Sunday-school expression is rather refreshing from a man who upholds
vivisection. I tell you candidly that there is nothing on earth
comparable to the fearful, curious combination of pleasure and horror
with which one watches torture one is powerless to stop. It is morbid,
and probably loathsome. No. It is not morbid, after all; it is natural,
and not a diseased state of mind. Have you never seen a sweet little
child, with a face like an angel, pull the wings from a butterfly, or
half kill a pet animal, and laugh joyfully when it writhed about? I
have. The natural man loves bloodshed, and loves to hurt men and
creatures. It is bred in the bone with all of us, only, as far as the
body is concerned, this love is an almost impotent factor in modern
civilization, for we have deified the soul and intellect to such an
extent, that it is them we seek to goad and wound, when the lust of
cruelty oppresses us, since they have grown to be considered the more
important part; and we know, too, that the embittered soul avenges
itself upon its own body, so that we strike the subtler blow. What we
call teasing, is the most diluted form of the appetite. Well, this is
wide of the mark, I suppose. At any rate, my dusky friends, presumably
having no sensitive souls to attack, did their very best with their
enemies' bodies, and as I was saying, theirs was no mean accomplishment
in that line.

"I am not going to wound your susceptibilities by describing some of the
functions which I have witnessed under that blazing sun. I will only
tell you that during one especial occasion of rejoicing, a feast was
given after a victory over a neighboring tribe, when the bound captives
were piled together in black, shining heaps, that had a constant
vermicular movement, each human pile guarded by a soldier. The chief at
whose right hand I sat, being filled with joy, as well as rather too
much drink, began boasting to me of the glories of his tribe, of his