A Common Vice

If there be one thing in which mankind can be clearly seen to have made progress, it is in gentleness,—what we name humanity. It would to-day be impossible for men in any country calling itself civilized to practice such cruelties toward each other as were once common, even so late as the seventeenth century. That they were common so short a time back is appalling to think of. It was not only in periods of persecution, but every day and in private relations, that men manifested the temper of fiends rather than human beings; and the change that has come over us in this single respect seems to divide us with a sharp line from the men who could torture their fellows in ways we shrink to read of. No more sickening story is there than this record of human cruelty. Man by nature is not gentle, but cruel; the savage is cruel, the majority of children are cruel, — from ignorance and thoughtlessness rather than wanton heartlessness.

But though men are become sensitive where of old they were callous, and would not themselves be guilty of inhumanity to their fellows, or tolerate it in others, they have not yet learned the whole lesson, for they are still brutal to brutes, — to the creatures who have no voice to cry out in protest against their wrongs.

We have societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, associations whose efforts we hope do something toward awakening the universal sentiment of humanity ; but I wonder how long it will be before so-called civilized peoples cease to amuse themselves at the cost of helpless sufferers. As yet, where field sports are common, those who engage in them do not want to regard the practice as open to question ; they do not think because they will not. I shall not forget a certain beautiful August day, spent on the borders of Somerset and Devon, when for the first and last time I went to a “ meet. " My companions and I were less intent on the chase than the delights of long hours in that bright sunshine out on the broad, wind-swept moors. It was a good while before the hunt began. The game was not foxes, but deer.

We left our carriage, and roamed about over the heather in the neighborhood of the spot whence the hunt had started. Of the two women in our party one was English, but she had never before been at a deer-liunt;. The sportsmen had been lost to sight for some time, and we were standing gazing idly about us, when suddenly against the clear skyline appeared a solitary deer, pausing for an instant, as though uncertain of its best course. Immediately after the huntsmen came riding up, and we two women, filled with love for the beautiful, harmless creature hesitating on the edge of death, involuntarily clapped our hands and cried out to startle it. The deer sprang forward, passing within two yards of us, and plunged down toward the shore, in the direction of Porlock. Doubtless the hunters would have been furious, if they had heard our warning shout. It did no more than delay the fate of the poor beast, which was run down and murdered two or three hours after.

In the evening, a few words were exchanged about the hunt by one of our party and an Englishman present. “ Oh, that is all sentiment, you know,” said the latter, between a sneer and a laugh, in answer to F.’s remark. “ Of course it is sentiment, — that is, feeling,” observed F. ; “ the whole matter is concluded by that,” and dropped a subject it was useless to discuss.

Mr. Henry James has asserted in one of his essays that English social life is based upon sport, and I take it that his statement is an authoritative one. Then the English are not yet truly civilized. They do not have bull-fights, and so far are in advance, of the Spaniards. If Germans and Frenchmen enjoy wolfhunting and boar - limiting, they have something to say for themselves, since the contest with such formidable beasts is a fairer one.

The cruelties of the chase are practiced not only toward the game, but the horses, who are so often impelled to their own destruction. An English essayist records a conversation between two sportsmen, which he overheard in a railway carriage. One man recounted the Story of a run in which, out of the fifteen horses used, eight were killed and five ruined for life. The same man calmly remarked: “It is of no use to keep a horse that has gone through such a day as that. Mind you, one palpitation of the heart is enough for one horse.”

But how many minor cruelties other than sportsmen are guilty of, through want of thought and want of self-control !

In a very clever dialogue, invented by Mr. H. D. Traill, between a fox, a horse, a dog, a rabbit, and a cat, in which the subject of conversation is man, t the noble horse remarks that man, on the whole, is not so bad as he is weak and lacking in self-control, losing his temper easily over any little obstacle to his hasty desires. Never was truer word spoken. Have we not seen a man lash his horse, for no fault of the beast’s, — for nothing but to vent his spite at having been obliged by some person or thing in his way to pull up when he was in a hurry? For myself, injustice toward a faithful animal hurts my soul perhaps more than the blow hurts its body. I cannot endure the sight of children tormenting an amiable dog or kitten, because they are untaught to distinguish between a playmate and a plaything. Why should the creatures never have a will and pleasure of their own, even though it be sometimes contrary to ours ? There is a kind of thoughtless cruelty very common ; that is, the tying up of a dog all night and day, with the exception, perhaps, of a half hour’s release from imprisonment. Who is there that could take a young child, every pulse swift with life, every muscle strung ready for active motion, and tie it in a chair or pen it in a corner, and listen unmoved to its lamentable cry for freedom to enjoy its healthy body as nature meant it should ? What difference is there in this respect between a young child and a young dog ? When both are old, enjoyment for them may come to be repose in an armchair and a kennel.