“Mules live to a great age when they are properly cared for,” continued Mr. Graham. “Until quite recently there was a mule named Jennie on Blackwell's Island, that had been there forty years, and she was supposed to be nearly twenty years old when she became a public charge.
“Jennie has an interesting history. About forty years ago her owner had a mild attack of lunacy and was consigned to the insane asylum. He had traveled across the continent from San Francisco with Jennie it was said, and became so attached to the beast that he could not be persuaded to part with her, and the two were carried to Ward's Island together. The mule and the lunatic were about the same age then, and were devoted friends. In all kinds of weather they roamed about the asylum grounds together. One day Jennie was taken across to Harlem to be shod. The boat was moored and the animal tied to a tree by the bank, while the keeper went off to find the blacksmith. When he came back for the mule she was no longer in sight. The broken halter was lying on the ground, and Jennie was found that afternoon, still wet from her swim, with her old friend on the island. At length the lunatic died, and Jennie fell into the hands of the Board of Governors, and was set to work on Randall's Island. She dragged brick carts and lawn rollers for awhile, her size and age-unfitting her for heavier work, and was used for distributing bread in the morning among the various buildings. She was saddled, too, sometimes, and ridden by the children and their nurses.
“Twenty-five years ago the keeper of the stables asked permission to kill her as an incumbrance. Isaac Bell was then one of the Charities Commissioners, and through his influence and interest in the matter, an order was issued declaring that Jennie should be retired from active service and live in the comparative luxury of the island's stables and grass plots as long as she pleased. The mule was moved once more, this time to Blackwell's Island, and took her quarters in the stone stable at the south end of the almshouse grounds. Keepers and inmates have been changing ever since, but in all the twenty-five years the venerable mule has seemed to grow scarcely a day older. She still draws light loads when the keepers harness her for exercise, and the Irishman in a striped jacket who is her involuntary groom stands in as great awe of her hind legs as ever. With the rest, however, she is good humored and docile, and has long been caressed as a pet.
“And let me say,” continued Mr. Graham, “that if you ever own a mule, don't disfigure him and make him unhappy by clipping his mane and tail. Nature has not made him as beautiful as the horse, but, in the language of one of his friends, 'she has endowed him with those gifts useful to his race, and among those are a good mane and tail; if not as an adornment, yet as a protection against his enemies, the tormenting, biting flies. To shear these does not add to his good looks; on the contrary it makes him appear more unsightly. He is not to blame for large head and long ears; why then should these be made more disproportionate by clipping the mane? and why should the tail be reduced to a mere pendant tuft, when both are needed to protect the poor, overworked creature from his winged enemies? It is to be hoped that mule-owners will learn to consider this custom as senseless, as a sin against the comfort and protection of this good servant, and treat the despised mule with more humane consideration.'”
“I found some verses to-day,” said Charley, “that I liked very much. They were in a paper called Our Dumb Animals, and illustrate the advantages of kindness to the creatures that cannot speak to tell their wants. Shall I read them?”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Graham: “Read them, and let your playmates read them, too.”
Thereupon Charley slowly read the following: