It is perfectly
safe,--in a book.
As we can go wherever we please, suppose we try our skill in hunting
the Wild Boar. He will be a good beast to begin with, because he is
tolerably convenient, being found in Southern Europe, Palestine, and
neighboring countries, and also because he is such a destructive
rascal, when he comes into the neighborhood of civilization, that
every one will be much obliged to us for killing him. If he chances to
get into a vineyard, in company with a set of his reckless fellows,
there is small chance for a vintage that year. He tears down the
vines, devours the grapes, green and ripe, and breaks and ruins
trellises and everything within his reach.
If we are so fortunate as to get sight of him, we will find that he is
no easy game to bag. Very different is he from his tame brethren with
which we are acquainted--old grunters, who wallow about the
mud-puddles and sleep serenely for hours, with their fat sides baking
in the sun. The wild boar is as fast as a horse, and as savage as the
crossest bull. He can run so that you can scarcely catch up to him
with your nag at the top of his speed, and when you do reach him he
will be very apt, if you are not watchful, to rip up your horse with
his tusks and cut some terrible gashes in your own legs, besides.
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