One thing that made for a good neighbourly spirit in pioneer days was
the fact that the struggle of life placed every one on an equal footing.
It was like a battle where the officers are compelled to dig in the
trenches with the men. Gentleman's son and peasant worked side by side,
and it often happened that the peasant succeeded best because he was
more fitted to endure hardships. With the increase of prosperity and the
introduction of labour-saving machinery the neighbouring spirit sank to
the level it holds in other countries. As the country was cleared
logging bees were no longer necessary, and the introduction of the
reaper did away with the reaping bees. Woollen mills did away with wool
picking, carding, and spinning bees, and similar changes took place all
along the line. The threshing bee is practically the only survivor of
the old forms of neighbourhood work, and it is only a shadow of what it
was. Improved threshing machines with steam power enable five men to do
in a day the work that was formerly done in three days by five teams and
fifteen men. Prosperity also brought social cleavage, and I have been
assured that the introduction of the first organs did much to break up
the neighbouring spirit. The girl who got an organ put on airs which
provoked much envy and heart-burning. Then prosperous farmers could hire
the help they needed and became independent of neighbourly help. Because
of these things the neighbourly spirit of the pioneers died away in the
second generations.
In spite of all this the neighbourly spirit is far from being dead in
the country. Indeed it seems to be enjoying a new lease of life, and all
because of the introduction of the rural telephone. It is now so easy to
call up a neighbour and have a chat, to arrange for an evening together,
a little party or a dance to help pass the long winter, that social life
is becoming livelier than ever before. This new neighbourly spirit is
social rather than helpful, and extends itself over a wider range of
territory. The telephone makes neighbours of people who are living miles
apart, and it is possible for those of congenial tastes to keep in touch
as never before. Many people who are in every way admirable do not get
along well as neighbours. Emerson and Thoreau were both admirable men,
but it is more than suspected that as neighbours they were not a
success. There is a story of doubtful authenticity in which Emerson is
reported as saying of Thoreau: "We all love Henry, but we don't like
him." The world is full of people whom we are forced to admire for their
abilities and love for their good qualities, but with whom we should not
enjoy sustaining the relationship of neighbours. Others are not fitted
to be good neighbours. There was once a trapper who had his hut on a
mountain side where he could overlook the whole surrounding country. He
may have been an excellent man, but he lacked the neighbourly spirit,
for when he saw a prairie schooner passing within ten miles of him he
moved back farther into the wilderness, because, he complained, the
place was getting too crowded for him.
It used to be said of some people that they saved money all summer so
that they could go to law with their neighbours in the winter. Such
people are not so much in evidence now, as all the line fence disputes
have long since been threshed out and settled by careful surveys.
Perhaps the worst type of neighbour to be found at the present time is
the man who is all the time hunting for "snaps"--the man who is
continually on the look-out for chances to drive hard bargains with
neighbours who may be pressed for money and obliged to sell stock or
produce at a sacrifice. The man who adds trading to his work as farmer
is seldom a good neighbour. His sharp dealings can set a whole community
by the ears. In the country people seem to have long memories, and a
piece of sharp practice is often remembered and resented by the second
and third generations. Still, if one can look at the matter
philosophically, even bad neighbours have their usefulness. Shakespeare
says:
"There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful and good husbandry:
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all, admonishing
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself."
_Feb. 28._--We have had a fox-hunt. When we first heard of a fox in the
neighbourhood, I mourned my lack of enthusiasm, and glanced back with
regret to the days when I would have pursued it to the death. When in
that philosophical mood I made the usual mistake of overlooking one
important factor of the problem. It did not occur to me that the
enthusiasm and faith that I had lost might still be burning in the heart
of youth. Although I had no intention of hunting the fox, I had
promptings of the old hunting spirit, and almost every time I crossed a
track in the woods I would follow it as long as it did not wander too
far from the direction in which I was going. One of these little
tracking expeditions led me to a hollow oak stump, which the fox
evidently used for a den from time to time. I looked into the hollow to
see if Mr. Fox was at home, but he was not. But I found evidence of his
recent occupancy in the half-eaten body of a rabbit. This dispelled the
last lingering doubt that the tracks were those of a fox, and when I
told about my find the fat was in the fire. The boys were at once at a
fever heat, and I had to promise that we would go after the fox the
first thing in the morning. After that was settled they began to dispute
about what they would buy with the price of the skin. As I think it over
now I know I should have improved the occasion by telling them the story
of the man who sold the lion's skin while the lion was still wearing it,
and was eaten by the lion when he came to get it, but it did not occur
to me. Somehow I never think of improving lectures at the proper time.
In the morning I was surprised to have the alarm clock go off while I
was still sound asleep. I usually wake up a few minutes before it is
time to get up, and simply use the alarm clock to confirm my suspicions.
It is easier to have it tinkle a little than to get up and light a match
to see the time. Though I felt in my bones that there was something
wrong, I got up and found that the alarm clock had been tampered with.
In their eagerness to get a proper start the boys had set it half an
hour earlier. Being up I decided to make no protest, but to get even in
another way. It was only necessary to whisper "fox" to the boys to get
them out of bed and into their clothes, with a haste that would have
been absolutely impossible on a school morning. Before starting we had
to do the chores, and I got even about the alarm clock by slipping in a
few extra chores that had been hanging over my head for a couple of
weeks, and they were all done without complaint. This taught me a little
lesson about getting things done that I shall probably make use of later
on. When there is a bunch of work that I want to get finished quickly
and uncomplainingly I shall organise a whale-spearing expedition to the
government drain, or a wild-cat hunt among the little trees that we
planted in the woods last spring. As we live we learn, and it is
sometimes a great help to learn a few of the things we have forgotten
about boy nature.
When the dawn became bright enough for us to be able to see the sights
on the rifle, we started across the fields to the woods. There were
sparrows at the stable, but we did not bother with them. We were after
big game, and sparrows did not interest us.
Passing through a patch of withered weeds we saw a lot of rabbit tracks
and that made us pause, for rabbits are not to be despised, especially
when you haven't managed to get one in a long time. We spent a few
minutes in trying to disentangle the tracks, but were finally forced to
the conclusion that the rabbits had all gone home to sleep. There was a
moment of excitement when we saw a red squirrel, but as it was the only
one that had been seen in the neighbourhood for over a year, I would not
allow it to be molested. Anyway, he was a pretty wise red squirrel, for
he got himself under cover within about ten seconds, and in that way
settled the argument in my favour. Although red squirrels are usually
impudent and saucy, this one was not taking any chances with human
beings who were out so early carrying a gun. After leaving the red
squirrel, we plodded straight to the woods where we found the little
covering of snow full of tracks of many kinds. There were places where
the black squirrels had been hunting for beechnuts so industriously that
it looked as if a drove of pigs had been rooting around. Overhead in the
trees a flock of blue jays were scolding and squawking, and as I could
not remember whether blue jays are of the beneficial birds that should
be protected we gave them the benefit of the doubt, and did not shoot at
them, although they frequently offered tempting targets. A big hawk
sailed out of the top of a tree before we were within range, and,
anyway, we would not have shot at him, for hawks now have an excellent
reputation on account of the work they do in killing mice. We had not
gone far before we found the tracks of the fox, and then the real hunt
began. It might have been much more exciting had it not been for a
slight thaw on a previous afternoon which enabled us to see that all
the fox tracks were, at least, a day old. Still they were fox tracks,
and we scouted about hunting for new ones, but without success. Beside a
fence near a briar patch we found a rabbits' playground. There was a
little space about a rod in diameter where the snow was beaten hard by
their little feet. We remembered that in one of his nature stories
Charles G. D. Roberts tells how the rabbits come to such places on
moonlight nights, and jump around and slap the snow with their flat hind
feet in the progress of some strange games that are popular with
rabbits. Only a couple of times before have I come across playgrounds of
this kind. They seem to be about as rare as the dancing floors of the
elephants. But we were after the fox, and did not stay to study the
exhibition. As we were unable to find fresh tracks I led the way to the
hollow stump referred to above, and we held an inquest on the remains of
the rabbit. The work was unquestionably that of a fox, but where was he?
In feverish haste we crossed and recrossed the little patch of woods,
investigating every stump and hollow log that might give shelter to a
fox. Although there were tracks everywhere they did not seem to lead
anywhere. At one log we found skunk tracks, but after a careful
consultation decided not to visit the little housekeepers. We would just
make a purely formal call, and not try to establish either friendly or
unfriendly relations. None of us felt inclined to take the risk of being
forced to live as a hermit--the usual fate of an inexperienced hunter
who tries conclusions with a specimen of "Mephitica," sub-family
"Mustelidae." We called him his scientific name and let it go at that.
When we came to the tree where the chicken-killing hawks have had their
nest for years, and persist in keeping it, although we shoot them up
every summer, we were interested to find that the tree was dead, and
that last summer the hawks had fooled us by building a new nest in the
bushy top of a big tree near by. It seems that hawks never nest in a
dead tree, possibly because it does not give them sufficient cover, or
because there is a danger of the dead limbs breaking and letting the
nest tumble to the ground. By this time we had been forced to the
conclusion that we were not going to find the fox, and the comments of
the blue jays were so insulting that it was hard to keep from taking a
shot at them. And then, and then--we headed straight for the house, and
all burst through the door together asking in eager tones, "Is dinner
ready?" If we didn't find the fox we found a fox's appetite.
Now there may be some people who will be so short-sighted as to think
that we did not have a fox-hunt at all. That is all wrong. One of the
greatest truths of philosophy is that the reward is all in pursuit, and
not in the achievement. Men who win success invariably tell us that it
is as disappointing as the apples of Sodom, but the struggle for success
is always stimulating and develops character. The fact that we did not
get the fox greatly improved the philosophic value of our hunt. When
they grow older I shall explain this to the boys, but at present they
are too much disappointed at not getting the fox to appreciate the
lesson.