25th of February, 1812, three outside passengers were found
dead on the roof of the Bath coach, from the inclemency of the
weather.

Let us consider also how far humanity is outraged by the present
system of quick travelling. The short average life of stage-coach
horses (three years only!) shows how dreadfully over-wrought and
_out-wrought_ they are by the great speed now in practice. Driven for
eight or ten miles, with an oppressive weight, they tremble in every
nerve. With nostrils distended, and sides moving in breathless agony,
they can scarce, when unyoked, crawl to the stable. 'Tis true they
are well fed; the interest of their owners secures that. They are
over-well fed, in order that a supernatural energy may be exerted. The
morrow comes when their galled withers are again to be wrung by the
ill-cushioned collars, and the lumbering of the wheels. But we do not
witness all the misery of the noble and the generous steed. When
the shades of night impend, the reproaches of the feeling, or the
expostulations of the timid traveller no longer protect him from the
lash; and the dread of Mr. Martin's act ceases to effect for a
time its beneficent purpose; when the stiffened joints--the cracked
hoofs--the greasy legs--and stumbling gait of the worn-out animal are
all put into agonized motion by belabouring _him upon the raw_!
The expression is Hibernian, but the brutality is our own. A few
ill-gained pounds reconcile the enormity to the owner--and the
cheapness and expedition of the conveyance give it public sanction:
but humanity is outraged by the same: human sympathies are seared; and
the noble precept, that "the merciful man is merciful to his beast,"
is trampled under foot.

Thus then, by substituting elementary for physical power, we have