Attempts to trace or discover the origin of races through supposed
philological analogies do not possess the advantage of certainty
afforded by the study of the means by which individuals of the race
supply the continuous demands of the body with the nutriment necessary
to maintain life and health.

Everybody has heard of the seal, bear, walrus, and whale in connection
with Eskimo dietetics, and doubtless the stomachs of most persons would
revolt at the idea of eating these animals, the taste for which, by the
way, is merely a matter of early education or individual preference, for
there is no good reason why they should not be just as palatable to the
northern appetite as pig, sheep, and beef are to the inhabitants of
temperate latitudes. As food they renew the nitrogenous tissues,
reconstruct the parts and restore the functions of the Eskimo frame,
prolong his existence, and produce the same animal contentment and joy
as the more civilized viands of the white man's table. There are more
palatable things than bear or eider duck, yet I know many persons to
whom snails, olive oil, and _paté de fois gras_ are more repugnant. A
tray full of hot seal entrails, a bowl of coagulated blood, and putrid
fish are not very inviting or lickerish to ordinary mortals, yet they
have their analogue in the dish of some farmers who eat a preparation of
pig's bowels known as "chitterlings," and in the blood-puddings and
Limburger cheese of the Germans. Blubber-oil and whale are not very
dainty dishes, yet consider how many families subsist on half-baked
saleratus biscuits, salted pork, and oleomargarine.

On the mess table of the Fur Company's establishment at St. Paul island,
seal meat is a daily article of consumption, and from personal
experience I can testify as to its palatability, although it reminded