From Fox's Earth 



belong to an heroic age. We have no belief in 

 heroics. We seek no arena for our deeds, which 

 might lend them of its own greatness. We act 

 secretly in dark, narrow places. Were we deal- 

 ing with men we might be said to assassinate. 



Even as I write a little 'group of cattle the 

 one nearest an innocent-looking brute, with a 

 great disc of white round the eye are passing 

 the window on their way from the pasture to the 

 town. Behind is a lout, with no special marks 

 of person to commend him as anything superior 

 to his charge. Perhaps the chief advantage is 

 the stick, the original of weapons, the crudest 

 symbol of man's sovereignty. 



In his reminiscences, Dean Ramsay tells of a 

 guest in a Scots house who was late in coming 

 down to dinner. Donald, the manservant, sent 

 to find out the reason of the delay, surprised him 

 using an instrument with which he, Donald, was 

 unfamiliar a tooth-brush, to wit. Still the guest 

 delayed. " But, Donald," said the master, "are 

 you sure you made the gentleman understand ? " 

 " Understand," was the retort, " I'se warrant he 

 understands. He's sharpin' his teeth." While 

 the herd was on the way, the town was sharpin' 

 its teeth. 



So it is. The great carnivores are extinct, 

 killed by our hands. The grass-eaters are pre- 

 served. Not because we love them, save in a 

 very carnal way. The warfare goes on, only in 



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