288 THE WEASEL. 



at a church near Oxford where I for some time officiated. One morning, during service, a 

 Weasel was seen to creep into the chancel through a small door which led into the church- 

 yard, and to walk gently into the middle of the floor. It sat up and reconnoitred the locality 

 for a few moments, and then retired. But in a very short time it returned with a frog in its 

 mouth, carried its prey into the middle of the floor, and there ate it, undisturbed by the 

 presence of the congregation or the sound of many voices. 



That the Weasel, when its numbers are not very great, is a valuable ally to the farmer 

 and the poultry-fancier, is now generally acknowledged. But there are instances where it has 

 played the part which is generally attributed to a powerful ally, and has, after successfully 

 extirpating the foes against whom it was summoned, taken possession of the country which it 

 came to save. There was a certain fish-pond which was suddenly invaded by a large body of 

 rats, which bored the banks in every direction, caught and ate the fish, and were so insolent 

 in the confidence of their numbers and strength that they would sit openly at the mouth of 

 their burrows, and boldly challenge any one who approached too near them. The nuisance 

 increased with great rapidity, when it was unexpectedly checked by the advent of a party of 

 Weasels, which in their turn took possession of the burrows, and in a short time had driven 

 away or killed every one of the rats. The fish were thus saved, and their owner felt a very 

 warm gratitude towards the Weasels for their timely interference on his behalf. However, the 

 Weasels, having eaten all the rats, began to extend their operations farther afield, and invaded 

 the neighboring premises in search of more game. Chickens, eggs, and young rabbits were 

 continually carried off, and the owner of the pond was soon as anxious to rid himself of the 

 Weasels as he had been desirous of destroying the rats. The Weasels, however, were not so 

 easily driven from their usurped burrows, and continued to hold their ground. 



The Weasel affords another example of the hasty manner in which so many animals are 

 calumniated. It is said by Buffon to be wholly untamable, sullen, and savage, and to be 

 insensible to every kindness that could be lavished upon it. Yet we find that the true disposition 

 of the Weasel is of a very different character, and that there is hardly any of the British 

 animals which is more keenly susceptible of kindness, or which will more thoroughly repay 

 the kind treatment of a loving hand. A lady who had taken a fancy to a Weasel, and had 

 succeeded in gaining its affections, wrote a most charming account of the habits of the little 

 creature which she had taken under her protection. She writes as follows : 



" If I pour some milk into my hand, it will drink a good deal, but if I do not pay it this 

 compliment it will scarcely take a drop. When satisfied, it generally goes to sleep. My 

 chamber is the place of its residence ; and I have found a method of dispelling its strong 

 smell by perfumes. By day, it sleeps in a quilt, into which it gets by an unsewn place 

 which it has discovered on the edge ; during the night, it is kept in a wired box or cage, 

 which it always enters with reluctance, and leaves with pleasure. If it be set at liberty before 

 my time of rising, after a thousand little playful tricks, it gets into my bed, and goes to sleep 

 in my hand or on my bosom. If I am up first, it spends a full half -hour in caressing me ; 

 playing with my fingers like a little dog, jumping on my head and on my neck, and running 

 round on my arms and body with a lightness and elegance which I have never found in any 

 other animal. If I present my hands at the distance of three feet, it jumps into them without 

 ever missing. It exhibits great address and cunning to compass its ends, and seems to disobey 

 certain prohibitions merely through caprice. 



"During all its actions it seems solicitous to divert and to be noticed ; looking at every 

 jump and at every turn to see whether it be observed or not. If no notice be taken of its 

 gambols, it ceases them immediately, and betakes itself to sleep, and even when awakened 

 from the soundest sleep it instantly resumes its gaiety, and frolics about in as sprightly a 

 manner as before. It never shows any ill-humor, unless when confined, or teased too much ; 

 in which case it expresses its displeasure by a sort of murmur, very different from that which 

 it utters when pleased. 



" In the midst of twenty people this little animal distinguishes my voice, seeks me out, and 

 springs over everybody to come at me. His play with me is the most lively and caressing 



