“Ye–es,” said Uncle Joe, “I suppose it has.”
“You wouldn’t like to shoot a blackbird, perhaps?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Uncle Joe. “They are the wickedest thieves that ever entered a garden; aren’t they, Nat?”
“Yes, uncle, they are a nuisance,” I said.
“Well, suppose you killed a blackbird, Joe,” continued our visitor; “he has spent half his time in killing slugs and snails, and lugging poor unfortunate worms out of their holes; and it seems to me that the slug or the worm is just as likely to enjoy its life as the greedy blackbird, whom people protect because he has an orange bill and sings sweetly in the spring.”
“Ye–es,” said my uncle, looking all the while as if he were terribly puzzled, while I sat drinking in every word our visitor said, feeling that I had never before heard any one talk like that.
“For my part,” continued our visitor, “I never destroy life wantonly; and as for you, young man, you may take this for a piece of good advice—never kill for the sake of killing. Let it be a work of necessity—for food, for a specimen, for your own protection, but never for sport. I don’t like the word, Nat; there is too much cruelty in what is called sport.”
“But wouldn’t you kill lions and tigers, sir?” I said.
“Most decidedly, my boy. That is the struggle for life. I’d sooner kill a thousand tigers, Nat, than one should kill me,” he said laughing; “and for my part—”
“Joseph, I’m ashamed of you. Nathaniel, this is your doing, you naughty boy,” cried my aunt, appearing at the door. “It is really disgraceful, Joseph, that you will come here to sit and smoke; and as for you, Nathaniel, what do you mean, sir, by dragging your un—, I mean a visitor, down into this nasty, untidy place, and pestering him with your rubbish?”