As I came home through the woods with my string of fish,trailing my pole,it being now quite dark,I caught a glimpse of a woodchuck stealing across my path,and felt a strange thrill of savage delight,and was strongly tempted to seize and devour him raw;not that I was hungry then,except for that wildness which he represented.Once or twice,however,while I lived at the pond,I found myself ranging the woods,like a half-starved hound,with a strange abandonment,seeking some kind of venison which I might devour,and no morsel could have been too savage for me.The wildest scenes had become unaccountably familiar.I found in myself,and still find,an instinct toward a higher,or,as it is named,spiritual life,as do most men,and another toward a primitive rank and savage one,and I reverence them both.I love the wild not less than the good.The wildness and adventure that are in fishing still recommended it to me.I like sometimes to take rank hold on life and spend my day more as the animals do.Perhaps I have owed to this employment and to hunting,when quite young,my closest acquaintance with Nature.They early introduce us to and detain us in scenery with which otherwise,at that age,we should have little acquaintance.Fishermen,hunters,wood-choppers,and others,spending their lives in the fields and woods,in a peculiar sense a part of Nature themselves,are often in a more favorable mood for observing her,in the intervals of their pursuits,than philosophers or poets even,who approach her with expectation.She is not afraid to exhibit herself to them.The traveller on the prairie is naturally a hunter,on the head waters of the Missouri and Columbia a trapper,and at the Falls of St.Mary a fisherman.He who is only a traveller learns things at second-hand and by the halves,and is poor authority.We are most interested when science reports what those men already know practically or instinctively,for that alone is a true humanity,or account of human experience.
They mistake who assert that the Yankee has few amusements,because he has not so many public holidays,and men and boys do not play so many games as they do in England,for here the more primitive but solitary amusements of hunting,fishing,and the like have not yet given place to the former.Almost every New England boy among my contemporaries shouldered a fowling-piece between the ages of ten and fourteen;and his hunting and fishing grounds were not limited,like the preserves of an English nobleman,but were more boundless even than those of a savage.No wonder,then,that he did not oftener stay to play on the common.But already a change is taking place,owing,not to an increased humanity,but to an increased scarcity of game,for perhaps the hunter is the greatest friend of the animals hunted,not excepting the Humane Society.
Moreover,when at the pond,I wished sometimes to add fish to my fare for variety.I have actually fished from the same kind of necessity that the first fishers did.Whatever humanity I might conjure up against it was all factitious,and concerned my philosophy more than my feelings.I speak of fishing only now,for I had long felt differently about fowling,and sold my gun before I went to the woods.Not that I am less humane than others,but I did not perceive that my feelings were much affected.I did not pity the fishes nor the worms.This was habit.As for fowling,during the last years that I carried a gun my excuse was that I was studying ornithology,and sought only new or rare birds.But I confess that I am now inclined to think that there is a finer way of studying ornithology than this.It requires so much closer attention to the habits of the birds,that,if for that reason only,I have been willing to omit the gun.Yet notwithstanding the objection on the score of humanity,I am compelled to doubt if equally valuable sports are ever substituted for these;and when some of my friends have asked me anxiously about their boys,whether they should let them hunt,I have answered,yes,-remembering that it was one of the best parts of my education,-make them hunters,though sportsmen only at first,if possible,mighty hunters at last,so that they shall not find game large enough for them in this or any vegetable wilderness,-hunters as well as fishers of men.Thus far I am of the opinion of Chaucer's nun,who“yave not of the text a pulled hen That saith that hunters ben not holy men.”
There is a period in the history of the individual,as of the race,when the hunters are the “best men,”as the Algonquins called them.We cannot but pity the boy who has never fired a gun;he is no more humane,while his education has been sadly neglected.This was my answer with respect to those youths who were bent on this pursuit,trusting that they would soon outgrow it.No humane being,past the thoughtless age of boyhood,will wantonly murder any creature which holds its life by the same tenure that he does.The hare in its extremity cries like a child.I warn you,mothers,that my sympathies do not always make the usual philanthropic distinctions.
