138 The Naturalist in Siluria. 



Having nothing in his hands by way of weapon, and 

 neither stick nor stone being near, he picked up an ob- 

 ject which promised to serve his purpose — a ball of snow, 

 for there was a slight covering of this on the ground, 

 which one of the horses had cast from his hoof in turning. 

 Flung at the fighting moles — still too earnest in their 

 battle to note his approach — it knocked both over, killing 

 one instantly and crippling the other, to be finished by a 

 stamp with his heavy, hobnailed shoe. 



Brought to me, I found, as might have been expected, 

 that they were both males, though differing somewhat in 

 size, as also in colour, the smaller one evidently a young 

 "boar" of last season's littering, the other at least a 

 year older. There was no wound or mark of teeth on 

 either, a circumstance somewhat strange, as these car- 

 nivorous little quadrupeds are furnished with formidable 

 incisors, and known to make terrible use of them in 

 tearing up their prey. Might it be, that when thrown on 

 its back the mole is helpless to right itself, as long-fleeced 

 sheep and turtles, and knowing this the antagonist aims 

 so as to capsize it ? The structure of the animal's body, 

 with its short, inflexible legs, seems to point to such con- 

 clusion. Certainly moles are often found dead in the 

 ditches, from no assignable cause, and never one with 

 scar or scratch upon it that I have heard of. I have not 

 made the experiment of placing them on their backs, but 

 intend doing so with the first living " hoont" which falls 

 into my hands. 



