ON HEREDITY 
had been picked up by miners within a few days 
after its birth—before its eyes had opened. The 
cub, in fact, was so small that it was carried 
several miles to the camp tied in the sleeve of 
the coat of one of the miners. 
Raised to adult bearhood by these miners, 
without ever having seen another bear—relieved of 
the necessity of finding its own food and removed 
from the wild environment of its ancestors—this 
bear became as thoroughly domesticated, almost, 
as a tabby cat. 
What would such a bear do if thrown on its 
own resources? Would it have to begin at the 
beginning to learn bear-lore? 
Bears are great salmon fishers, for example. 
But is this skill taught by the mother to the 
baby bear—or is it a part of every bear at birth? 
That was the question of interest. 
When the animal had arrived at maturity, it 
was taken, one day, to a shallow salmon stream. 
Here was a bear which had never fished for 
salmon, and had never tasted fish; a bear which, 
if bears have a language, had not received a 
moment of instruction in self support; a bear 
which, taken before its eyes were open, had never 
seen its mother, had never known an influence 
outside of the artificial atmosphere of the mining 
camp. 
[37] 
