Two years ago Mr. Galsworthy, who stands in the foremost rank of dog-lovers, and who has drawn for us some of the most lifelike and attractive dogs in fiction, pleaded strongly and emotionally for the exemption of this animal from any form of experimental research. He had the popular sentiment of England back of him, because popular sentiment always _is_ emotional. The question of vivisection is one of abstract morality. None but the supremely ignorant can deny its usefulness. There remain certain questions which call for clean-cut answers. Does our absolute power over beasts carry with it an absolute right? May we justifiably sacrifice them for the good of humanity? What degree of pain are we morally justified in inflicting on them to save men from disease and death? If we faced the issue squarely, we should feel no more concern for the kind of animal which is used for experimentation than for the kind of human being who may possibly benefit by the experiment. Right and wrong admit of no sentimental distinctions. Yet the vivisectionist pleads, “Is not the life of a young mother worth more than the life of a beast?” The anti-vivisectionist asks: “How can man deliberately torture the creature that loves and trusts him?” And Mr. Galsworthy admitted that he had nothing to say about vivisection in general. Cats and rabbits might take their chances. He asked only that the dog should be spared. It has been hinted more than once that if we develop the dog’s intelligence too far, we may end by robbing him of his illusions. He has absorbed so many human characteristics--vanity, sociability, snobbishness, a sense of humour and a conscience--that there is danger of his also acquiring the critical faculty. He will not then content himself with flying at the throats of villains--the out-and-out villain is rare in the common walks of life--he will doubt the godlike qualities of his master. The warmth of his affection will chill, its steadfastness will be subject to decay.