Art. 2.-THE BADGER AT HOME.

The Badger, Afield and Underground. By H. Mortimer Batten. Witherby, 1923.

OF the larger birds and beasts whose status in this country has improved within recent years, the badger's case is, perhaps, the most remarkable. Speaking for the West Country, at any rate, he is everywhere extending his range, and this season I have found his unmistakable work in many localities where he has never before been known to lie. 'He may yet win in the race of life with his more numerous and protected neighbour, the fox,' wrote the late Mr W. H. Hudson twenty years ago; and though the great naturalist could scarcely have anticipated the astonishing changes which have since taken place in the animal kingdom, it seems more than likely that his forecast will prove correct.

It is, after all, only true to life that this stolid, sturdy, friendless beast should hold his own under conditions which have proved too hard for so many of his more gifted fellow-creatures. One cannot but admire the badger, and the long, unequal fight for existence which he has maintained so well all down the centuries. There is something pre-eminently British about him, with his independence, courage, and very tenacity. And apart from any such sentiment he has yet another claim to consideration upon purely historical grounds, for, according to Prof. Owen, he is the oldest known species of mammal now living on the face of the earth.' Unfortunately, however, the average Englishman cares for none of these things, and it is well for the badger that he is no way dependent upon human protection.

Mr Mortimer Batten's volume on this ancient and interesting animal comes at an opportune time. The badger's cause is ably pleaded without any avowed intention on the part of the author other than to sketch its history. From the standpoint of an impartial observer the nature and habits of the subject are faithfully represented, though the direction in which the writer's sympathies lie is never in doubt. He is a keen supporter of the 'badger-clubs' now in existence; he very properly denounces 'baiting' and its accompanying practices, pointing out that there is one rule common

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to all-a fair deal, and when possible a humane one. this respect, as in many others, I am heartily with Mr Batten. Indeed, speaking from life-long experience, I endorse his opinions upon every important issue, though minor differences inevitably arise, for there is no cast-iron law in Natural History. To a large extent the book deals with the sturdy Highland badger, who sometimes continues to live and thrive with the ptarmigan upon the barren fare of the mountain-tops, far above the zone of the red grouse. Mr Batten's remarks upon the size attained by this hardy beast are not a little interesting. According to information acquired by him, a mountain badger may weigh as much as forty-five pounds, and this is not incredible, for it is a recognised fact that animals reared upon arid lands frequently outweigh their better nourished and more civilised relatives. It is not certain, however, that Mr Batten's theory to account for this circumstance quite meets the case.

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In bygone days, as recorded in old parish registers, small bounties were paid by the community for the destruction of certain animals. One shilling was the price set upon a badger's life, and the sum represented a day's hard labour in those times. The West-Countryman of the 20th century needs no such incentive, however, and every sporting character in the countryside considers the 'grey' fair game. Few indeed can resist a go at him. Long ago in the old barbarian days I discovered some badgers established in a lonely wooded coombe over which I held the sporting rights, and desiring closer acquaintance with them, I took the liberty of setting some springes in their highways. Nothing happened for a few days, then one morning, when going the round soon after sunrise, I was not a little astonished to find one of the grey wayfarers tumbling about in a snare which certainly had not been set by me. subsequently transpired that two or three local 'sports' had been surreptitiously trying to entrap these particular badgers, each unaware that anybody else was at the same game, and, most curious of all, the springe in which the grey was caught had been set by the highly respectable gamekeeper of a neighbouring estate. Neither he nor anybody apart from myself had the remotest right

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to be there at all; nor were the badgers doing anything to provoke attack. The men had somehow got wind of their whereabouts, and positively could not leave them alone. That was all.

The tendency is to represent the 'grey' as a clumsy, heavy-witted creature, whereas our friend the fox, justly famous for his fleetness of foot, is also reputed to be a past-master of subtlety and finesse. That the badger should have acquired this reputation is only natural, but it is scarcely fair to compare him with his more nimble fellow-woodsman, the structure and habits of the two animals being so widely different. One might as reasonably draw comparisons between an otter and a cat. It should be remembered, however, that the badger is usually seen at a disadvantage, being exhibited by day under conditions entirely foreign to his nature. While the fox is largely diurnal in his habits, the badger is wholly and exclusively a creature of the night. He is not even like the bats and the owls, who prefer twilight to total darkness. Black night, or the closest approach to it, he must have, and so remains in the gloom of his own burrow until long after the stars are bright. When compelled to show himself in the broad glare of noonday his movements look heavy and awkward simply because everything is strange to him.

The effect produced upon animals by any material change in the conditions to which they have been accustomed is far greater than most people imagine. A few years ago upon the southern slope of Haldon there grew an immense gorse-brake, beneath which the ground was literally honeycombed with rabbit-burrows. Rabbits abounded there, but so tangled was the wild growth that one could do nothing. In course of time, however, it became an imperative necessity to get rid of them; so one morning we requisitioned a gang of labourers to clear away the age-old jungle of gorse and brier, and later in the day, when the task was completed and the hillside laid bare to the sunlight for the first time within memory of any one there, got to work with the ferrets. The burrows were shallow, we found; rabbits were soon out, and their bewilderment upon discovering the change that had taken place was curious and even pitiable to see. They made little attempt to run from the guns, but

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hopped stupidly about, looking for their vanished runways, and in many cases one could actually pick them up. It was an unforgettable sight-one of the strangest, indeed, that memory can recall out of all my sporting experiences.

Despite this reputation for stupidity, the badger is really marvellously keen-sensed, and wary to the last degree. The fox is easily trapped or poisoned, but endless patience and woodcraft of no mean order are required to circumvent a 'grey.' A gamekeeper once told me that when trapping for badgers he allows several days to elapse before visiting his gins. When I pointed out the cruelty of such a practice he pleaded necessity. A badger, he said, is so shy that a human foot-scent anywhere near his usual haunts will make him cautious for days, and the only way to ensure success is to keep clear until the animal's suspicions have been allayed.

Trappers adopt such methods too often. A fox was recently found dead in a gin on the edge of a furzebrake. It must have lain there many days, for it had torn up every mouthful of grass within reach and stripped the very bark off some branches which overhung the place. One trap is not considered strong enough to hold a badger, so two are set close together, the unfortunate animal, if caught in either of them, being pretty sure to tread upon the other in his struggles. Sometimes he sticks his foot into a gin intended for something else, but unless the stake happens to be firmly driven he soon wrenches it out and makes off, dragging the whole contrivance with him. Should the trapper find him, his fate is sealed, of course, and, generally speaking, it is better so. To release any animal from a gin is doubtful kindness; as often as not it dies from after effects, and, at best, suffers considerably. The only alternative goes sadly against the grain, however, and one is always tempted to give the poor creature the benefit of the doubt.

The harmfulness of the badger is an open question, depending mainly upon one's way of looking at such things. He is undeniably omnivorous, and if that outweighs the additional charm and interest which his presence imparts to the woodland there is nothing further to be said. It is of little use to argue these

points by economics. In any case no good sportsman will be guilty of vandalism, nor is the better type of outdoor man likely to forget that there are other considerations as important as the claims of sport.

He has, of course, many enemies and many accusers, and to assert that he never commits the crimes laid to his charge is dogmatic and unwise. As regards poultrykilling, for example, his guilt in given cases is unquestionable, it would seem. At the same time bare justice compels one to point out that such instances, however true, are exceptional, and usually the outcome of circumstances which do not come to light. If Nature-lovers sometimes appear a little stubborn or unduly incredulous it is because they know that an exception, once admitted, is too often treated as the rule. There are always people ready enough to accept any excuse for persecuting wild creatures, and in this respect keen fox-hunters are not always quite fair on the badger, I am afraid. When complaints are lodged against our special protégé some of us are a little too apt to cast the blame upon innocent shoulders. This saves the life of many a fox, but it is scarcely cricket.'

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The badger's peculiar structure renders him unfit to be a hunter of living things; few creatures could conceivably become his victims; and as a rule his search is for vegetable rather than for animal food. No doubt he, too, experiences that unaccountable hankering for flesh which assails every vegetarian with dangerous force now and again, but normally he has a sweeter tooth, and it is such things as beech-nuts, wild fruits, and honey which appeal most to his ursine palate. A little bear indeed he is in all his tastes and main characteristics, despite the fact that modern scientists have classed him with the weasels. To be strictly accurate, he might well be a connecting link between the two families, but I must leave that point to the learned.

Like the brown bear he is something of a grubber, being particularly partial to insects in their immature state. Few wasps' nests escape him, and he is the Satan of every ant community upon his range. For a meat diet he depends largely upon young rabbits while still in their nesting burrows or stops,' so called because the entrance hole is usually stopped with mould by the