"A 'RASSLE' WITH CONSCIENCE." 



ERNEST RUSSELL. 



The white dawn o'er the sleeping forest rose, 

 And woke each beast and bird to feed and play ; 

 To pass in Nature's temple of repose, 

 Their happy, harmless day. 



When, crashing onward through the thickets dun, 

 And strong with dreadful acts to maim and slay, 

 Took man the hunter with his dogs and gun 

 His devastating way. 



Fear went hefore him with her visage wan, 



And each beast owned his dread and ruthless sway ; 



All Nature fled the face of man, 



The fiercest beast of prey. 



— Reginald Gourlay, in The Century. 



The foregoing impressed me, as I first 

 read it more than a year ago. Several lines 

 of it, indeed, became so firmly implanted in 

 my mind that they have frequently recurred 

 to me. It was not until recently, however, 

 that my conscience became allied with the 

 spirit of Mr. Gourlay's verse, and proceeded 

 to arraign what I have always called my 

 " sportsmanship." 



I have been rather roughly handled by 

 the twain, during many hours of argument, 

 and I appeal to the intelligent readers of 

 Recreation for solace, comfort, and, per- 

 haps, assistance. 



The case is laid before you in this way: 

 I am a man who has always prided himself 

 on being, in the best sense of the term, " a 

 sportsman," with a great love for nature in 

 all her moods; with a fondness for the rod 

 and gun and a careful living up to the best 

 ethics which should govern the indulgence 

 of an inclination toward what we frequently 

 see called our " sporting proclivities.'"' 

 Above all I have taken great pride in the 

 consciousness of a large amount of what I 

 will term humane feeling, showing itself in 

 a readiness to take the weaker side of any 

 conflict, in a tender sympathy with the men- 

 tal or physical distress of any sentient creat- 

 ure; in a fondness for the whole brute crea- 

 tion and in a constant endeavor to assist in 

 charitable or philanthropic undertakings. 



In view of all these possessions I resented 

 Mr. Gourlay's attack, and fell into discus- 

 sion — incidentally into a mental quandary 

 as well. 



Divesting the situation of what might, in 

 some cases, be extenuating circumstances, 

 let me say, primarily, that I do not hunt as 

 a means of livelihood. Neither do I labor 

 in the interests of science, in my destruc- 

 tion of game. To candidly confess, I hunt 

 for the " sport " there is in it. Let us see 

 by what means I find it. 



I arm myself with the modern hammer- 

 less shotgun, made by the evolution of con- 

 stantly improving minds, an engine of de- 



struction, perfect in every detail. I ally to 

 myself the services of a dog whose brute 

 instincts and natural mental endowment 

 have been directed by careful education into 

 the channels most useful for the end in view. 

 I seek the woods. By every artifice within 

 my reason I strive to prevent the escape, 

 to accomplish the destruction of a timor- 

 ous, freedom-loving and harmless creature, 

 endowed with a highly organized nervous 

 sensibility. Where is my humane feeling, 

 my disinclination to inflict pain, my active 

 sympathy? 



How strange it is that such vigorous, pos- 

 itive possessions as I have named, in daily, 

 perhaps hourly exercise, throughout the 

 year, can be so readily, almost wilfully side- 

 tracked- as it were, on a moment's notice, 

 and the cold blooded murder and torture 

 of inoffensive animals indulged in and pos- 

 itively enjoyed? 



For enjoyment it is. Consciously or un- 

 consciously we are pleased at the death of 

 each successive victim. I can but frankly 

 confess that joy is mine. Exhilaration of 

 a pronounced sort and an exquisite pleas- 

 ure thrill me as the thud of the falling 

 grouse, and the convulsive flutter which 

 succeeds it, proclaim to an eager ear that 

 my aim was true. 



No one can appreciate more keenly than 

 I. the part that Nature and the love of her 

 every mood plays in the deep fascination 

 which " sport " has for a " sportsman." No 

 one possesses a more ardent love for the 

 dog. No one admires more thoroughly de- 

 veloped skill in any pursuit. What discon- 

 certs me is the fact that, in one person, there 

 can co-exist 2 such diametrically opposed 

 qualities of mind and heart! 



On a frosty October morning, the music 

 of the baying hounds has come to my lis- 

 tening ear, from a distant hill, to thrill my 

 whole being and delight my soul. Win- 

 did I rejoice? Where was my compassion 

 for the poor harassed and fleeing Reynard? 



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