FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



He has feathered enemies amongst birds of prey 

 that watch the hills as he throws them up, and grip 

 him when they can. His coat is always beautiful ; 

 no matter when or where he may have been working, 

 not a speck of dirt ever shows on it ; although I 

 have captured him in the act of heaving up wet 

 clay soil, I have never seen him look anything but 

 clean. 



The general public know little about him beyond 

 the fact that he lives underground and does damage 

 — so they say — to the farmers, who have him caught 

 in traps. 



The hedgehog, urchin, or hedgepig, as he is vari- 

 ously called, has also had a bad name given to him 

 without deserving it. Two accusations against him 

 I will mention : sucking milk from cows and robbing 

 orchards. Our poor little English porcupine is not 

 reduced to such straits as were the Roman twins, 

 and he is a less dangerous foe to orchards than the 

 schoolboy is — though, like his great namesake, the 

 pig, he will eat almost anything that comes in his 

 way. I often renew my acquaintance with him, 

 both in his waking and in his sleeping hours. All 

 through the long winter months he sleeps, rolled up 



