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among men, the differences of their mental powers, of their complexion, of their stature, of their wealth, do not give to any one man a right to abuse or insult any other man on account of these differences; for the same reason, a man can have no natural right to ill-treat or torment a beast, merely because a beast has not the mental powers of a man. For such as the man is, he is but as God made him ; and the very same is true of the beast. Neither of them can lay claim to any intrinsic merit, for being such as they are ; for, before they were created, it was impossible that either of them could deserve any particular mode of treatment; and at their creation, their shape, perfections, defects, and general qualities were fixed, and bounds set which they cannot pass. And being such, neither more nor less than God made them, there is no more demerit in a beast's being a beast, than there is merit in a man's being a man; that is to say, there is neither merit nor demerit in either of them.
A brute is an animal no less sensible of pain than a man. He has similar nerves and organs of sensation ; and his cries and groans, in case of violent impressions on his body, though he cannot utter his complaints by speech, are as strong indications to us of his sensibility to pain, as the cries and groans of a human being, whose language we do not understand. Now, as pain is what we are all averse to, our sensibility of pain should teach us to commiserate it in others, to alleviate it if possible, but never wantonly or unmeritedly to inflict it. As the differences among men in the above particulars are no bar to their feelings, so neither does the difference of the shape of a brute from that of a man exempt the brute from feeling; at least, we have no ground to suppose it. But shape or figure is as much the appointment of God, as complexion or stature. And if the difference of complexion or stature does not convey to one man a right to abuse, or despise, another man, the difference of shape between a man and a brute, cannot give to any man the right to abuse or torment a brute For He that made man and man to differ in complexion or stature, made man and brute to differ in shape or figure. And in this case likewise, there is neither merit nor demerit; every creature, whether man or brute, bearing that shape which Supreme Wisdom judged most expedient to answer the end for which the creature was ordained.
With regard to the modification of the mass of matter of which an animal is formed, it is accidental as to the creature itself: we mean, that it was not in the power or will of the creature to choose, whether it should sustain the shape of a brute, or of a man ; and yet, whether it be of one shape or the other; or whether it be inhabited by, or animated by, the soul of a brute, or the soul of a man ; the substance, or matter, of which the creature is composed, would be equally susceptible of feeling.* It is
It is of no consequence as to the case now before us, whether the soul is, as some think, only a power, which cannot exist without the body ; or, as is generally supposed, a spiritual essence, that can exist, distinct and separate from the body.
solely owing to the good pleasure of God, that we are created men, or animals in the shape of men. For, He who forned man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life that he might become a living soul, and endued him with a sense of feeling, could, if he had so pleased, by the same plastic power, have cast the very same dust into the mould of a beast; which, being animated by the life-giving breath of its Maker, would have become a living soul in that form; and in that form would have been as susceptible of pain, as in the form of a man. And if, in brutal shape, we had been endued with the same degree of reason and reflection which we now enjoy; and other beings, in human shape, should take upon them to torment, abuse, and barbarously ill-treat us, because we were not made in their shape, the injustice and cruelty of their behaviour to us would be self-evident; and we should naturally infer, that, whether we walk upon two legs or four ; whether our heads are prone or erect; whether we are naked or covered with hair; whether we have tails or no tails, horns or no horns, long ears or round ears; or, whether we bray like an ass, speak like a man, whistle like a bird, or are mute as a fish; nature never intended these distinctions, as foundations for the right of tyranny or oppression. But perhaps it will be said, that it is absurd to draw such an inference from a mere supposition that a man might have been a brute, and a brute might have been a man; for, the supposition itself is chimerical, and has no foundation in nature, and all arguments should be drawn from fact, and not from fancy of what might be, or what might not be. To this we reply in few words, and generally; that all cases and arguments, deduced from the important and benevolent precept of doing to others as we would be done unto, necessarily require such kind of suppositions; that is, they suppose the case to be otherwise than it really is. For instance : a rich man is not a poor man; yet the duty plainly arising from the precept is this—that the man who is now rich, ought to behave to the man who is now poor, in such a manner as the rich man, if he were poor, would desire that the poor man, if he were rich, should behave towards him. Here is a case which does not in fact exist between these two men, for the rich man is not a poor man, nor is the poor man a rich man, yet the supposition is necessary to enforce and illustrate the precept; and the reasonableness of it is allowed. Now, if the supposition is reasonable in one case, it is reasonable, or at least not contrary to reason, in all cases to which this general precept can extend, and in which the duty enjoined by it can and ought to be performed. Therefore, though it be true that a man is not a horse, yet as a horse is a subject within the precept, that is to say, a horse is capable of receiving benefit by it, the duty enjoined in it extends to the man, and amounts to this-do you, who are a man, so treat your horse, as you would be willing to be treated by your master, in case that you were a horse. We see no absurdity or false reasoning in this interpretation of the precept, nor
any ill consequence that can arise from it, however it may be gain said by the barbarity of custom.
In the case of cruelty from man to man, the oppressed individual has a tongue that can plead his own cause, and a finger to point out the aggressor. All men that hear of it shudder with horror ; and, by applying the case to themselves, pronounce it cruelty with the common voice of humanity; and unanimously join in demanding the punishment of the offender, and brand him with infamy. But in the case of cruelty to brutes, the dumb beast can neither utter his complaints to his own kind, nor describe the author of his wrong; and, even if he could, they have not in their power to redress and avenge him.
In cases of cruelty from man to man, there are courts and laws of justice in every civilized society, to which the injured man may make his appeal : the affair is canvassed, and punishment inflicted in proportion to the offence. But, alas! with shame to man, and sorrow to brute, we ask the question, What court of judicature exists, in which the suffering brute may bring his action against the wanton cruelty of barbarous man? The laws of Triptolemus are long since buried in oblivion, for Triptolemus was but a heathen. No friend, no advocate, not one is to be found among bulls nor calves of the people to prefer an indictment on behalf of the brute. The priest passes by on the one side, and the Levite on the other side ; the Samaritan stands still, sheds a tear, but he can do no more; and the poor, wretched, unbefriended creature is left to mourn in unregarded sorrow, and to sink under the weight of his burden.
But suppose the law promulgated and the court erected. The judge is seated, the jury sworn, the indictment read, the cause debated, and a verdict found for the plaintiff. Yet, what costs or damages are awarded ? What is the recompense for loss sustained ? In actions of humanity, satisfaction may be made. In various ways you may make amends to a man for the injury you have done him. You know his wants, and you may relieve him. You may give him clothes, or food, or money. You may raise him to a higher station, and inake him happier than he was before you afflicted him. You may be feet to the lame, and eyes to the blind. You may entertain him, keep him company, or supply him with every comfort, convenience, and amusement, which he is capable of enjoying. And thus you may make some atonement for the injury you have done to a man. But what is all this to an injured brute ? If, by passion or malice, or sportive cruelty, you have broken his limbs, or deprived him of his eye-sight, how will you make him amends? can do nothing to amuse him. He wants neither your money nor your clothes. Your conversation is to him valueless. You have obstructed his means of getting subsistence; he can no longer work to your profit, and instead of providing him with a hospital, you sell his carcase to feed your dogs. You add ingratitude to cruelty, and avarice to ingratitude.
THE PRETENDED DAUPHIN.
Our readers are aware that after the execution of Louis the Sixteenth and Marie-Antoinette, a numerons section of the royalist party were firmly convinced that their son, the dauphin, was alive, and they eagerly looked forward to a political reaction which might enable the young prince to emerge from concealment and ascend the throne of his ancestors. An individual, named Jean-Marie Hervagault, availed himself of royalist credulity, and announced himself as Louis the Seventeenth. We shall first relate this story, as it has been placed on the records of the government and their tribunals; and afterwards, as the hero of this romantic adventure and his partizans have wished to represent it.
This impostor was the son of a tailor at St. Lo, of a prepossessing figure, features bearing great resemblance to those of Louis the Sixteenth, fair, slender, lively, communicative, without suspicion, quickly penetrating, and feigning innocence in a masterly manner ; of course a person of great natural capacity, but of no education. By some he was supposed to be a natural son of the Duke of Valentinois, who possessed estates in Normandy. The strange events of the revolution disordered his senses : he saw that many had raised themselves from obscurity, and he wished to do the same.
In September, 1796, he left his father's house; and strolled as a vagabond about the country, declaring himself to be the son of a family of rank, reduced to distress by the revolution. His youth, his innocent appearance, and the plausibility of his tale, every where procured him a favourable reception and relief. He had no passport, but was never asked for one. He became bolder, and was tempted to carry on his trade in the towns. He came to Cherbourg, but was soon apprehended as a vagrant. His father, the tailor, being apprized of this, hastened to fetch him, and was not a little surprised to find him richly provided with money and jewels. He brought him back to St. Lo, where the brisk young blade did not, however, stay long, but soon ran away a second time, strolling through the department of Calvados; and having improved both in body and mind, he became more ingeniously inventive in his stories than at first. He sometimes passed for a son of the Prince of Monaco, and sometimes for the heir of the Duke d’Urselles, in the Netherlands. He thus raised himself step by step, and ere long made himself a relation of Louis the Sixteenth, of the Emperor Joseph the Second, and of the king of Prussia. For the sake of his safety, which was threatened, he travelled in women's clothes, pretending that he was just arrived from England, whither he had been taking some money to his emigrant father.
Many, very many persons of rank and education were deceived, and became in some sense willing dupes, because he flattered their former prejudices; and the ladies in particular showed a decided partiality for
him, because he addressed their hearts, and worked upon their tenderness. His adventures began to attract some notice, and he was arrested a second time in female attire, and conducted to prison at Bayeux, at the distance of only ten leagues from St. Lo. His father came again to procure his deliverance, which, in consideration of his youth, was indulgently granted ; and the lad was a second time replaced under paternal anthority. He was now to learn the trade of a tailor, an insufferable thought to his romantic mind. He broke loose a third time.
In 1797, he was in the diligence between Laval and Alençon, very plainly and decently habited according to his sex. Not far from the latter place he alighted, and ran off to a village by the road side, called Les Joncherets. Being benighted, he begged quarters of a peasant, who directed him to the house of Mademoiselle Talon Lacombe, for better accommodation. To this lady he declared himself to be one of the family of Montmorency, who had a castle and estates near Dreux, but was obliged to fly from his persecutors. She conceived a lively interest for his situation, and supplied him with money and clothes, which he promised to repay on his arrival at Dreux. Here he lived for a while much at his ease, acted the part of a man of quality, and presented, for instance, the ostler, who saddled his riding horse, with a louis-d'or.
At last he found himself induced to set off, and Mademoiselle Lacombe accompanied him to Dreux, to get back the value of what she had advanced him. They safely reached the place; but both castle and estates had vanished. Could any thing be more natural ? The revolution accounted for every thing. Poorer by fifty louis-d'ors, and somewhat richer in experience, the lady returned home. The young adventurer continually gained in boldness. In the month of May, 1798, he ventured, in the diligence, to Meaux, only eight leagues distant from Paris, and alighted at the inn, where he indeed obtained some refreshment; but having no passport, the landlord refused him a night's lodging. The wife of a Paris merchant, named Laravaine, who happened to be at Meaux, took pity on him, and permitted him to sleep in her warehouse. This encouraged him to seek further favours, and he succeeded in obtaining them. He represented himself as a rich farmer's son from Domery, who had absconded to avoid being enrolled as a recruit, and madame made him a present of four louis-d'or, upon which he took a place in the diligence for Strasbourg.
About one league from Chalons he disappeared, and the postillion in vain waited his return. He went to the village of Mery, and wished to make good his story at the castle of Guignacourt; but, being suspected, he was put under arrest, and taken before the justice of peace at Cernon. Being asked who he was, he replied with an air of affected mystery, “He had no answer to make to such a question." He was sent to Chalons, where, being again asked to give his name, he proudly said, “You will