overflowing and burning in his eyes, until suddenly the light left them and he sat down heavily and looked across to me.

"Simms," said he, "I have a sad piece of news for you.'
"Indeed," said I.

"You know that set of tea things with the blue edge?" I nodded. "Well, Simms, the last cup I broke this morning.” ""Terrible," said I.

""Awful," said he.

'And then we both laughed till tears washed our faces. So now you know why that embankment is there and why there are no trains in the Anu valley. As for Jakes, he went to try and find the hearts of those green-beards up in that strange piece of jungle. Well, he did not come back. Of course it may have been cholera, snake-bite, or sun. But again it might not have been any of these three which prevented his return. That was years after the railway passed through Bahilor.'

UNDERGROUND IN THE SAND HILLS.

'A dry, deep burrow with rocky roof,
Proof against crowbar, terrier-proof.'

MASEFIELD.

AMONG the hills of West Dorset, that land of 'stickle' slopes and earth fortifications as old as Time, there may be found more than one sandy ridge, crested with wind-warped fir and beech, and riddled with holts from end to end. Where fighting giants of bygone ages reared their embankments to stem the advance of invaders from overseas, the badgers and foxes, 'native burghers' of the hills and glens, have likewise dug themselves into the ground, the better to carry on the unequal war with advancing civilisation. When reading a recent writer's remarks about fox mange, and his advice to destroy every infected earth, I wondered how it could be put into effect in places such as these, for in many cases one would need to level the hill itself before the dark deep tunnels with which it is honeycombed could be laid waste.

These cavernous and impregnable earths are the final refuge rather than the chosen home of the fox. Unlike the badger, he does not care to lie at any great distance below the surface of the ground, for he makes no bed and prefers the sun's warmth to any comfort the earth affords. About mid-day, therefore, when his first heavy sleep is over, when all is quiet and the warm rays are flooding his burrow, he steals forth and curls up on his doorstep to doze the afternoon away. This is a habit common among foxes of all climes and all ages. Even when at home he spends more time outside than inside his fortress, always provided the weather is inviting and he is allowed to rest undisturbed. None the less, to a large extent he is a creature of subterranean habits, and one must needs study him under as well as above ground to learn his full life's history.

According to the books, the conventional fox-earth has but one entrance. The earth he actually inhabits has any number-the more the better from his point of view. This error is doubtless due to the fact that the fox is rarely his own excavator. The earth which he actually digs for himself is a simple affair, no doubt, but in course of ages the wily one has discovered that it is very much easier to profit by the work of others. Whenever possible, there

fore, he annexes the disused home of a badger, or enlarges a deep rabbit-burrow, rather than tunnel upon his own account. Every amateur carpenter knows how easily a large gimlet passes through wood in the track of a smaller one, and on the same principle the fox finds little difficulty in following a passage already bored by a rabbit. Even in the case of the great main earths there can be little doubt that rabbits and badgers were the pioneers.

The badger, incidentally, is an invaluable asset to a hunting country. We know the stock argument against him-that many badgers mean many earths-but that, curiously enough, is just where his value comes in. Many earths also mean many foxes, for it will always be found that the fox holds on longer in country where there is abundant underground stronghold. Litters, for one thing, stand an infinitely better chance, and there are many other reasons sufficiently obvious. There is always the problem of additional earth-stopping, of course, but that, after all, is a minor consideration.

While foxes, badgers, and rabbits use the same earths, it by no means follows that they occupy common quarters. Such is far from being the case. There are burrows within burrows, even as there may be many suites of rooms in one building, and the respective tenants take good care to keep clear of one another. Certain entrances and main tunnels constitute the only common ground. No fox under any circumstances will enter a burrow which has no alternative accommodation than that actually occupied by a badger. When a hard-pressed fox passes over an open earth for no apparent reason, it usually means that someone else is inside and there is no spare room. Should he enter under such circumstances, the last case may well prove to be worse than the first. I once saw a hunted fox summarily ejected from a big earth in which he had taken refuge, being driven out into the very mouths of the hounds by something —a badger, we could not but suppose. Moreover, it has struck me as curious that one rarely, if ever, unearths badgers when digging out foxes during the dead of winter. I have known it happen many times in spring and autumn, but never during the few months in which the badger dens up.' Then of all times, it would seem, the fox gives him a respectful berth.

It was in a quiet old Dorsetshire wood with big sand earths all around that I first made the acquaintance of the wily fox at really close quarters. The occasion was somewhat remarkable, for he bolted from a big hole in fine style full into a rabbit net, from which,

as may be supposed, it was no easy matter to release him. Why he bolted, and why any fox bolts under similar circumstances, has never ceased to puzzle me. In this case, at any rate, the ferret was in no way responsible, for it was then working a rabbit at the other end of the large burrow, and had not been anywhere near the fox's quarters; nor do I believe, for that matter, that any fox has ever yet actually been driven out by a ferret, even in face of the numberless instances that have been recorded. Too many ferrets have been killed by foxes in the course of my experience for me to entertain the slightest doubt upon that score. One may safely assume, I think, that foxes which bolt on these occasions would bolt in any case, ferret or no ferret, as even rabbits will do at times. They lie underground a great deal, it must be remembered, both in groundburrows and hedgerows, and one may try such places again and again without seeing anything of them. In the ordinary course of events the ferrets do no more than give them a respectful berth, and nobody is any the wiser. Now and again an adventurous ferret fails to reappear, and upon even rarer occasions a fox, startled by the stamping and rumbling in the burrow, barely awake, and realising that something is happening and that he is not at home, decides to make a bolt for it. And so the astonishing thing comes

to pass.

Several times I have witnessed the absurdity of trying a ferret on a hunted fox. The result was invariably the same. The ferret merely declined to enter, or went in a few feet and returned, spitting and bristling-with one exception, that one never returning at all. Upon another notable occasion I saw a tiny cub, little bigger than a rat, literally drive a ferret before it, uttering a curious little menacing noise, something between barking and grunting. Cubs, of course, bolt readily as a rule from anything. They are as timid as young kittens, which, indeed, they resemble in a great many ways, but they are nothing if not original, and now and again one comes across a sturdy little atom no bigger than one's fist who displays marked individuality of character. Quite recently I saw an amusing case in a litter of three which was taken from a' clitter' on a neighbouring hill for turning down elsewhere. Two of them were tractable little creatures, allowing themselves to be caught without difficulty. The third, however, was made of very different stuff, and, what with 'barking' and sputtering and working his tiny teeth to some purpose, he contrived to put up a fine fight before he was eventually bagged. Nor has captivity in any way reduced his

spirit. While the other two submit readily to be handled, he remains entirely uncompromising-'saucy,' as his keeper says; and saucy he will doubtless remain to the end. They are housed at present in a little outhouse containing a copper, in which at the moment of writing a hen is incubating a sitting of eggs. One wonders whether she realises the true character of her fellow-lodgers.

If given time, even a hunted fox will bolt from a terrier as a rule, unless literally run to death. Upon such occasions, however, there are usually too many people about; hounds are baying, perhaps, somewhere within earshot, and altogether there is so little inducement to come out that the fox, naturally enough, remains underground at any price. Again, sufficient time is rarely allowed, not so much for the actual dislodging process as before the terrier is put in. Always give a hunted animal time to breathe if you want him to bolt,' said an old sportsman to me once, and he was not far wrong. If terriers are to be tried, a huntsman is well advised to get hounds away from the earth as quickly as possible, and make everyone else remove to a considerable distance, leaving the spot absolutely quiet. That is half the battle; and even after the terrier is in allow plenty of time. It may take a long while to bolt a fox. I have known more than an hour elapse before anything happened. Of course time is an object in the hunting field; but it takes even longer to dig a fox out than to bolt him, and many a dig might be saved by the exercise of a little patience. There is an old idea that fox-terriers when going to ground 'must be garnished with bells hung in collars, to make the fox bolt sooner,' but how this would work in practice I cannot say. The modern sportsman considers it advisable to remove the collar before letting a terrier in. It affords little or no protection, as a fox's attack is seldom directed towards that part of the neck actually shielded by the collar, and there are many risks attached to the wearing of it. A fox, when defending himself against a terrier, usually strikes for the muzzle, or, curiously enough, for one of the fore-pads. A badger, on the other hand, fastens his far more dangerous grip upon the throat, just below the jaw, or, failing that, aims for the lower lip, with terrible effect, as a rule. In cases of uncertainty as to whether a fox or a badger is facing a terrier, one can soon discover which animal it is by the methods it employs.

There has been a great deal of discussion about digging out foxes-whether it is a fair thing to do, and so on-but this is one of the many questions upon which a decided opinion can scarcely be