The children, at first, thought they knew every thing to be known about horses and cows; some of their parents thought so too, and looked up to the clock, secretly hoping the lecture would not last long; but while Mr. Barlow described, in the simplest possible terms, the structure of these animals—the provisions for their own enjoyment, and their adaptation to the wants of man,—while he told particulars of their history and habits in different countries, and related some authentic anecdotes of them—the clock struck seven, and the pointer was approaching to eight when he finished. He was saluted with the most unequivocal of all compliments to speakers, of, "Oh, how short!" and, "Please, Mr. Barlow, go on." He thanked the audience for their attention; said he would put off going on till the next meeting, when he expected the children would show him their books, with the best drawings they could make of a horse and a cow, and as much of his lecture as they could remember, neatly written down. The children then formed into little knots, some playing at jack-straws and some at checkers. The treat was served, and Sam M'Elroy (now a sturdy boy, apprenticed to a farmer on Long Island) proposed to his companions that they should pick out nuts for the girls. While this boyish gallantry was being executed, "Do you really believe, William Aikin," said John Miner, "all Mr. Barlow said about horses? I know very well they are so made as to be strong, and fleet, and spry; but do you really believe a horse has thoughts and feelings? I think it's just of a piece with a fairy story."
"That's because, John, you are not acquainted
