The Rev. Sydney Smith, when at Foston, used to call for his hat and stick immediately after dinner, and sallied forth for his evening stroll. His daughter,[279] who often accompanied him, remarks—"Each cow and calf, and horse and pig, were in turn visited, and fed, and patted, and all seemed to welcome him; he cared for their comforts as he cared for the comforts of every living being around him. He used to say, 'I am all for cheap luxuries, even for animals; now all animals have a passion for scratching their back bones. They break down your gates and palings to effect this. Look! there is my universal scratcher, a sharp-edged pole, resting on a high and a low post, adapted to every height, from a horse to a lamb. Even the Edinburgh Reviewer can take his turn. You have no idea how popular it is. I have not had a gate broken since I put it up. I have it in all my fields.'"
Rev. Augustus Toplady on the Future State of Animals.
The Rev. Josiah Bull, in the "Memorials of the Rev. William Bull of Newport, Pagnel,"[280] the friend of Cowper, the poet, and the Rev. John Newton, tells the following anecdote, in which a favourite theory of the author of that exquisite hymn, "Rock of Ages Cleft for Me," is alluded to, and somewhat comically illustrated by the author of the "Olney Hymns:"—
"Mr Newton had been dining with Mr Bull, and they were quietly sitting together, following after 'the things whereby they might edify one another,' and that search aided by 'interposing puffs' of the fragrant weed. It was in that old study I so well remember, ere it was renovated to meet the demands of modern taste. A room some eighteen feet square, with an arched roof, entirely surrounded with many a precious volume, with large, old casement windows, and immense square chairs of fine Spanish mahogany. There these good men were quietly enjoying their tête-à-tête, when they were startled by a thundering knock at the door; and in came Mr Ryland of Northampton, abruptly exclaiming, 'If you wish to see Mr Toplady, you must go immediately with me to the "Swan." He is on his way to London, and will not live long.' They all proceeded to the inn, and there found the good man, emaciated with disease, and evidently fast hastening to the grave. As they were talking together, they were attracted by a great noise in the street, occasioned, as they found on looking out, by a bull-baiting which was going on before the house. Mr Toplady was touched by the cruelty of the scene, and exclaimed, 'Who could bear to see that sight, if there were not to be some compensation for these poor suffering animals in a future state?'—'I certainly hope,' said my grandfather, 'that all the bulls will go to heaven; but do you think this will be the case with all the animal creation?'—'Yes, certainly,' replied Mr Toplady, with great emphasis, 'all, all!'—'What!' rejoined Mr Newton, with some sarcasm in his tone, 'do you suppose, sir, there will be fleas in heaven? for I have a special aversion to them.' Mr Toplady said nothing, but was evidently hurt; and as they separated, Mr Newton said, 'How happy he should be to see him at Olney, if God spared his life, and he were to come that way again.' The reply Mr Toplady made was not very courteous; but the good man was perhaps suffering from the irritation of disease, and possibly annoyed by the ridicule cast upon a favourite theory."
Right Honourable William Windham, M.P., on the Feelings of a Baited Bull.
That great parliamentary orator, the Right Honourable William Windham, lived before the days when humanity to animals was deemed a fit subject for legislation.
In his speech against "the bill for preventing the practice of bull-baiting" (April 18, 1800),[281] he refers to the introduction of such a measure as follows—"In turning from the great interests of this country, and of Europe, to discuss with equal solemnity such measures as that which is now before us, the House appears to me to resemble Mr Smirk, the auctioneer, in the play, who could hold forth just as eloquently upon a ribbon as upon a Raphael." He speaks of bull-baiting as being, "it must be confessed, at the expense of an animal which is not by any means a party to the amusement; but then," he adds, "it serves to cultivate the qualities of a certain species of dogs, which affords as much pleasure to their owners as greyhounds do to others. It is no small recommendation to bull-dogs that they are so much in repute with the populace." In a second speech, May 24, 1802, he said that he believed "the bull felt a satisfaction in the contest, not less so than the hound did when he heard the sound of the horn that summoned him to the chase. True it was that young bulls, or those which were never baited before, showed reluctance to be tied to the stake; but those bulls which, according to the language of the sport, were called game bulls, who were used to baiting, approached the stake, and stood there while preparing for the contest, with the utmost composure. If the bull felt no pleasure, and was cruelly dealt with, surely the dogs had also some claim to compassion; but the fact was that both seemed equally arduous in the conflict; and the bull, like every other animal, while it had the better side, did not dislike his situation—it would be ridiculous to say he felt no pain—yet, when on such occasions he exhibited no signs of terror, it was a demonstrable proof that he felt some pleasure."
The "sober loyal men" of Stamford, it would seem, had petitioned for the continuance of their annual sport, which had been continued for a period of five or six hundred years, and who were displeased with their landlord, the Marquis of Exeter, for his endeavours to put down their cruel sport. Windham refers to "the antiquity of the thing being deserving of respect, for respect for antiquity was the best preservation of the Church and State!!"