would not pay to bring on to