60 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



(who are a product of civilization) know 

 a lawn when they see it. They rather 

 have a fancy for it, and always try to 

 drive so as to cut the sharp borders of 

 it, and leave the marks of their wheels 

 in deep ruts of cut-up, ruined turf. The 

 other morning, I had just been running 

 the mower over the lawn, and stood 

 regarding its smoothness, when I noticed 

 one, two, three puffs of fresh earth in it ; 

 and, hastening thither, I found that the 

 mole had arrived to complete the work 

 of the hackmen. In a half-hour, he had 

 rooted up the ground like a pig. I 

 found his run-ways. I waited for him 

 with a spade. He did not appear; but, 

 the next time I passed by, he had 

 ridged the ground in all directions, a 

 smooth, beautiful animal, with fur like 

 silk, if you could only catch him. He 

 appears to enjoy the lawn as much as 

 the hackmen did. He does not care 



