A PLEA FOB THE WASTES. 21 



brothers and I had been brought up in the country, and 

 were hunters from our childhood. Our couple of terriers 

 were game as flint, and yet they were never able to draw 

 a badger from his natural fastness. I have heard them 

 hold one to bay for hours, in the inmost recesses of his 

 earth. On one occasion, when a favourite terrier had 

 teazed the poor animal for a long time, it slily followed, 

 and when the dog was within a yard of the hole's entrance, 

 bit his hind leg to the bone. This harassing the rear of a 

 retreating enemy showed tactics, on the part of the old 

 grey friar, that we could scarcely have expected. I once 

 brought home a half-grown cub which had wandered 

 from the hole, rolling it up in my jacket. (What will 

 not boys do ?) It soon became so tame as to eat beetles 

 and humble-bees from our hands, and would lap up 

 porridge and milk like a dog. I well recollect for it was 

 a job that cost us no small trouble digging out an old 

 she one. To the last she kept the dogs at bay ; and even 

 when we heard the growl within a couple of yards, they 

 were unable to dislodge her. Whenever we struck into 

 the wide cell, they dashed in upon her, and inflicted such 

 injury that she soon died. There were two cubs, about a 

 week old, which made a low chirping squeak. The cell 

 where they were was round, hard, and dry, about two feet 

 in height, by four or five yards in circumference. There 

 was no food in it. Many a badger we trapped, and, I 

 verily believe, were as proud of the brock-holes as an 

 Indian chief of his finest hunting-ground. Those that we 

 trapped soon learned to take part of the dogs' supper. 



