A BADGER'S HAUNT 



have now partly filled up ; the underwood has been 

 cleared around, and here the pipy stems of wild 

 parsnip have pushed up seven feet high. The pits 

 and cut underwood tell of a badger hunt a few years 

 ago. They came with crowbar, spade, and pick, and 

 the dogs of no particular breed or pedigree but with 

 a local reputation for pluck to face a badger. They 

 found a badger, and dug nine feet deep into the 

 chalk, and I hear that they finally sounded him 

 some thirty yards from the spot where the dogs went 

 underground ! But they went away baffled. The 

 badger was not to be drawn. I visited the spot the 

 other day, and recalled my badger hunt of long ago 

 at the same burrow. In this hunt, too, the badger 

 made a great resistance, and dug amazingly before 

 the keeper seized him by the tail, when at length he 

 backed out of a hole, and, holding him up one 

 moment, dropped him into the sack the next. 



The Poaching Quarter 



In autumn one looks for a little more activity in 

 the poachers' quarter of the country town. One may 

 recognize this quarter by its dogs of low degree, 

 lurchers chiefly, which prowl about the road. Gipsy 

 blood, clear to see, runs in the veins of several men 

 and women who stand at their open door, or sit on 

 the step watching over the children at play in the 

 middle of the highway, or gossiping with neighbours. 

 This is the street where the rabbit-nets for the 



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