THE GAMEKEEPER AT HOME. 



I hear a slight rustling among the dead leaves at the 

 bottom of the ditch. They heave up as if something was 

 pushing underneath ; and after a while, as he comes to the 

 heap of sand thrown out by the rabbits, a mole emerges, 

 and instantly with a shiver, as it were, of his skin throws 

 off the particles of dust upon his fur as a dog fresh from 

 the water sends a shower from his coat. The summer 

 weather having dried the clay under the meadow turf and 



made it difficult to work, 

 he has descended into the 

 ditch, beneath which there 

 is still a certain moistness, 

 and where he can easily 

 bore a tunnel. 



It is rather rare to see 

 a mole above ground ; for- 

 tunately for him he is of 

 diminutive size, or so glossy 

 a fur would prove his ruin. 

 As it is, every other old 

 pollard willow tree along 

 the hedge is hung with 

 miserable moles, caught in 

 traps, and after death sus- 

 pended — like criminals 



TRAl'S. 



swinging on a gibbet — 

 from the end of slender willow boughs. Moles seem to 



