CHAP. XXXI.] BADGERS. 237 
evidently used as receptacles for all offensive filth; every other 
part of their colony was perfectly clean. A solitary badger’s 
hole, which I once had dug out, during the winter season, pre- 
sented a curious picture of his domestic and military arrange- 
ments—a hard and long job it was for two men to achieve, the 
passage here and there turned in a sharp angle round some pro- 
jecting corners of rock, which he evidently make use of when 
attacked, as points of defence, making a stand at any of these 
angles, where a dog could not scratch to enlarge the aperture, 
and fighting from behind his stone buttress. After tracing out a 
long winding passage, the workmen came to two branches in the 
hole, each leading to good-sized chambers: in one of these was 
stored a considerable quantity of dried grass, rolled up into balls 
as large as a man’s fist, and evidently intended for food; in the 
other chamber there was a bed of soft dry yrass and leaves—the 
sole inhabitant was a peculiarly large old dog-badger. Besides 
coarse grasses, their food consists of various roots; amongst 
others, I have frequently found about their hole the bulb of the 
common wild blue hyacinth. Fruit of all kinds and esculent 
vegetables form his repast, and I fear that he must plead guilty 
to devouring any small animal that may come in his way, alive 
or dead ; though, not being adapted for the chace, or even for 
any very skilful strategy of war, I do not suppose that he can do 
much in catching an unwounded bird or beast. Eggs are his 
delight, and a partridge’s nest with: seventeen or eighteen eggs 
oust afford him a fine meal, particularly if he can surprise and 
kill the hen-bird also; snails and worms which he finds above 
ground during his nocturnal rambles are likewise included in 
his bill of fare. I was one summer evening walking home 
from fishing in Loch Ness, and having occasion to fasten up some 
part of my tackle, and also expecting to meet my keeper, I sat 
down on the shore of the loch. I remained some time, enjoying 
the lovely prospect: the perfectly clear and unruffled loch lay 
before me, reflecting the northern shore in its quiet water. The 
opposite banks consisted, in some parts, of bright green sward, 
sloping to the water’s edge, and studded with some of the most 
beautiful birch-trees in Scotland ; several of the trees spreading 
out like the oak, and with their ragged and ancient-looking bark 
resembling the cork-tree of Spain—others drooping and weeping 
