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.

Moles construct a fortress, or habitation, under a hillock or some such convenient protection as a sort of central position, from which they proceed outwards through various “runs” or roads in search of food (see Fig. 2). This fortress has a dome of earth, which is beaten hard by the creature, and so rendered strong and impervious to rain, snow, dews, or frost. A in Fig. 2 represents the hollow center, which is also dry and hard, whilst B B B signify the ramifying tunnels leading into the galleries of the central fortress, and outwards to the tracts for feeding and exploration, as well as to the nests of the various pairs of sexes forming the community. Along these tracts the individuals travel and obtain their livelihood, never stopping to gossip; for if, indeed, one mole meets another by chance, one must turn out of the way into the nearest alley, or there is a “row,” which generally means death to the weaker—for, let me tell you, Mr. Talpa is a very pugnacious little man when thwarted.

Of course, you know that the food of the mole is chiefly comprised of worms—and speaking of that reminds me of a method I once saw of catching moles, which was cruel but very singular. I was fishing on the Colne, near Wraysbury, and I noticed an old man in the field behind me industriously going over the ground, and here and there drawing out a live mole by means of what seemed a string.

I laid down my rod and went over to him, and after a little persuasion I got to understand the whole bag of tricks. His method was to dig down to a fresh tunnel and “lay” a lobworm, threaded on a rather small fish-hook tied on fine brass wire, covering in the hole with leaves and dirt and securing the wire by a string to a stout peg. The mole, being almost sure to return, would thus take the bait, and in most cases get hooked in the mouth. This seems to me, however, a needlessly cruel way of mole-catching when there are others quite as effectual and practically painless, and I shall therefore not go any farther into the particulars necessary for its practice.

Moles are extremely voracious and, this being so, they crave and enjoy large quantities of water. I have frequently watched moles descending by a beaten run to the water—and, indeed, just opposite where I am writing there is a tiny roadway from a mole hillock to the neighboring ditch. Should a plentiful supply such as this not be handy, the little animal sinks a well for himself, beating the interior hard and forming quite a little shaft, which receives the rain and stores it. I came across one some time ago which was quite a foot in depth and almost full.

I have said that there is a fortress usually built by a colony of moles in the approximate form of Fig. 2, and so there is. The aim of the mole-catcher should be if possible to find out where this central position is and cut off retreat. I have seen the mole-catcher in Windsor Park dig the moles out on finding out this metropolis of moles—as it might be fitly called.

It has been proved that immediately on anything very alarming occurring, they forsake their explorations and flee into the citadel. This is how it was done and who did it.

Monsieur le Court, a French gentleman, very sensibly believing that there was little else but horror and danger in the tumult and bloodshed of the great French Revolution, fled from the court where he had waited on and been the companion of the highest, and secluded himself in the depth of the country to become the historian and friend of the humble La Taupe, as the French term the mole. M. Geoffrey St. Hillaire visited him, and together they watched their opportunity till one of the moles had penetrated far from the fortress in search of food.

Le Court then placed straws with little flags on the end out of the ground at intervals in the passage behind the mole in such a way that if the creature fled back again it would infallibly knock them down. With a trumpet buried, leaving the mouth-piece out of the ground, he blew a blast loud enough to shake the good-nature out of the best toy of your acquaintance, and instantly one after the other, almost as fast as a horse can trot, down went the little flags till the central home was reached. The mole usually builds at the intersection of several of the roads and not in the habitation. Its nest consists of fibers and dried grass, straw, etc., and the young seldom number more than five. Moles will sometimes take the water, but such instances are extremely rare; there is no reason, however, why it should not be a good swimmer, its front paws being so spatulous and strong.

Mole trapping is very seldom practiced, except by professionals, who besides the blood money generally awarded on the production of each mole’s tail, make a very nice little amount by selling the skins. Still there is nothing difficult about mole catching, and the most stupid boy could render himself successful if he observes a little and follows the directions I am about to give. First, then as to tools, which are indispensable when one is out for a day’s trap-setting. Fig. 3 shows an implement which at A consists of an iron heavy spike which is used for making holes for the insertion of the spring stick of the trap to be described presently. B is the wooden haft—ash is as good as any; C is a sort of spatula or little spade for digging into a mole run. Fig. 4 shows a light hatchet or a rather long handle for cutting hazel or ash-spring sticks, pointing them, etc.

Now as to the traps themselves. Fig. 5 shows the iron trap, usually sold with galvanized uprights and claws. A indicates the spring which, on the mole by placing its head in the circular orifice of B releasing the latter, closes the claws to, killing the mole instantly. B, of course, is a movable tongue of the shape shown at C, and ought to be tied to the body of the trap in case the mole should by any means escape, pulling the tongue (C) after it. This is, of course, a very neat kind of trap, but a dozen of them would come expensive, and besides, I do not prefer them in actual practice on a large scale, as they are by no means so likely to be viewed without suspicion by the mole as are the homespun traps I am going to describe.

Get a strip of wood (deal is as good as anything) about six inches long by four broad and half an inch thick, like D, Fig. 6. Bore nine holes in it, four for the reception of the ends of two half circular hoofs of wood shown at A, and four smaller ones for the two wires at A2 A2 to pass through. One largish hole is made in the center, and through this passes a cord with a knot at the end (C). B shows a piece of wood cut like a little spatula with a somewhat blunt handle or head (see B2). This tongue is placed against the knot when the spring hazel stick E is in position as in Fig. 7. I want you to look carefully at Fig. 6 because it very nearly explains itself.

The whole apparatus is buried in the ground in the run of a mole, and fastened down by sticks stuck athwart and across, as shown at Fig. 7. The stick E is thus kept in position by the knot C and the tongue B and B2. When a mole passes through the circular loops at A A it hits its nose against B and knocks it out, releasing the knot C, which in turn releases the bent stick, up this flies, and one of the wires A2 are bound to catch the hapless Talpa, compressing it so strongly as to kill it almost instantly.

These are the details of how to set the trap. Having found out a run where the mole-heaps are fresh, or have recently been thrown up, cut down with the spade end of your tool (Fig. 3) into it, and with your hands take out the dirt, feeling for and making clear the direction of the passage each way. Now with the pointed end of Fig. 3 make a hole slantwise, but not too much so, for the insertion of E (Fig. 6), which should be a hazel, withy, or ash stick from half an inch in diameter. Adjust the string of the trap to the top of it, and then set the tongue, carefully spreading the loops of wire within the hoops. Now, with the left hand on the trap, and assisted by the knee, bend the spring stick down, place the trap in its position, and with the right hand force in some short hazel sticks across and across, as shown in Fig. 7. This done, your trap is set, and a turf can be broken up and spread round the top of it, to keep out any light, from the interior of the run. If my readers have carefully gone through this explanation with me there is no fear but that they will be able to make and set the trap—and also catch moles.

Damp weather, or after a warm shower, is the best time to set these traps; and as many as twenty or thirty should be systematically set per day while moles exist and good weather lasts. The straightened character of the stick will infallibly indicate when the trap is sprung, and if no mole be caught move it a little farther away, but not away from the colony entirely, and set again.

The skins of the moles are in best condition in autumn, and if a sufficient number be properly cured, and set together by a professional furrier, a warm and rich garment, either cloak, hat, or waistcoat can be made. I have a mole-skin waistcoat I have worn for four winters, and it is far from being worn out yet. Queen Victoria has eight hundred skins sent annually to Windsor Castle by the Park mole-catcher, for preparation and making up. I dare say this man catches two or three thousand moles every year, and yet the number seem not to decline, so unfailing is the multiplication of these velvety little fellows.

The professional mole-catcher usually skins his moles in a very summary manner. Simply passing a very sharp knife round the head, and cutting off the forefeet, he turns the skin off inside out as I should do an eel. Indeed, it is a more rapid process than eel-skinning, for I once had a match with a mole-catcher, which was that I was to skin six fair-sized eels, while he skinned six moles. I lost, though I am exceedingly quick with eels, by one eel, much to my annoyance, for I had loudly boasted of my dexterity. Having skinned his mole as I described, the mole-catcher then simply stuffs a pledget of hay or wadding into the skin and leaves it to dry.

If you have time, however, it is much better to skin the mole by making an incision down the belly, and taking off the fur as you would do in the case of a rabbit. It should then be tacked with small tin tacks to a dry board, the inside toward you, and after removing with a blunt knife any particles of fat, it should be dressed with a soap made as follows:—whiting or chalk, 1 1/2 oz.; soft soap, 1 oz.; chloride of lime, 2 oz. If these ingredients are not handy powdered alum will serve, though not so well.

Now, one word in conclusion of this chapter on the mole, and it will serve as good advice whenever you are trapping. Be quiet; do not go lumbering all over the ground with the tread of a cart-horse, for it must be borne in mind that the mole has not only a good perception of actual sounds, but an exquisite sense of vibration. Like a trout, the softest tread will in some cases apprise it of danger and cause it to retire to its citadel. Your object is to catch moles by cutting off their retreat, for if they are in the central habitation they may not take the route when next a start is made that you desire and in which the trap is set.