wheelers, which unhappily for themselves are within range of its infliction. The hackney-coachmen and cabmen, too, "Though oft I've heard good judges say It costs them more for whips than hay," are not much worse than their more consequential brethren of the whip; all of them consider the noble creature, subjugated by their power, and abused most criminally through their cruelty, as a mere piece of machinery, to be flogged along like a top as long as it can be kept going. We reached the upper end of one of the numerous lanes leading from the Thames; five splendid horses were endeavouring to draw up a heavy waggon-load of coals; but as the two first turned into the street at right angles to the others, they were not aiding those behind them. Being stopped in their progress for some time, by a crowd of coaches, chaises, cabs, carts, and omnibuses, the labour of keeping the waggon on the spot it had already attained, and which was steep and slippery, rested upon the three hinder horses. At length the team was put in motion, all the leading ones being useless in succession as they turned to the angle of the street; and just at the critical point, when the whole enormous draught rested on the shaft horse, the waggoner, taxing its strength beyond its capability, struck it with the whip. The noble brute made one desperate plunge to execute his tyrant's will, and fell--dead upon the pavement. "I think," said my companion, "that we have had a good lesson upon whips to-day; I should prefer any other gift for my little boy here; for though it may be urged that he, like the rest of his sex at the same age, would merely make a noise with a whip, and would inflict no serious pain, I am bound to bear in mind the actual fact, that with the very sound of a whip is associated in the imagination of all domesticated animals, the apprehension of pain; that they are _terrorized_ when they hear that sound, even through a child's hand, and I must therefore conclude that this symbol of cruelty should not be his plaything." I agreed with him fully, and as our business lay in different directions, we parted at Blackfriar's Bridge, not, however, until my companion of the hour had handed me his card of address. This was an act of unexpected compliment which I could not return exactly in the same way; I told him that I had never written my name on a visiting card in my life, but that I was Martin Doyle, at his service, and a contributor to the new _Irish Penny Journal_, just started in Dublin. "Is not Dublin," said he, "in Ireland?" I stared. "I believe," added he, "that Ireland is a pretty place." I wished the geographical gentleman a rather hasty farewell.