CHAP. THIRTY-ONE THE BADGER 



under the wall, he got away. 



The badger always puts me in mind of a miniature bear, 

 and to this family he evidently belongs. His proportions 

 are similar to those of the bear; his manner of placing his 

 feet on the ground is like that of a bear, and is very pecul- 

 iar. Beyond the marks of his toes, which, five in number, 

 mark the ground in nearly a straight line, are the impres- 

 sions of his strong, sharp nails, apparently unconnected 

 with, and at the distance of an inch or two from the rest of 

 his track. These long and powerful nails are a formidable 

 weapon, and in engagements with dogs he makes good use 

 of them, inflicting fearful and sometimes fatal wounds. 

 Though a quiet animal, and generally speaking not much 

 given to wandering, I have occasionally fallen in with his 

 unmistakeable track miles from any burrow. His habits are 

 wholly nocturnal, and it is only in the summer evenings, 

 when the darkness lasts but a few hours, that he is ever met 

 with whilst it is light. During winter he not only keeps en- 

 tirely within his hole, but fills up the mouth of it to exclude 

 the cold and any troublesome visitor who might intrude on 

 his slumbers. Frequently, however, tempted by mild wea- 

 ther in the winter, he comes out for some good purpose 

 of his own — either to enjoy the fresh air or to add to his 

 larder; but never does he venture out in frost or snow. 

 Sometimes I have known a badger leave the solitude of 

 thewoods and take to somedrain in the cultivated country, 

 where he becomes very bold and destructive to the crops, 

 cutting down wheat and ravaging the gardens in a surpris- 

 ing manner. One which I know to be now living- in this 

 manner derives great part of his food during the spring 

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