The Girls Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 355, October 16, 1886 | Page 7

burrow, or in plunging into the stream, I doubt whether
any dog would be able to catch it.
Moreover, the water-vole is so clever in tunnelling, that when it drives
its burrows into cultivated ground, it almost invariably conceals the
entrance under a heap of stones, a wood pile, or some similar object.
How it is enabled to direct the course of its burrow we cannot even
conjecture, except by attributing the faculty to that "most excellent gift"
which we call by the convenient name of "instinct."

Man has no such power, but when he wishes to drive a tunnel in any
given direction he is obliged to avail himself of levels, compasses,
plumb-lines, and all the paraphernalia of the engineer. Yet, with
nothing to direct it except instinct, the water-vole can, though working
in darkness, drive its burrow in any direction and emerge from the
ground exactly at the spot which it has selected.
The mole can do the same, and by means equally mysterious.
I may casually mention that the water-vole is one of the aquatic animals
which, when zoological knowledge was not so universal as it is at the
present day, were reckoned as fish, and might be eaten on fast days. I
believe that in some parts of France this idea still prevails.
With all its wariness, the water-vole is a strangely nervous creature,
being for a time almost paralysed by a sudden shock. This trait of
character I discovered quite unexpectedly.
Many, many years ago, when I was a young lad, and consequently of a
destructive nature, I possessed a pistol, of which I was rather proud. It
certainly was an excellent weapon, and I thought myself tolerably
certain of hitting a small apple at twelve yards distance.
One day, while walking along the bank of the Cherwell River, I saw a
water-vole on the opposite bank. The animal was sitting on a small
stump close to the water's edge. Having, of course, the pistol with me,
and wanting to dissect a water-vole, I proceeded to aim at the animal.
This was not so easy as it looked. A water-vole crouching upon a stump
presents no point at which to aim, the brown fur of the animal and the
brown surface of the old weather-beaten stump seeming to form a
single object without any distinct outline; moreover, it is very difficult
to calculate distances over water. However, I fired, and missed.
I naturally expected the animal to plunge into the river and escape. To
my astonishment, it remained in the same position. Finding that it did
not stir, I reloaded, and again fired and missed. Four times did I fire at
that water-vole, and after the last shot the animal slowly crawled off the
stump, slid into the river, and made off.

Now in those days revolvers and breech-loaders did not exist, so that
the process of loading a pistol with ball was rather a long and
complicated one.
First, the powder had to be carefully measured from the flask; then a
circular patch of greased linen had to be laid on the muzzle of the
weapon, and a ball laid on it and hammered into the barrel with a
leaden or wooden mallet; then it had to be driven into its place with a
ramrod (often requiring the aid of the mallet), and, lastly, there was a
new cap to be fitted. Yet although so much time was occupied between
the shots, the animal remained as motionless as a stuffed figure.
When I crossed the river and examined the stump I found all the four
bullets close together just below the spot on which the animal had been
sitting, and neither of them two inches from its body. Although the
balls had missed the water-vole, they must have sharply jarred the
stump.
I was afterwards informed that this semi-paralysis from sudden fear is a
known characteristic of the animal. It seems to be shared by others of
the same genus, as will be seen when we come to treat of the field
mice.
In its mode of eating it much resembles the squirrels, sitting on its
haunches and holding the food in its forepaws, as if they were hands. I
am not aware that it even eats worms or insects, and it may be
absolutely acquitted from any imputation of doing harm to any of the
fish tribe.
(To be continued.)

"SHE COULDN'T BOIL A POTATO;"
OR,
THE IGNORANT HOUSEKEEPER, AND HOW SHE ACQUIRED
KNOWLEDGE.

BY DORA HOPE.
"The late Miss Ella!"
"When are you going to turn over that new leaf you spoke of, my
daughter?"
"There's a little coffee left, but the bacon is quite cold."
These were the exclamations that greeted a tall bright girl, as she
entered the breakfast room one morning.