CHAPTER IV. 



CARRINGTON MOSS. 



"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the spider to the fly : 

 "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy." 



OLD SONG. 



HOULD any of our unknown companions in 

 these rambles be vegetarians, they will please 

 here take notice that Carrington Moss is 

 in the summer-time a scene of ravenous 

 slaughter such as cannot but be exceedingly 

 painful and shocking to them. It will 

 appear the more repulsive from the high 

 character for innocence ordinarily borne by the destroyers, 

 who are the last beings in the world we should expect to 

 find indulging in personal cruelty, much less acting the 

 part of perfidious sirens. Having given this warning, 

 our friends will of course have only themselves to blame 

 should they persist in following us to the spectacle we 

 are about to describe; and now it only remains to say 

 that the perpetrators of the deeds alluded to are plants ! 

 People are apt to look upon plants simply as things that 



