Dirt has been defined as “matter in the wrong place.” It is very useful, and, indeed, indispensable, as earth in a garden, but decidedly unbecoming and dirty when on your face or clothes. In a similar way, most of the creatures termed “vermin” are in themselves very graceful and beautiful specimens of the Creator’s handiwork, but when they encroach on man’s paths of progress and improvement they become “vermin,” and though all life should be looked upon as a fearful and wonderful thing, not to be lightly taken from its possessor, they are then justifiably slain.
The little gentleman in black velvet—the mole—is a lovely-coated little fellow, possessing many virtues, such as courage, industry, and parental affection, but when he once gets into your father’s garden, which has probably cost money and exceeding care to render it neat and productive, our little friend is transformed into one of the most troublesome of “vermin,” and must be relentlessly sacrificed by the trapper. If this is not done, Master Mole will himself sacrifice the crops in his efforts to get at the worms, which, as the late Charles Darwin so conclusively showed, are one of the great regenerating forces of the land’s fertility.
Look at rats again. See how lithe and agile they are, how fond of their young, and provident in storing food for future consumption; yet they are without a redeeming excellency if, like dirt, they are in the wrong place—as they are, by the way, pretty certain to be.
Of the squirrel Mr. Ruskin, in his marvelously eloquent way, has said: “Of all quadrupeds ... there is none so beautiful or so happy as the squirrel. Innocent in all his ways, harmless in his food, playful as a kitten, but without cruelty, and surpassing the dexterity of the monkey, with the grace of a bird, the little dark-eyed miracle of the forest goes from branch to branch more like a sunbeam than a living thing. The chamois is slow to it, and the panther clumsy. It haunts you, listens for you, hides from you, looks for you, loves you, as if it were a plaything invented by the angel that walks by your children.”
Alas! there is a reverse side to this beautiful word-picture of the great art critic. The gamekeeper will tell you that mischievous Master “Squiggy” is very fond of birds’ eggs—many a tiny wren, and many a sweet-voiced blackbird has discovered this also—and that he above all will often suck the dove-hued eggs of the pheasant. Much, therefore, as I admire this little creature when he is in his native firtree, I shall tell you how to catch him alive, so that he may be kept away from doing harm.
Again, the brilliant kingfisher, flashing by you like a beam of azure light, is in his right place near the stickleback pond, but on my trout river he is “vermin.” The same exposition of the properties of vermin might be followed out in reference to all the creatures I intend to hereafter teach you how to capture or destroy.
So much by way of introduction, and now suppose, as I have above referred to “the little gentleman in the velvet suit,” we begin with him. Do not be alarmed at the few items of natural history I am going to give you in reference to each “varmint.” It is better for you to know about the funny little ways of the lower creation now than wait till you are men, and perhaps unable to devote much time to the acquisition of such knowledge. Besides, there is nothing mean or paltry in such studies. Why, the great German Heber and our hardly less great Sir John Lubbock have devoted their lives to ants and such small fry till marvels of intelligence in these insects have been unfolded to their wondering vision. Even the wise and mighty King Solomon did not forget them. Do not despise small things because they are small, therefore, for are we not ourselves as motes and specks of dust in the sunbeam in the immensity of God?
I most, however, return to the mole, or you may accuse me of preaching a sermon when you were expecting to hear how to catch vermin.
Well, the scientific name of the mole is Talpa Europæa, and its distribution is all over Europe. France, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Germany, Holland, Sweden, and Denmark alike produce it as well as our own land. The main thing—or one of them—that arrests the attention on first seeing the mole is the very hand-like fore paws. These are attached to the body by a short forearm, and suggest immense strength—which, as a matter of fact, they possess. They are used for scooping the earth from before and throwing it on one side; and for this purpose the claws are long and trenchant. The hind feet, which are comparatively small, serve the purpose of throwing out the earth behind with incredible quickness. The head also, being sharp-pointed, offers no opposition to this boring through the soft soil, and the eyes, being so tiny, are never injured by the soil through which the pointed snout passes.
For a long time people failed to discover that the mole possessed eyes, so rudimentary and hidden are they. They are covered by the soft fur, and it is to be presumed that as they are of little or no use in the total darkness of subterranean passages, they serve only to apprise their owner of the approach of light whenever it may find itself near the surface of the ground. It sometimes has happened to me to find a mole strayed from its habitation, I suppose, and on the surface of the soil. From the experiment of putting an obstacle in front of it, and its avoidance thereof, I have come to the conclusion that it can see slightly, though it is evident when you dissect the head that the organs of hearing are vastly more developed than those of sight. The sense of smell is perhaps stronger than that of hearing—as one would infer from the long, pointed, greyhound-like snout; and this should be borne in mind when setting the trap. If indeed, in the case of any animal, you are told that the sense of smell is well developed, handle the ginsnare or trap as little as possible with the naked hand. There is a distinctive odor in the human hand which animals, whether vermin or not, seem instantly to recognize.