1828.] General Increase of Crime. 365 



which prevails with the lower orders, arises out of the slender distinc- 

 tion they see taken by their superiors, between the claims of crime and 

 those of honesty. For the rest, it appears agreed that the existing state 

 of things demands some change. That change, to be an effective, must 

 be a vigorous one : if we wish to remove a mass of feculence, we must 

 have recourse to the birch broom ; we cannot do it with a camel's hair 

 pencil. Vice, in every nation, and in every state of society, must be 

 restrained by the fear of suffering. All the speculators who deal in 

 lenient systems, make pain and pain frequently applied in the most 

 objectionable way their ultima ratio. We may regret that the state of 

 human nature demands this resort : but we are not warranted in refusing 

 to have recourse to it. 



VILLAGE SKETCHES: 

 No. X. 



THE MOLE-CATCHER. 



THERE are no more delightful or unfailing associations than those 

 afforded by the various operations of the husbandman, and the changes 

 on the fair face of nature. We all know that busy troops of reapers 

 come with the yellow corn ; whilst the yellow leaf brings a no less busy 

 train of ploughmen and seedsmen preparing the ground for fresh har- 

 vests ; that woodbines and wild roses, flaunting in the blossomy hedge- 

 rows, give token of the gay bands of haymakers which enliven the mea- 

 dows j and that the primroses, which begin to unfold their pale stars by 

 the side of the green lanes, bear marks of the slow and weary female 

 processions, the gangs of tired yet talkative bean-setters, who defile 

 twice a day through the intricate mazes of our cross-country roads. 

 These are general associations, as well known and as universally recog- 

 nised as the union of mince-pies and Christmas. I have one, more pri- 

 vate and peculiar one, perhaps, the more strongly impressed on my 

 mind, because the impression may be almost confined to myself. The 

 full flush of violets which, about the middle of March, seldom fails to 

 perfume the whole earth, always brings to my recollection one solitary 

 and silent coadjutor of the husbandman's labours, as unlike a violet as 

 possible Isaac Bint, the mole-catcher. 



I used to meet him every spring, when we lived at our old house, 

 .whose park-like paddock, with its finely clumped oaks and elms, and 

 its richly timbered hedgerows, edging into wild, rude, and solemn fir- 

 plantations, dark, and rough, and hoary, formed for so many years my 

 constant and favourite walk. Here, especially under the great horse- 

 chesnut, and where the bank rose high and naked above the lane, 

 crowned only with a tuft of golden broom here the sweetest and pret- 

 tiest of wild flowers, whose very name hath a charm, grew like a carpet 

 under one's feet, enamelling the young green grass with their white and 

 purple blossoms, and loading the very air with their delicious fra- 

 grance here I used to come almost every morning, during the violet- 

 tide and here almost every morning I was sure to meet Isaac Bint. 



I think that he fixed himself the more firmly in my memory by his 

 singular discrepancy with the beauty and cheerfulness of the scenery 

 and the season. Isaac is a tall, lean, gloomy personage, with whom the 

 clock of life seems to stands still. He has looked sixty-five for these 

 last twenty years, although his dark hair and beard, and firm manly 



