training in industry, who never exert themselves until forced to do so by some imperative demand of nature, and who reduce such exertion to the minimum of labour which some present emergency requires.

Such debased tribes of humanity will occasionally adapt to their current circumstances the hole or crevice in which they take up their residence, and which can scarcely be called a home. No domestic associations hang around the habitation of the earth-dweller. The cave in which he dwells, or rather, in which he sleeps and shelters himself from inclement weather, possesses none of the thousand little amenities which constitute the home of man when even partially civilized. It is hallowed by no domestic joys, sanctified by no domestic trials, and those who take casual shelter therein know nothing of those "homely" feelings which in ancient times made the hearth an inviolable sanctuary, and which were outwardly symbolized by the Lares and Penates that surrounded the sacred spot. The inhabitants may adapt for the present, but they make no arrangements for the morrow, and, indeed, their memories seem to be as forgetful of the past and its lessons as their minds are incapable of forethought for the future.

They may possibly remove a stone which incommodes them while they seek repose, if, indeed, they cannot contrive to arrange themselves so as to save the trouble of removing it; and if the labour should not be severe, i.e. if the whole tribe need not do more work in a day than an English workman will perform in an hour, they may possibly enlarge or slightly alter their subterranean home.

Civilized man may, and does frequently, employ the rocky cavern as his dwelling-place; but with this difference, that he converts the rude cavern into a permanent home. Some of my readers have probably seen those curious rock-houses in Derbyshire, which have been hollowed out of the solid sandstone, and present to the astonished traveller a view of windows and doors cut into the face of the rock, and of a chimney just projecting out of the level ground above. Local traditions report that this peculiar construction was intended for the purpose of affording gratuitous nourishment to the inhabitants, who were supposed to feed on the hares, rabbits, lambs, and other creatures that stumbled over the chimney top and fell into the fire below.

Except, however, that the walls of these houses are carved from the living rock, instead of being built up by successive series of stones or bricks, there is nothing in them which differs from the ordinary dwellings raised by builders, so that in reality they have little in common with the rock habitations of savage tribes.

If the country in which the earth-dweller is placed should not be of a rocky or stony character, affording no caverns already excavated by the hand of nature, the savage is obliged to do violence to his temperament, and to set to work. Furnished as he is with the most miserable of tools-his usual implement, a stick with a sharpened end charred in the fire to make it harder-he can make but little progress, humble though the task may be. The sandy nature of the soil in which he is generally placed offers but little resistance to the rude tool with which he labours, and as the savage is content with a mere apology for a dwelling-place, his task is soon accomplished. If he desires to be peculiarly comfortable, he may stick a few dried bushes on the windward side of the hole, and hang a skin on them; but it is only on very wet and windy days that he will take so much trouble.

All subterranean dwellings are not of this simple nature. The underground palaces of India are wonderful examples of workmanship; but then they are nothing more or less than buildings placed below the level of the ground, and inhabited in the hot season by the luxurious. Even in such cases, however, the inherent defects of an underground dwelling make themselves painfully apparent. The rooms, though cool, are close and depressing in the extreme. Ventilation cannot be properly accomplished-the coolness is but the damp chilliness of a cellar, and brings no invigorating freshness to the languid frame, so that the edifice is only inhabited occasionally for the sake of grandeur, and the owner gladly retreats to the upper air, where he seeks the needed coolness by means of fans and evaporating water.

Human habitations, however, do not come within the scope of the present work, which is restricted to those homes that are constructed without the aid of hands, and are planned, not by reason, but by instinct. We pass, therefore, from the handiwork of man to those dwellings which are constructed with feet or jaws or beaks, and which are never marred by incompetence or improved by practice.

OF all the mammalia, the MOLE is entitled to take the first place in our list of burrowers.

This extraordinary animal does not merely dig tunnels in the ground and sit at the end of them, but forms a complicated subterranean dwelling-place, with chambers, passages, and other arrangements of wonderful completeness. It has regular roads leading to its feeding-grounds; establishes a system of communication as elaborate as that of a modern railway, or to be more correct, as that of the subterranean network of metropolitan sewers; and is an animal of varied accomplishments.

It can run tolerably fast, it can fight like a bulldog, it can capture prey under or above ground, it can swim fearlessly, and

it can sink wells for the purpose of quenching its thirst. It is, indeed, a most interesting animal, and our comparatively small knowledge of its habits gives promise of much that is yet to be made known.

Take the Mole out of its proper sphere, and it is as awkward and clumsy as the sloth when placed on level ground, or the seal when brought ashore. Replace it in the familiar earth, and it becomes a different being,-full of life and energy, and actuated by a fiery activity which seems quite inconsistent with its dull aspect and seemingly inert form. The absence of any external indication of eyes communicates a peculiar dulness to the creature's look, and the peculiar formation of the fore limbs gives an indescribable awkwardness to its gait.

I have always taken much interest in this animal, and have watched many of its habits, as far as can be done under the very untoward circumstances that always must exist when the animal to be watched is essentially subterranean in its habits. The Mole cannot develop its nature unless it is buried below the surface of the ground, and when it is there, we cannot see it. Many marine and aquatic animals can be tolerably watched by placing them in the aquarium; but when they take to burrowing, they put an effectual stop to investigation.

To catch a living Mole without injuring it is not an easy task, and when it is caught, the duty of supplying it with food entails so severe a labour, and necessitates such very early rising, that no one can hope for success who does not combine perseverance, patience, and resolution.

Dull and sombre as the Mole appears to be, it is by far the fiercest and most active mammal within the British Isles. Indeed, so remarkable is it for both those qualities, that I doubt whether the great feræ of tropical climates can equal it either in ferocity, activity, or voracity. We need not pity the Mole for the dull life which we suppose it to lead below the ground. There the Mole is happy, and there only can it develop its various capabilities. We must not judge other beings by ourselves. We are apt to envy the swallow for its sunny flight through the air in chase of flies, and to pity the Mole for its darkling passage through the earth in chase of worms. Yet, there is no doubt but that both beings receive equal pleasure in carrying out the object of their existence, and that the Mole feels no less gratifica

tion in the capture of a worm, than the swallow in the capture of a fly. Such, at all events, is the inference which is to be drawn from the manner in which the Mole acts when it has seized a worm; for no one can witness the active eagerness with which it flings itself upon its prey, and the evident enjoyment with which it consumes its hapless victim, without perceiving that the creature is exultantly happy.

The notion that worms must be miserable is a very natural one. A very little boy of my acquaintance was lately excusing some contemplated acts of cruelty towards worms, by saying that they were already in misery under the stones, and therefore that a little more pain would not be of much consequence to them.

We all know that the Mole burrows under the ground, and that it raises those little hillocks with which we are so familiar; but we do not generally know the extent or variety of its tunneis, or that the animal works upon a regular system, and does not burrow here and there at random. How it manages to form its burrows in such admirably straight lines is not an easy problem, because it is always in black darkness, and we know of nothing which can act as a guide to the animal. As for ourselves and other eye-possessing animals, to walk in a straight line with closed eyelids is almost an impossibility, and every swimmer knows the difficulty of keeping a straight course under water, even with the use of his eyes.

The ordinary mole-hills, which are so plentiful in our fields, present nothing particularly worthy of notice. They are the shafts through which the quadrupedal miner ejects the materials which it has scooped out, as it drives its many tunnels through the soil, and if they be carefully opened after the rain has consolidated the heap of loose material, nothing more will be discovered than a simple hole leading into the tunnel. But let us strike into one of the large tunnels, as any mole-catcher will teach us, and follow it up until we come to the real abode of the animal.

A section of this extraordinary habitation is given in the illustration. The hill under which this domicile is hidden is of considerable size, but is not very ccnspicuous, because it is always placed under the shelter of a tree, a shrub, or a suitable bank, and would not be discovered but by a practised eye. The subterraneous abode within the hillock is so remarkable that it