Before I could efface myself she caught sight of me, stared hard for a moment, then sat erect on her haunches, crossed her fore-paws over her nose, and so surveyed me intently. She was evidently puzzled, being unaccustomed to encounter human beings at so late an hour, and while she hesitated whether to retreat or proceed on her way, four little grey-brown forms no bigger than half-grown rabbits filed out from the reeds, ranged up alongside their mother, and copying her attitude exactly, they too sat erect and solemnly studied the phenomenon. And so for a long minute they sat in the unclouded moonlight, a unique picture of quaint, old-world animal life. Then, with a sudden snort, the grey mother spun round and scuttled away, whisking her shortun' like a startled deer, with the cubs close at her heels, tumbling over one another in precipitate flight.

Ahead the reed-growth was thick; into this the little procession plunged like a long grey snake, and, once out of sight, all sound ceased as though a door had closed upon them. The glade narrowed here, and tall larches trooping down to the edge of the swamp cast deep shadow over the place; but with dry brackeny banks on either side, and the bed of the little coombe beyond thick with crackling grasses, it seemed impossible that even a rabbit could escape unheard. Thinking they must be squatting somewhere near I advanced cautiously into the cover, all agog for the expected bump and scramble. But nothing was there; no sound save my own guarded footfall; no movement other than wind-ripples over the sedges. The badgers had vanished mysteriously and completely, without as much as the patter of hard little feet on the leaves or the rush of furred bodies through the crisp grass.

Given time and ordinary patience, it is not difficult to shoot a badger. One need only lie in wait at his settes. Dawn is always a likely time to see him, and during midsummer afternoons when it is hot and stifling underground it repays one well to watch near big holts, as young badgers, who suffer severely from thirst, often come out for water between four and five o'clock. A keeper in the employ of the late Sir John Kennaway once shot six well-grown cubs within an hour, all coming down to drink from a woodland stream at the

foot of a sand-bank. In spring or autumn a moonlight night may serve as well, but the badger is a late riser, and one may wait long and see nothing. When earthstopping for night-hunting, it was little use as a rule to be get to work until a good hour after dark. If done earlier we seldom found any animals out.

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Above all things, the direction of the wind must be taken into account when choosing one's position. A badger's eyes are dull, but his long sensitive nose is the keenest that sifts the night, and the faintest suspicion of an alien presence is enough for him. It is a good plan to climb a tree, if possible, for there one's scent is carried away by the breeze. Unless provided with a rifle it is not desirable to attempt a long shot, nor should one use very large pellets. No. 4 size will be found big enough. A larger load is less accurate, being too liable to scatter and wound rather than kill.

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Badger-hunting with hounds at night is not bad fun. Riding is impossible, of course, nor actually see much; but it is real sport, and the musicthe indescribable crash and cry of hounds running through the still, dark woods-is something to be remembered. It is a practically unheard-of sport, nowadays. I have known of but two packs in my time, both of which have vanished long since. They were recruited from draft hounds of every description, and disbanded at the end of each season. Long runs there were none, and the grey was soon overhauled unless he could find refuge of any sort, but for all that, it was even-chanced enough. As often as not the hounds declined to tackle their formidable quarry when actually overtaken, and after a running interchange of pleasantries which continued sometimes for a mile or more, he would eventually beat them by getting to ground, the stopping being of a most perfunctory nature.

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The badger, for his size, must be the most powerful animal in the world. His structure is particularly adapted for defence, the highly vulnerable under parts being shielded by his peculiarly low and crouching action. Excepting deer, he is the largest wild animal still existing in Great Britain, ranging in weight from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds, according to locality Though wildest of living things he is also the bravest

and when cornered in a hole beyond hope of escape, he walks boldly out to meet his doom, if permitted to do so. He is resolute in all things, and having once made up his mind to go in any particular direction, it is nearly impossible to turn him from his purpose.

One of the two peculiarities which he shares with the weasels is his extreme sensibility to a blow across the bridge of the nose. This, if properly delivered, will cause instant death, but some anatomical knowledge is necessary to despatch him thus, lacking which, an amateur is apt to make a terrible mess of it. Once-a memory which still causes a shudder-I saw a badger receive several smashing blows from a crowbar with no visible effect whatsoever. On this occasion the blows were delivered too near the skull. The right spot found, violence is unnecessary. Here is an instance: It occurred while earth-stopping prior to hunting, when badgers, realising the situation, at times make determined efforts to get to ground while the work is actually in progress. On this occasion a young boar suddenly burst into the circle of light shed by the lanterns, and ran boldly from hole to hole, bent upon gaining the bosom of Mother Earth while yet he might. He cared nothing for shouts; clods and stones were alike ignored; he might, indeed, have been alone in the woods for all the notice he took of anybody. At last he espied an open hole, for which he made, indifferent to the fact that a man bestrode it. The man, after vainly endeavouring to turn him by other means, struck at his face with a stick which happened to be handy. It was a mere rap, one might say, but to the astonishment of all concerned poor Badger turned two or three complete somersaults, then straightened out upon his very doorstep, stone dead.

How long a badger may live in the wild state if let alone is a difficult point to decide. Some naturalists allot him fifteen years, but it is doubtful whether many attain to anything approaching such longevity. Left to Nature, his decline is easy, his passing imperceptible. As old age creeps on, his periods of activity gradually lessen. He sleeps the greater part of his time, retiring earlier and emerging later every succeeding season, until at last there dawns a spring when the call of the awakening world fails to arouse him. DOUGLAS GORDON.

Art. 8.-HOUSING.

THE question of Housing, or more accurately of the Housing of the Working Classes, is a very old one in British politics. For at least eighty years it has figured in Parliamentary debates. It has been the subject of a great deal of legislation. It has frequently occupied the attention of Royal Commissions and other forms of inquiry. It has often been a burning question at elections. It affects very closely the duties and actions of local authorities throughout the country. It has gone through many phases, and the housing problem of which we speak to-day is in many respects quite a different one from that which existed before the War, or rather before the year 1910. Up to that date the chief problem was how to get rid of slums, of insanitary areas, which unfortunately existed in most of our towns and cities and in a smaller degree in many country districts. This problem is still with us, but is overshadowed by the acute house shortage with which we have been confronted in recent years. The provision of new houses in sufficient numbers to keep pace with the requirements of our people is more important at the moment than the clearance of slums, important as that is. Slum clearance, which necessarily involves demolition, is obviously handicapped and impeded by the fact that there are not enough existing houses, good, bad, or indifferent, to go round, and that the supply has not been keeping pace with the annual

demand.

Up to the middle of the last century the State did not actively concern itself in the housing question. The provision of houses was a matter entirely for private enterprise, which was allowed to build where it would,

and as it would, without restriction or regulation. There was, indeed, a complete indifference to questions of public health. This was undoubtedly the cause of many of those terrible epidemics which ravaged the country in years gone by, such as the Plague of London in the reign of Charles II. For the same reason there was at all times an immense amount of preventable illness and mortality, and the average death rate was infinitely higher than it is to-day. So long, however, as the Country was sparsely inhabited and the rate of increase

of the population was slow, the results of this were small and not ordinarily apparent. With the tremendous expansion of industry brought about by the use of steam power and the wonderful new inventions which followed the termination of the Napoleonic Wars, the whole aspect of the question changed. There was a vast increase of population, and the people had to be housed in close proximity to the mills, factories, and mines, which were being established all over what we now call the industrial districts. House builders set to work in our great towns to provide for this need, and in the absence of building regulations they put up as many houses to the acre as they could possibly cram in, with narrow roads and in many cases no roads at all, the houses being situated in small stuffy courts approached through archways, so that neither sunshine nor fresh air, God's greatest gifts to man, could penetrate. In many cases the houses were built back to back, which rendered through ventilation impossible. This is the origin of our slums or insanitary areas, plague-spots physically and morally, which are a disgrace to civilisation. Private enterprise, it is often said (especially by Socialist orators anxious to push their nationalisation or municipalisation nostrums), gave them to us; but it was unrestricted and unregulated private enterprise. They cannot be created any. where in this country now. Building Acts and bye-laws have long rendered it impossible. Because private enterprise left uncontrolled in the past gave us slums, it does not follow that we should abandon it now. If we do we shall probably get neither slums nor houses of any sort in the future, except at a cost which will ruin the State and in a manner which will pauperise the whole nation.

The first person to call prominent attention to the need of proper housing accommodation was Dr Southwood Smith, whose strenuous efforts led to the passing of the Public Health Act in 1848. His grand-daughter, Miss Octavia Hill, carried on his work, and was the originator of the movement for improved industrial dwellings, in which others, such as George Peabody, the great American philanthropist, and Lord Rowton took a prominent part. The plans she adopted were based on the principle of teaching people to help themselves by inculcating in them proper notions of cleanliness,