These are all the result of many years of careful selection, each finding among its ancestors the noted Arab steeds, “praised as the noblest animal of creation by the naturalist, the expert and the poet.” The Horses of the Levant and the Barbary have also aided to render the English thoroughbred the greatest race horse of the old world. The American trotters have not been behind, for as far back as 1889 the maximum recorded pace was one mile in two minutes and three and three-fourths seconds. For the practical uses of life there seem to be as many breeds of Horses as are necessary to meet the varying requirements of an industrial civilization. We find all kinds and sizes, from the heavy and powerful Percheron or Clydesdale cart Horse, standing sometimes over six feet in height, to the smallest Shetland pony which may be even less than three feet at the withers, and we find Horses of various colors, of various lengths of mane and tail, and of varying degrees of intelligence. While all Horses are not well treated, yet no animal is so respected and loved by man and no other animal has become so close a companion. While many nations as a whole have loved and cherished their Horses, the Arab steeds have been most appreciated and have entered closest into the daily life and thought of their masters. Only when it has attained its seventh year do they consider the education of the Horse complete and meanwhile it has been the constant companion and friend of its master. In the extravagant and poetical language of the East, one Arab thus speaks of his beloved Horse: “Do not tell me that this animal is my horse, say that he is my son. It runs more quickly than the wind of a storm, more swiftly than the glance that sweeps the plains. It is pure as gold. Its eye is clear and so keen that it sees a hair in the dark. It overtakes the gazelle in its course. To the eagle it says: I hurry on like you. When it hears the shouts of girls it neighs with joy, and the whistling of bullets rejoices its heart. From the hands of women it begs for alms; the enemy it beats in the face with its hoofs. When it can run to its heart’s desire, it weeps tears. It recks not whether the sky be clear or the blasts of the desert obscure the light of the sun with dust; for it is a noble steed and despises the rage of the storm. There is no other in this world that could vie with it. Swift as a swallow, it courses on; so light is its weight that it could dance on the breast of your beloved and not annoy her. It understands all like a son of Adam, and all it lacks is speech.” John Ainslie. A MELODY. Afar and near, afar and wide, The murm’ring chant of a running stream, Across the rocks to the brimming tide Of the shining sea, its waters gleam.