304 THE ETHICAL KINSHIP 



We can break up the laboriously built home of a 

 mother mouse in the rubbish-heap of our back 

 yard, scatter the pink babies of that mother over 

 the ground to die of cold and starvation, and 

 cause the frightened mother to flee at the risk of 

 her very life — all to give to the terrier and our- 

 selves a little moment of savage pastime. But if 

 that same mother, some hard winter's night, when 

 she has failed in her search elsewhere for some- 

 thing to stay her hunger, comes into our larder 

 and nibbles a bit of cheese or a few mouthfuls of 

 crust from our pie, although she takes but a crumb 

 in all, and is as dainty in her feeding as a lady, 

 we immediately get out our traps and poisons and 

 storm around as if a murder or some other irrepar- 

 able wrong had been committed. We think of our 

 acts toward non-human peoples, when we think of 

 them at all, entirely from the human point of view. 

 We never take the time to put ourselves in the 

 places of our victims. We never take the trouble 

 to get over into their world, and realise what is 

 happening over there as a result of our doings 

 toward them. It is so much more comfortable not 

 to do so — so much more comfortable to be blind and 

 deaf and insane. We go on quieting our con- , 

 sciences, as best we can, by the fact that every- 

 body else nearly is engaged in the same business 

 as we are, and by the fact that so few ever say 

 anything about the matter — amesthetised, as it 

 were, by the universality of our iniquities and the 

 infrequency of disquieting reminders. 



Many years ago an eccentric but gifted English- 



