The mole is very nearly as unpopular as the bat. Gardeners complain bitterly that the moles destroy their lawns, by raising long furrows which disturb the grass, and that they ruin vegetables and cereal crops by eating the roots. I think the mole must plead guilty to the first charge; it does injure the lawns by raising its unsightly furrows, but it does not eat roots or other vegetable food. It sometimes draws down into the ground stalks of oats, wheat, or barley, to line its nest; it also serves some long-stemmed vegetable in the same way; it also cuts off the roots of vegetables, now and then, if it finds them in its way as it digs its underground galleries. But the food of a mole is animal--earth-worms, beetles, larvæ and pupæ of insects--and thus the mole offsets its errors and turns the scale of opinion in its own favor, by being exceedingly useful as a destroyer of insects harmful to vegetation. Looking out on my lawn one morning, I saw that it was badly marred by mole ridges. Tom, the gardener, went over them with the roller, but the next day they were as bad as ever. “Tom,” I said, “you must catch that mole.” That afternoon Tom came into the library, carrying something which looked like a pretty fur purse, held by a short cord. “I’ve caught him,” he said, “and as you like such things, I have brought him in alive.” So the pretty drab purse was the mole. Alive! He did not look it. Alarmed at his situation, as Tom carried him by his short, nearly bare tail, the little beast had drawn his head, hands, and feet closely into his soft, silky coat, and exhibited only a rigid, fur-covered cylinder. I watched him a few moments, Tom keeping perfectly still, and presently I saw a little red nose and a pair of pink hands stretched out from the fur, as if feeling for something to take hold of. Tom laid his prize on my table, and I proceeded to examine him, as we shall now do. The common mole, which claims the short and pretty name of _talpa_, has a cylindrical body about six inches long and three inches thick. There is no apparent neck. The head tapers quickly off from the line of the shoulders to a little snout of the shape of the tip of a blunt lead-pencil. This snout is about a quarter of an inch long, flexible, of a deep red, tough skin. Under this snout is the mouth, which is very wide and furnished with twenty-two sharp white teeth on each jaw. The two upper and two lower front teeth are long and lap over; the others are smaller and pointed.