The enterprise. [volume] (Harlem, Mont.) 1899-1926, 1909-06-23

blackberry vines, their three dogs
dancing around in half delirious expec.
tation. So intent were they all on their
hunt that they gave no sort of heed
to me, and believing them to be after
venomous reptile, watched them
with curiosity, some kind Of brute
citation in me responding to the noise
and conflict of it.
At last, when burrow had been
uncovered, and the biggest dog of the
three thrust his nose in, what was my
astonishment to see him pull out an
animal and throw him with a vicious
jerk into the center of the group, and
there sat Marmion on bis launches, to
be greeted by chorus of relentless
exultation as he looked at dogs and
men, trying, in one momentary glance
OF wonder, before he was torn to
pieces, to comprehend the inexplicable
injustice and cruelty Of it.
l shall always remember the re-
proach OF that look. Such intelligence
as the poor animal had was wrought
In moment to a pitiful interrogation:
why should four men and three dogs
beset with demoniac delight such
harmless creature as I ann" Some
thing of the same futile establishment
beset me.
There was no use trying to rescue
Marmion. He was torn to pieces be-
fore l could make myself heard. But
why should 1t afford such satisfaction
to the men, and why four such lusty
examples of manhood should be so de-
void of magnanimity could not for the
life OF me understand then, nor have
understood since, what it is impels in
telllgent immortal souls to this pur-
poseless and cruel frenzy. Yet beyond
doubt there is an innate savagery
Implanted deep in the human breast
that is apt to flash forth suddenly from
the most unexpected sources. Accord
Ing to their lights the human slayers
OF poor Marmion had acted; and would
have been not little surprised and
onended had somebody accused them
OF wilful and unnecessary cruelty. Nor
were they to be set down as unusual
specimens of the race. From time i'm
memorial the love of the chase. the
hunting to death Of some helpless wild
creature has proved popular pastime
with the sons of men. Where the
quarry is of dangerous class.
equipped by nature with weapons of
defense such as to place the hunted
on fair level Of chance with the
hunter there is perhaps some excuse
for those who revel in this form of
sport. 1t is throwing of dice honest
ly weighted, with equal hazard for the
participators in the risky game.
But for one dauntless Nimrod who
goes forth carrying his life in his
hand to wage war against the savage
creatures of the wild, there are in evil
dence countless numbers of less cour-
ageous individuals who glory in the
mere lust of Staying without any risk
to their own precious persons. Sports.
men of the latter type deserve to be
listed as feeble barbarians, retaining
the desire to kill but destitute of the
hardihood that characterized their
lron-sinewed forbears. The savage at
least, while giving free rein to his I'm.
tutored instincts, commands respect
by the unf1inching courage with which
ne faces the hunted beast that has
turned at bay. But where the ele-
ment of risk is lacking, l cannot find
1t in my soul to express admiration
for the dexterity Of the hunter. The
sportive gentleman who boasts of the
number of pheasants that have fallen
victims to his gun may be an excellent
shot, but I must confess that his per-
fections in this respect fail to move
me to any great transports of delight.
One is inclined to remember the caus-
tic comment of the old French duelist
on the feat of the novice who in
formed him that he had succeeded in
snuffing the wick of a candle with a
pistol bullet at 20 PAGES:
DO you suppose that your hand
would have been as steady If the
candle had been able to shoot back?"
inquired the veteran.
My mind was chaos of tumultuous
thoughts as I walked slowly back to
the hut. Slight as the incident had
been 1t was sufficient to cast shadow
over the quiet beauty of that Sunday
morning. The serpent had intruded,
II only for an instant, into paradise
and the grisly form OF Death held
CHASTITY carnival in the rustic wood
land. It is we'll for us that we have
scant time in the rush and whirl of
everyday life to ponder overmuch on
the little griefs that beset our paths,
and the inconsistent ironies of Fate.
Were 1t otherwise ordained this old
world would become a veritable char
mel house of mourning and life for
ever "sicklied DER with the pale cast of
thought" The rude philosopher who
said that man never meant to take
his joys without a strong swallow of
sorrows, voiced an undeniable If
roughly expressed fact There is al
ways something placed in the scales
to hold the balance true, and one can
only bow to the inevitable and be
thankful If the good outweighs the i'll