Iowa voter. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1867-1874, 1873-10-02
THE OLD HORSES DONATION
PARTY.
BY OLIVE THORNE.

It's such an odd story that perhaps you
may think made it up. But did not
It's every word true, and it happened
more than twenty years ago.
Horses do not often need donations, you
know; for most of them richly earn every
comfort they have. How many men
would be willing TO work as they do for a
few hard, prickly oats, an armfal of dusty
dry grass, and dismal old barn to sleep
in?
The unfortunate hero of my story be-
longcd to circus, and had tramped the
country over from one end to the other,
galloped around in stupid ring, and
learned various tricks to amuse you boys.
No one can say he did not honestly earn
his living.
But at last he met with an accident
And when he arrived in Chicago, in 1850,
his master found that he could no longer
take his part in the performances; and, of
course, he was burden to a travelling
circus. His owner, though circus man,
was kind hearted and attached to the un-
fortunate fellow; and he couldn't bear to
turn him out to starve, nor did he like to
kill him. In this emergency gentleman
living in Chicago, physician and a
wealthy man, knowing that he was a val
liable animal, and thinking that he could
cure him of his hurt and make him use
full offered to take him, and promised to
see that he never came to want. Upon
these terms the owner gladly left him. and
took his circus to parts unknown.
Well, the doctor found himself disap-
pointed about curing the hurt; and be-
fore long it became evident that he would
never more be able to work. So he gave
him warm corner in his barn and made
him comfortable the rest of his days--dO
you suppose? BY no means. He turned
him out TO starve.
Perhaps that is harsh way to put it.
don't suppose he really said any such
cruel thing to himself. He probably
thought: "The old horse will never be of
any use to me and | don't want to buy
oats and hay for him; SO I'll let him run
and pick up his own living"
But the fact was it was late in the fall !;
the grass was dead on the prairies and
there was no living to pick up. To be
sure, he got now and then bite out of a
load of hay in the street, or nibble out
of the back of farmers wagon, and
sometimes perhaps a potato or turnip
from a barrel in front of grocer's shop;
but with all his efforts he barely got
enough to keep the breath of life in him,
and not enough to keep him from looking
half dead and wholly miserable. He
grew thin and his ribs stuck out, and he
looked more like the frame of horse
wandering about the streets than he did
like the plump fellow he was when his
master left him.
At that time Chicago was not as big as
it is now, and after while people began
to notice the wretched wanderer and to
inquire about him, and before long every
body knew the story and felt indignant at
his fate. And at last two young men,
who wanted to shame the hard-hearted
doctor, and put the old horse out Of his
misery at the same time, concocted plan
for donation party.
The first thing they did was to put an
anonymous notice in the two daily city
papers tfor which the publishers took no
pay, by the way) setting forth the SORROWS
of the poor old horse, his working
life, and his unhappy fate, and calling on
every one who had heart to pity SUI
fering fellow-creature, to bring to the City
Hall Square, on a certain day named, any
thing in the way of horse provisions that
he felt able to contribute, that the unfor-
tunate pauper might end his days in
peace and comfort and their eyes no more
be vexed by his wandering ghost.
Then somebody wrote poem On the
text "Why should the poor despise the
rich 2" And some one printed it neatly
on small sheets of paper, ready to sell on
the great day.
When that day arrived, the wretched