A comparison between the true Briton's love for his home, and that of a horse for his stable, elicits conflicting facts which are very remarkable; for although in theory and in law the house of the former is said to be "his castle," and although the latter is confined to his stable by head-collars, pillar-reins, rack-chains, halter-ropes, yet the hard, honest fact is, that the owner of the castle often seizes every possible opportunity to escape from it, while the inhabitant of the stable, if left to his own accord, would never leave it.  
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It sounds very beautiful for the Englishman to sing—
 
"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;"
for the Scotch poet to write—
 
"Oh Caledonia stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child;"
and for his brother Paddy to exclaim—
 
"Sweetest isle of the ocean,
Erin mavourneen, Erin go Bragh:"
yet it is impossible to deny that the song, the poetry, and the exclamation are not in unison with the fact that the songster, the poet, and the exclaimer are constantly caught in the fact of having stolen away from the very "home," the very "nurse," and the very "isle" they so ardently profess to love: indeed, in proof of the alibi, every region of the globe, healthy or unhealthy, and especially every town, city, and bathing-place in Europe, could not only declare on affidavit that its localities, high-roads, bye-roads, paths, and streets, are, especially in summer time or flea-season, to be seen crawling alive with deserters from British homes, but to the questions, Who is waving that flag in the balloon high above our heads?—Who is standing in solitary triumph on the summit of that white capped mountain?—Who is it that has just descended from human sight to the bottom of the sea in a diving-bell? nine times108 out of ten it might truly be answered "A Briton," who, in apparent desperation, has sought refuge in the clouds, in the region of eternal snow, or in the briny deep, in order to get away from his "dulce domum," and from "the right little, tight little island" that contains it.
 
In almost every instance the home he has deserted is, comparatively speaking, replete with luxury and comfort; and yet, from stuffed sofas, easy chairs, feather beds, soft mattresses, warm fires, good carpets, a well-stocked library, cellar, larder, and dairy, flower and fruit gardens, carriages on buoyant springs, a stud of horses, faithful servants, and friendly neighbours, he has fled, with, in one pocket, a purse which, wherever he stops, by everybody is to be plundered; and in the other a passport, not to happiness, but to every description of what he has been educated to consider as a discomfort, simply because, instead of being homesick, he has become sick, almost unto death, of his "home."
 
Now, with these facts before us, which nobody can deny, it is strange to reflect that while man, from all parts of the United Kingdom, is to be seen centrifugally flying from his domicile, the horse's love for his stable is a flame which brightens as it burns, and which nothing but death can extinguish.
 
Those who have not studied or even observed the propensities of a horse, fancy that when, like a galley slave109 chained to his oar, he stands tied to his manger, he is in a prison, from which it would be an act of humanity to liberate him; and accordingly, if the animal has faithfully served them for many years, they feel disposed to reward him, as the great Duke of Wellington rewarded his gallant war-horse Copenhagen, by "turning him out for the rest of his life."
 
These notions, however, are perfectly erroneous. A horse not only loves his stable, he not only never wishes to leave it, but whenever he is taken out of it, although he may have been confined in it for many months, he no sooner gets out of the door than he evinces a desire to re-enter it. Every horseman, every coachman knows and feels that the difference between riding or driving, especially a thoroughbred horse from or towards his stable is so great, that while in the one case it is often necessary to spur or flog him from his home, the animal invariably pulls hard, and on any trifling occurrence will start or kick with joy, all the time he is returning to it; and his neighs, responded to by his comrades within, express, in horse language, how pleased he is to get back to them, and how glad they are to recover him.
 
A horse loves his stable for the same reasons that ought to induce his master to love his home—namely, because, in society that pleases him, he lives well clothed, well fed, and well housed; and therefore (however well110 intended it may be) nothing can be more cruel to a faithful animal that has all his life been accustomed to such artificial luxuries, than to turn or ostracise him into a park so soon as his age and infirmities require for him if possible still greater comforts.
 
It would be thought harsh, ungenerous, and unjust, were a nobleman to reward his old worn out butler, and bent, decrepit, toothless housekeeper, by consigning them both for the winter of their lives to the parish workhouse, where, at no cost to themselves, they would receive lodgin............