other as much as it was made for
itself. Not that Nature manifests any such thing as selfish isolation.
In the making of every animal the presence of every other animal has
been recognized. Indeed, every atom in creation may be said to be
acquainted with and married to every other, but with universal union
there is a division sufficient in degree for the purposes of the most
intense individuality; no matter, therefore, what may be the note
which any creature forms in the song of existence, it is made first for
itself, then more and more remotely for all the world and worlds.

Were it not for the exercise of individualizing cares on the part of
Nature, the universe would be felted together like a fleece of tame
wool. But we are governed more than we know, and most when we are
wildest. Plants, animals, and stars are all kept in place, bridled
along appointed ways, WITH one another, and THROUGH THE MIDST of one
another--killing and being killed, eating and being eaten, in harmonious
proportions and quantities. And it is right that we should thus
reciprocally make use of one another, rob, cook, and consume, to the
utmost of our healthy abilities and desires. Stars attract one another
as they are able, and harmony results. Wild lambs eat as many wild
flowers as they can find or desire, and men and wolves eat the lambs to
just the same extent.

This consumption of one another in its various modifications is a
kind of culture varying with the degree of directness with which it is
carried out, but we should be careful not to ascribe to such culture
any improving qualities upon those on whom it is brought to bear. The
water-ousel plucks moss from the riverbank to build its nest, but is
does not improve the moss by plucking it. We pluck feathers from birds,
and less directly wool from wild sheep, for the manufacture of clothing
and cradle-nests, without improving the wool for the sheep, or the
feathers for the bird that wore them. When a hawk pounces upon a linnet
and proceeds to pull out its feathers, preparatory to making a meal,
the hawk may be said to be cultivating the linnet, and he certainly does
effect an improvement as far as hawk-food is concerned; but what of the
songster? He ceases to be a linnet as soon as he is snatched from the
woodland choir; and when, hawklike, we snatch the wild sheep from its
native rock, and, instead of eating and wearing it at once, carry it
home, and breed the hair out of its wool and the b