ers erect
before his class of students: knife in hand, he is demonstrating to them
from the live animal, so fixed and screwed and wired that he cannot find
for his agony even the poor relief of a yelp, how this or that writhing
nerve or twitching muscle operates in the business of a life which his
demonstration has turned from the gift of love into a poisoned curse;
picture to yourself such a one so busied, suddenly raising his eyes and
seeing the eyes that see him! the eyes of Him who, when He hung upon the
cross, knew that He suffered for the whole creation of His Father, to
lift it out of darkness into light, out of wallowing chaos into order
and peace! Those eyes watching him, that pierced hand soothing his
victim, would not the knife fall from his hand in the divine paralysis
that shoots from the heart and conscience? Ah me! to have those eyes
upon me in any wrong-doing! One thing only could be worse--_not_ to have
them upon me--to be left with my devils.

"You all know the immediate cause of the turning of our thoughts in this
direction--the sad case of cruelty that so unexpectedly rushed to light
in Glaston. So shocked was the man in whose house it took place that, as
he drove from his door the unhappy youth who was guilty of the crime,
this testimony, in the righteous indignation of his soul, believing, as
you are aware, in no God and Father of all, broke from him with
curses--'There ought to be a God to punish such cruelty.'--'Begone,' he
said. 'Never would I commit woman or child into the hands of a willful
author of suffering.'

"We are to rule over the animals; the opposite of rule is torture, the
final culmination of anarchy. We slay them, and if with reason, then
with right. Therein we do them no wrong. Yourselves will bear me witness
however and always in this place, I have protested that death is no
evil, save as the element of injustice may be mingled therein. The sting
of death is sin. Death, righteously inflicted, I repeat, is the reverse
of an injury.

"What if there is too much lavishment of human affection upon objects
less than human! it hurts less than if there were none. I confess that
it moves with strange discomfort one who has looked upon swarms of
motherless children, to see in a childless house a ruined dog, overfed,
and snarling with discomfort even on the blessed throne of childhood,
the lap of a woman. But even that is better than that the woman should
love no creature at all--infinit