The Princeton union., 1879-09-24
Only a Horse Car Horse.

Only horse-car horse, and bobtail
car at that.
o, the weary miles he has tugged at
that car, day in and out, night in and
out, through rain and sunshine, snow
storm and sunstroke.
Curses and blows and the cruel, rack
ing turns in the iron. hound paths. Not
much to eat and never kind word save
from the street Arab with hear, softer
than his lace
Only question of time when the lim-
1t OF endurance shall have come. Moth
ing to look forward to but the treadmill,
the curses and the racking turns IN the
track. Don't you suppose a horse needs
something pleasant to expect as we'll as
man2
"A blocking of the cars. All crowded
Everybody going home, from the days
work. Everybody tired, huugry, IN
hurry, cross. What's the delay? Only
a horse down On the curve by the Tombs.
More cursing and angry shouting and
pulling and kicking-yes kicking the
gaunt, rib-staring sides of that poor horse.
Weak, heated, hungry, worn out to the
last atom OF endurance, the last pound
OF pulling power, he has slipped and
blocked the track.
They may make the air blue with their
cursin2, they may kick and beat the hol-
low sides that echo like dismal drum:
they may be hungry and in hurry and
miss their dinners, trains and engage
ments.
That old car horse will never get up
again.
That's right. Don't stop to be gentle
or the least bit tender, or half human.
Hitch rope to his hind legs and let half
a hundred lusty men and boys pull and
haul and tug to get the obstacle off tie
track.
Pshaw! don't mind that he groans
most pitifully and shudders as you tear
his side against the track and the stones.
At last he is off, and in the gutter Oat
OF the way. But he isn't dead yet. O,
no!
What is he thinking off Days when
he was colt and frisked in the clover
stubble and dashed away through the
woods along the brook. All, those were
days indeed! Then came the time when
he snuffed the battle from atar, his Young
master riding hlm-thcn the mad charge
the flying shot the bursting of shells
the rushing upon the ramparts-the
leapino of the ditch-the wild shout of
victory. All, those were days indeed!
And now nothing but poor, worn-to-
death car horse left in the gutter to die.
0, for a bedding of straw for the aching
bones, for deep draught Of cool water
for the foaming fevcred mouth.
God bless the boy! He has only shirt
and a ragged pair of trousers. He is DIR
ty. He is one of the miserable urchins
you have often kicked from the rear plat
form of bobtail car. But God bless him
all the same. He has brought pail of
water and tugs at the head of the pros
trate horse to help him reach the water.
Between them half of it is lost, but the
horse got one good gulp at it.
And wherever did that boy steal that
straw, that he is now tucking under the
horse heads Never mind. Only once
does the poor brute open his eyes. tidy
ing eyes ever said "God bless your' the
dying eyes of that street car horse said it
to the dirty street Arab on his knees in
the gutter by the horses head.
1t is dirty hand that strokes the fore
LOCK and name. You wouldn't have that
dirty hand touch you Tor the world. But
the dead street car horse by the Tomba
corner doesn't mind it. .-.....