The Ethics of Horse-Keeping

IF a man could go into open market and for two or three hundred dollars purchase the lifelong devotion of a friend, though a humble friend, it would be accounted a wonderful thing. But that is exactly what happens, or might happen, whenever a horse is bought. You give him food, lodging, and the reasonable services of a valet, in return for which he will not only further your business or your pleasure, as the case may be, to the best of his ability, but he will also repay you with affection, respond to your caresses, greet you with a neigh of pleased recognition, and in a hundred ways of his own exhibit a sense of the relationship.

There are men to whom a horse is only an animate machine : they will ride and drive him, hire grooms and draw checks for his sustenance and keeping, but all without a single thought of the animal as having a character, a mind, a career of his own ; as being susceptible to pain or pleasure ; as a creature for whose welfare they have assumed a certain responsibility, of which they cannot get rid, although they may forget it or deny its existence. Even among people who are intelligent, religious, and kindhearted, as the world goes, there is sometimes found, as we all know, especially when their own convenience is concerned, an astonishing indifference to the sufferings of dumb beasts.

Never shall I forget the shock produced upon my infant mind by a case of this sort in which a deeply venerated bishop was the actor. The good man described in my presence the great difficulty that he had recently experienced, upon arriving in town, in obtaining a conveyance from the railroad station to the house where he was to stay, two or three miles distant. Through some mistake no carriage had been sent for him, and by the liverymen to whom the bishop applied he was told that all their horses were so wearied and jaded, a huge picnic or funeral having just occurred in the village, that they absolutely could not send one out again. But the successor of the Apostles so wrought upon the stable-keepers by his eloquence — thus he narrated, with no suspicion of the awful judgment that was passing upon him by youthful innocence, sitting unnoticed in a corner — that some unlucky, overtired brute was finally dragged from his stall and sent off upon the five-mile jaunt. Now the day was warm, to be sure, and the bishop a stout man; still, being in the prime of life, he could have taken no harm, but rather good, from the walk ; and yet neither when he hired the horse nor when he related the transaction did it occur to him that the act was one of inexcusable cruelty. How many people, indeed, know or care what is the condition of the livery horses that they hire from time to time ? How many, when they summon a cab, so much as glance at the beast in the shafts ? But it is almost always possible to make a selection, rejecting the palpably unfit, choosing the fit horse ; and if everybody took even this slight amount of trouble, the employment of broken-down cab horses would cease to be profitable.

There is a good deal of hard-heartedness in our Puritan blood as respects dumb animals. I once spent several weeks on a farm where many beasts of various kinds were kept. The family was of pure New England stock, farmers for many generations back, — stalwart, intelligent, honest people, pillars of the church, leading men in the village, but in their treatment of dumb beasts without feeling or compunction. If the cows did not enter their stalls at the proper moment, they were pounded with whatever weapon came handy; horses were driven when they were lame, and neglected when they were tired. Every animal on the place was in a continual state of hunger, and none ever received a kind word or a pat of the hand. That on all convenient occasions I surreptitiously fed the occupants of the barn, horses, cows, oxen, and bull, is a fact which I may be permitted to state, lest I shall include myself in the condemnation of these hard-hearted farmers ; nor can I recall without pleasure the anticipatory neighing, the scraping of hoofs, and the rattling of chains that soon became a regular occurrence whenever I set foot upon the threshold. I have known better educated, villagebred persons of the same stamp, men of a kind that command, when they die, half-column obituary notices in the papers, who took a vicious delight in stoning dogs off their lawns, and who would have been moved to scorn by any show of affection for a horse.

People whose attitude toward dumb animals is of this character not only fail of their duty, but miss a vast amount of happiness. Horses are to be enjoyed in other ways than those of riding and driving. To become familiar with their characters and peculiarities, of which latter horses have many; to see them comfortable in their stalls, sleek, well fed, well groomed, warmly blanketed ; to give them affection, and to receive it back ; finally, to take a pride in them, and, frankly speaking, to brag about them without being more unveracious than a fairly good conscience will allow, — this it is to enjoy a horse. In this matter, as in all others where motives are concerned, the good and bad, or at least the good and indifferent, in human nature can be made to coöperate ; the sense of duty may be reinforced by a more spontaneous feeling, namely, the pride of ownership. In fact, to lay a foundation for the exercise of this quality should always be a chief object in buying a horse. Let your new purchase have that about him concerning which you can declare, with sufficient plausibility to defy absolute contradiction, that he stands in the very front rank of equine excellence; as that he is the most speedy, or the most enduring, or the handsomest, or the gentlest, or the most intelligent, or the toughest, of animals. If these qualities fail, we come down to minor excellences, such as the fineness of his coat, the beauty of its color, the silkiness of his mane, the length of his tail, or the nobility of his descent. It is quite possible to buy for a small sum horses of unexceptionable pedigree ; and though a well-bred weed or screw really travels no better than a “ dunghill,” Yet his breeding will always command admiration, and cast a reflected glory upon his owner. The point of superiority may be this or that; enough that it distinguishes your horse from the ruck of horses, and justifies in some measure, at least to the world at large, the pride and pleasure that you take in him. This reference to the opinion of others as a guide for our affections, even when a human being constitutes the object, is one of those vile trails that lie hid in the murky depths of our nature. Was it not remarked by George Sand, who knew the human heart, and certainly took no pessimistic view of it, that men love women not for what they think of them, but for what, they suppose other people to think of them ?

And yet there is another aspect of the matter. Just as disinterested affection, or something approaching it, may exist between man and woman, so it is possible to be fond of a horse, and to be happy in his well-being, with no admixture of those baser feelings to which I have alluded. I wish that you, gentle reader of this paper, might be induced to try the following experiment. We will suppose that you have a stable with an unoccupied stall in it, and by preference, though it is not essential, that a paddock is appurtenant to the stable. (Not everybody, indeed, is so fortunately situated, but still the conditions just mentioned are by no means uncommon.) Now let us suppose further that you go into the market or to some private person and purchase, as you may easily do, for forty or fifty dollars an old broken-down horse, of whom a longhard day’s work in a cab, an express or peddler’s wagon, has been, and unless you intervene will for some years yet continue to be extracted. Take him home, and watch the quick transition from misery to happiness. He comes into your stable with stiff, painful steps ; his legs swollen from hock and knee to ankle ; his ribs clearly visible through a rough, staring coat; and, above all, with that strained, anxious expression of the eye which nobody who has once seen and understood it can ever expel from his memory. It is the expression of despair. You take off his shoes, give him a run at grass or a deep bed of straw in a comfortable loose box, and forthwith the old horse begins to improve. Little by little, the expression of his eye changes, the swelling goes out of his legs, and it will not be long before he cuts a caper ; a stiff and ungainly one, to be sure, but still a caper, indicative of health and happiness. He will neigh at your approach, and gladly submit his head for a caress, whereas at first he would have shrunk in terror from any such advances. (It may be ten years since a hand was laid upon him in kindness.) If you have any work for him to do, the old horse will perform it with alacrity, exerting himself out of gratitude ; he will even flourish off in harness with the airs of a colt, as who should say, “ There is life in me yet; don’t send me to the knacker ; behold my strength and agility.” Treat him as you would if he had cost you a great sum, or as if you expected to win a great sum through his exertions. Let him have good blankets, good grooming, and all the little attentions of a wellordered establishment. Is there anything ridiculous in this ? Shall not the stable, as well as the house, have its sacred rites of hospitality ? Shall not the old cheap horse be made as comfortable as the young and costly one ?

And here I anticipate an obvious criticism. " The horse should be killed, and the money that it costs to maintain him be given to the poor.” I grant it. Let the old horse be shot, and let the two dollars and fifty cents per week necessary for his support be given in charity. But see to it, ye who might maintain an equine pensioner, and forbear to do so for reasons of conscience, — see to it that the poor be not defrauded of the sum which would thus have been saved for them.

Doubtless the ideal manner of keeping a horse is that practiced in Arabia, where, we are told, he is treated like one of the family, being the constant companion of the children, and allowed to poke his nose within the tent and into all the household affairs. Unfortunately, our habits of living will not permit such intimacy, although I have seen a yearling colt within the walls of a country dwelling-house, taking a moderate lunch of oats from the kitchen table, and afterward, with ears erect, briefly surveying the outside world through the drawing-room window. Mr. Briggs’s introduction of his hunter to the diningroom on Christmas night, in the animal’s professional capacity, and the consequent results to the china, will occur to the reader as a similar case. But although such instances must necessarily be rare, and are not, perhaps, exactly to be imitated, it is possible for every horseowner to cultivate the social and affectionate side of the animal’s nature by talking to and caressing him, by visiting him in the stable, by making him little gifts, from time to time, of sugar and other dainties. Petting like this undoubtedly tends to make high-spirited horses more tractable and safer on the road than they would be otherwise.¹

Few persons, moreover, realize how much a nervous, timid horse dislikes to be left alone, especially amid terrifying or even unusual surroundings. I once brought a high-strung Morgan mare, that I had owned but two weeks, on a steamer from Portland to Boston. She had never traveled thus before, and during the first hour or two, if I left her alone for a moment, as happened once or twice, she became distressed and alarmed in the highest degree, sweating profusely and struggling to get loose ; but when I returned she would immediately become calm again, rubbing her nose against me as much as to say, “ For Heaven’s sake, don t leave me alone.” The same horse (I have her still), when tied in front of a strange house, always greets me, when I come out, with an eager, enthusiastic neigh, as if she had begun to despair of seeing her master again.

Nevertheless, whether from the want of ancestral usage or otherwise, horses, it must be granted, are less sociable with men than are dogs. Nor can I agree with the remark recorded as having been made by the famous sportsman Thomas Assheton Smith (but perhaps incorrectly), that " horses are far more sensible than dogs. The converse, I should say, is true. Dogs are more sensible, more intelligent, more affectionate, and, as a rule, more trustworthy than horses. So much justice requires that we should admit, although the contrary is often maintained by persons well informed on the subject. Who, indeed, has not heard the intelligence of the horse eloquently defended by some hard-headed, hard-drinking old horseman, who would seem to enjoy a perfect immunity from all sentimental considerations ? But he does not. “ If we could have come upon Diogenes suddenly,” Thackeray somewhere remarks, ‘‘ he would probably have been found whimpering in his tub over a sentimental romance.” And so the old horseman, being fond of horses, knowing them, but knowing nothing else, deriving both his livelihood and his pleasure from them, unconsciously exaggerates their good qualities. But, on the other hand, the horse is far more intelligent than most people suppose, and there are certain qualities in which he excels all other dumb animals. " The conspicuous merit of the horse, which has given him the dearly paid honor of sharing in our wars,” says Mr. Hamerton, in a charming essay, “ is his capacity for being disciplined ; and a very great capacity it is, a very noble gift indeed, — nobler than much cleverness. Several animals are cleverer than the horse in the way of intelligence; not one is so amenable to discipline.”² This is true, unless, indeed, an exception should be made in favor of the elephant. But Mr. Hamerton omits to state the very respect in which the superiority of the horse to all other dumb animals is most important and most striking, namely, the fineness of his nervous system. All the great achievements of the horse ; all his wonderful flights of speed and feats of endurance ; all his capacity for being guided, restrained, quickly turned, and stopped, for being urged to the limit, and beyond the limit, of his strength, — all, in fact, that is glorious in him springs from the sensitiveness of his nervous organization. In this respect no other dumb animal that I know of will bear comparison with the horse. Mr. Hamerton well says, in contrasting the horse and the ass : —

“ I have never yet seen the donkey which could be guided easily and safely through an intricate crowd of carriages or on a really dangerous road. The deficiency of the ass may be expressed in a single word, — it is deficiency of delicacy. You can guide a good horse as delicately as a sailing-boat; when the skillful driver has an inch to spare he is perfectly at his ease, and he can twist in and out amongst the throng of vehicles, when a momentary display of self-will in the animal would be the cause of an immediate accident. The ass appears to be incapable of any delicate discipline of this kind.”

A\ hat makes the horse so delicate an instrument to play upon is the quick and fine connection between his nerves and his brain and the sensitiveness of his skin. People who have never entered into the art of driving or riding (though they may both drive and ride all their lives) think that holding the reins is something like steering a heavy boat : pull to the right if you want to go in that direction ; pull hard if you want to stop, and so on.³ But the real art of driving and riding is the exercise of a light, firm, sensitive hand upon tlie reins, and the continual play of intelligence, of command on the one hand and obedience on the other, between the man and the horse.

The same nervous development that makes the liorse a sensitive, controllable, pliable animal makes him also capable of great feats. To run or trot fast, in beat after heat, requires not only mechanical fitness, such as well - proportioned limbs, good bone and muscle, good lung power, etc., but also an inward energy, the “ do or die ” spirit, as horsemen call it. Many a horse has speed enough to make a racer, but lacks the requisite courage and determination. ” 8he was tried a good mare, but never won anything is a phrase of frequent occurrence in William Day’s reminiscences. There are cases in which thousands of dollars have been spent for fast trotters that were afterward sold for a few hundreds, simply because they were too sluggish and faint-hearted to keep on after they became tired. On the other hand, almost all the fastest horses, the “ record-breakers,” whether among racers or trotters, have been remarkable for their nervous, " highstrung" constitutions. The trainer of Sunol (the California filly, who lias a three-year-old record of 2.10, and who is thought likely, in time, to beat the 2.08¾ of Maud S.), after describing the great difficulty that lie experienced in breaking her, says: “ Not that she was actually vicious, but she had and has a will, a temper, and a determination of her own, and at that time every individual hair seemed to contain a nerve.” Governor Stanford, who bred Sunol, also describes her as “ a bundle of nerves.”

Even among the best breeds of cart horses, such as the Perclierons and Clydesdales, the same quality is not altogether wanting, and in general it distinguishes, as I have said, the horse from all other dumb animals. It follows, of course, that the horse is the most irritable of creatures, the most easily worried and distressed. Little things, such as no other animal, man included perhaps, would mind, annoy and exasperate him. If, for example, you notice a row of express-wagon horses backed up against the curbstone, you will easily perceive that every horse there has his temper permanently ruined by the frequent passing of vehicles before him, thus obliging him to turn his head. A single blow may be enough to spoil a racer. Daniel Lambert, founder of the Lambert branch of the Morgan family, was thought as a threeyear-old to be the fastest trotting stallion of his day. He was a very handsome, stylish, intelligent horse, and also extremely high-strung. His driver, Dan Mace, though one of the best reinsmen that the track has produced, once made the mistake, either through ill temper or bad judgment, of giving Daniel Lambert a severe cut with the whip, and that single blow put an end to his usefulness as a trotter. He became wild and ungovernable in harness, and remained so for the rest of his life.

One of the best, most docile, most intelligent animals that I have known was a powerful brown horse that belonged to a veterinary surgeon. When the doctor was making professional visits in the city where he lived, he would often walk from one stable to another, and beckon or call to the horse to follow him. This the latter would always do, waiting patiently meanwhile. But if any strange man or boy mounted the gig and attempted to drive him off, he could not be made to budge an inch. This animal showed his intelligence and docility in many other ways ; and yet he had begun his career in harness by killing two or three men, more or less, and the surgeon, who perceived that the horse was naturally kind, and that his temper had been soured by ill treatment, purchased him for a song. He served his master faithfully for more than twenty years.

I do not mean to say that a nervous horse is always courageous and always intelligent, nor to imply that courageous, intelligent horses are invariably nervous.⁴ But these qualities commonly go together ; and as the horse is distinguished from all other dumb beasts by a highly developed nervous system, if I may be forgiven for repeating the statement, so the finest specimens of the genus are usually those in which this development is most conspicuous. Hence, in dealing with the horse more than with most animals, one ought to exercise patience, care, and, above all, the power of sympathy, so as to know, if possible, the real motive of his doing or refusing to do this or that. To acquire such knowledge, and to act upon it when acquired, is a large part of the ethics of horse-keeping.

In the matter of shying, for example, great discrimination needs to be exercised. Everybody knows that when horses are in good spirits, especially in cold weather, they will often shy at sights or sounds which under other circumstances they pass by without notice. In such a case it is always assumed that the horse, out of roguishness, is simply pretending to be afraid ; and commonly this is true. Frequently, indeed, horses work themselves into a condition of panic for the mere fun of the thing, and to enjoy the pleasure of running or shying off from the object of their half-real half-fictitious terror, just as a school-girl might scurry through a churchyard at dusk.

In one of Mr. Galton’s books there is a passage about wild animals which throws light on the conduct of some tame ones. He says : " From my own recollection, I believe that every antelope in South Africa has to run for its life every one or two days upon an average, and that he starts or gallops under the influence of a false alarm many times in a day. Those who have crouched at night by the side of pools in the desert, in order to have a shot at the beasts that frequent them, see strange scenes of animal life : how the creatures gambol at one moment and fight at another ; how a herd suddenly halts in strained attention, and then breaks into a maddened rush, as one of them becomes conscious of the stealthy movements or rank scent of a beast of prey. Now this hourly life-and-death excitement is a keen delight to most wild creatures.”

But there is more behind. I am convinced that nervous horses, when in high condition, and stimulated by the cold or otherwise, are often actually frightened by objects which do not thus affect them at other times. Their nerves, being more tense, send a different message to the brain. I have seen a man of robust constitution, but just getting out after a long illness, jump like a colt when a piece of white paper blew across the sidewalk before him. Now, what illness had done for his nerves high condition, cold air, want of exercise, will do for the nerves of a horse, especially if he be a young horse; and the moral is that for shying thus brought about the whip is no cure. In fact, even for intentional shying the use of the whip does more harm than good; it is permissible only when the horse refuses to approach or to pass a particular object. If he cannot be led or coaxed forward, then it is well to employ punishment, for he must never be allowed to disobey.

The success in equine matters of which Americans can fairly boast is due chiefly to the fact that we have consulted the equine nature. Our trainers, perceiving that the horse is a nervous, timid, and yet docile animal, have endeavored to win his confidence rather than to subdue his spirit. Instead of breaking colts, we “ gentle ” them ; and that single word developed in the daily usage of the stable eloquently indicates the difference between the old method and the new, between American horse-training and foreign horse-breaking. The superintendent of a large stock farm says: “ At the age of six months we take up the colts and gentle them. After several weeks of this work they are again turned out. At fourteen months old they are taken up and driven double with an old horse, and in a short time they are put in single harness.” In smaller establishments even greater pains are taken to domesticate the colt from infancy upward ; and in general the method is to accustom him gradually to the bit, to the harness, to being driven and ridden, so that his education is completed by a succession of small steps, each achieved without a struggle, without rebellion, without exciting the fear or hatred of the colt. The result is that our horses are commonly gentle. I have seen a high-spirited stallion, on the fourth occasion of his being in harness, driven to a top-wagon, and going so kindly that the owner did not hesitate to take his child of three years with him.

In England great improvement in these matters has been made in recent years, but the British horse-trainer is still behind the age. Vicious horses, again, are far more to seek here than is the case abroad. Abroad there is no difficulty in providing those horse-breakers who perform in public with specimens on which to exert their skill, with “ man-eaters,” confirmed kickers, etc. But in this country, when such an exhibition is to be given, say in New York oi’ Boston, it is found almost, sometimes quite, impossible to procure a beast savage enough to do credit to his subjugator.

John Bull has accomplished wonders with horses, and nobody, I presume, has lighter hands or more “ faculty ” in the management of them than the gentlemen of England. But the understrappers and grooms, the breakers and trainers, lack the sympathetic understanding, the gentleness and patience, that are essential for the proper education of a horse. To discover what could be done by the exercise of these qualities was, I make bold to say, reserved for the American trainer; and anybody who studies the history of the trotting horse will perceive the truth of this statement.

I read lately of a former well-known M. F. H. who kept an enormous equine establishment, and yet among all his men there was but one fit to be entrusted with the exercise of his best hunters.

To create the trotter, increasing his speed, within seventy-five years, from a mile in 2.40 to a mile in 2.08¾, was perhaps an even greater achievement than the development of the modern thoroughbred in the one hundred and fifty years that have elapsed since the importation to England of the Godolphin Arabian. The utility of the achievement is another matter; and I should confess to some sympathy with the critic who was inclined to estimate it lightly. But whatever we may think of the result, whether or not we hold that a 2.08 horse is greatly better than a 2.40 horse, the value of the process by which this result was reached can hardly be exaggerated. The trainers of the American trotter have taught the world the best lesson that it has ever received in the ethics of horse-keeping.

There remains only one branch of the subject which I feel bound to consider, namely, the duty of the owner toward the horse that has grown old and infirm in his service. I say little about the man who employs horses in the course of his business ; let him settle the matter with his own conscience, though I cannot refrain from the obvious remark that whereas it might be a poor man’s duty to sell his superannuated beast for what he would bring, lest his family should suffer, so it would be the rich man’s duty to dispose of his work horses in a different manner. But as regards horses bought and used for pleasure this general rule seems to me undeniable, that the owner is morally bound to protect them from cruelty when they become old or broken down. He may do it by killing them or otherwise, as he sees fit. But how seldom is this duty performed ! It is neglected, possibly, more from thoughtlessness than from intention. A span of carriage horses, we will say, after some years of service, lose their style ; they become a little stiff, a little “ sore forward,” it may be ; one of them, perhaps, is suffer ing from incipient spavin; and on the whole it is thought, high time to dispose of them, and get a fresher, younger pair. Accordingly, John, the groom, is directed to take them to an auction stable, and in due course Dives, their old master, receives in return a check, — a very small check, to be sure, but still large enough to make a respectable contribution to foreign missions or to purchase a case of champagne. That is all he knows about the transaction, and he does not allow his mind to dwell upon the inevitable results. But let Dives go to the auction stable himself ; let him observe the wistful, homesick air (for horses are often homesick) with which the old favorites look about, them when they are backed out of the unaccustomed stalls ; then let him stand by and see them whipped up and down the stable floor to show their tardy paces, and finally knocked down to some hard-faced, thin-lipped dealer. It needs very little imagination to foresee their after career. To begin with, the old companions are separated, — a great grief to both, which it requires a long time to obliterate. The more active one goes into a country livery stable, where he is hacked about by people whose only interest in the beast is to take out of him the pound of flesh for which they have paid. He has no rest on week days, but his Sunday task is the hardest. On that sacred day, the reprobates of the village who have arrived at the perfect age of cruelty (which I take to be about nineteen or twenty) lash the old carriage horse from one public house to another, and bring him home exhausted and reeking with sweat. His mate goes into a job wagon, perhaps, possibly into a herdic, and is driven by night, lest his staring ribs and the painful lameness in his hind leg should attract the notice of meddlesome persons. The last stage of many a downward equine career is found in the shafts of a fruit peddler’s or junk dealer ’s wagon, in which situation there is continual exposure to heat and cold, to rain and snow, recompensed by the least possible amount of food. It may be that one of the old horses whose fate we are considering is finally bought by some poverty-stricken farmer ; he works without grain in summer, and passes long winter nights in a cold and draughty barn, with scanty covering and no bed but the floor. It is hard that in his old age, when, like an old man, he feels the cold most and is most in need of nourishing food, he should be deprived of all the comforts — the warm stall and soft bed, the good blankets and plentiful oats that were heaped upon him in youth.

If, as is probably the case, the old carriage horse has been docked, his suffering in warm weather will greatly be increased. That form of mutilation which we call docking is, I believe, inartistic and barbarous, and I do not doubt that before many years it will become obsolete, as is now the cropping of horses’ ears, which was practiced so late as 1840. But still I should not strongly condemn the owner for docking his horses, or buying them after they had been docked, which comes to the same thing, if his intention and custom were to keep them so long as they lived. But to dock a horse, thus depriving him forever of his tail, to keep him till he is old or broken down, and then sell him for what he will bring, is the very refinement of cruelty. The Anglomaniacs, to whom we owe the revival of docking, should consider that in our climate of flies and mosquitoes the practice is infinitely more cruel than it is in England.

I have endeavored to show that the horse is an animal peculiarly capable of suffering, and to suggest some of the ways in which his suffering can be prevented or alleviated. Of late years, thanks largely to anti-cruelty societies, the horse has been less abused than was formerly the case. But let any one, and especially any one who may have a fancy for the human race, consider what awful arrears of cruelty to dumb animals have accrued at its hands. Let him think of the horses that have been baited to death, as bulls are baited ; let him think of the unspeakable remedies that have been applied by ignorant farriers and grooms, such as the forcing of ground glass into the animal’s eye; let him think of the horses that have been “ whipped sound ” in coaches and heavy wagons, — that is, compelled by the lash to travel chiefly on three legs, one being disabled, until the overwrought muscles gave out entirely ; let bun think of the agonies that have been inflicted by beating and spurring, of the heavy loads that a vast army of painfully lame, of diseased, and even of dying horses have been forced to draw. Let him take but one glance at the history of the human race in this respect, and one, perhaps, at his own heart, and then declare if it be not true, as was once remarked, “ man deserves a hell, were it only for his treatment of horses.”

H. C. Merwin.