IN THE SHETLANDS 4r7 
I suppose it sounds like a truism to say that the 
actual witnessing of nature’s ruthlessness—of her 
“red tooth and claw”—has a very different effect 
upon one than is produced by the mere reading of it, 
however powerful the description may be. Judging 
by my own sensations, however, the difference is not 
merely of degree, but of kind, for such accounts, 
with the reflections made upon them, have in them 
a certain tone and tinting of the mind through 
which they pass, so that we get, not nature, but man 
softening her. ‘ Why softening ?” it may be asked. 
I am here speaking only of civilised man—who 
alone, perhaps, reflects about such matters—and it 1s 
my firm conviction that civilised man, in unconscious 
deference to his own peace of mind, does soften 
everything of a disagreeable nature, or if he cannot 
soften the thing itself—and it 7s difficult sometimes 
-—yet, at least, his hopes and faith and longings fling 
a balm upon it, which, rather than the sore, 1s what we 
receive. So, too, in all general reference. Man, not 
nature, is what we get. Thus, when Tennyson speaks 
of ‘‘nature red in tooth and claw,” it is not only—or 
so much—this stern and horrid truth, that the line 
calls up. Tennyson himself, if we recognise it as 
his, immediately comes into our mind, and with him 
the idea of one who, though he can admit so much, 
yet sees comfort and hope through it all, who be- 
lieves, or at least trusts— 
That somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill. 
