58 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



nate ?), we had fondly hoped that they were gone for 

 good, having bolted in despair or disgust, as Buckland 

 says rats will ; when one hot night lately, during the 

 small hours (to use an Irishism), as we were taking our 

 round to see that all was safe, we found the kitchen in 

 parts positively black with them again — and such enor- 

 mous brutes, too ! It is inconceivable that the young 

 fry we used to thin can have so grown, or else there is 

 room for considerable retrenchment in the flour-bin. 

 However, in we rush, and lay about us with an extem- 

 porised weapon, a golosh ; a grand implement, we can 

 assure you, for it doubles back to fetch them out of the 

 deepest corner and the most unlikely ledges. How 

 they did scamper along at a glimpse of the light (but it 

 was no use), under the wood-basket, and the duster, 

 and the coal-bin ! All of which having been lifted in 

 turn, down we came with a fatal crush, that soon sadly 

 defiled the kitchen boards. But there was a stone 

 recess alongside the fireplace, a sort of cul-de-sac, into 

 which a legion fled ; and it was pitiable to behold them 

 after the first smack, how they dashed and leaped 

 around, and met our gaze at the one only outlet, and 

 retreated, and how the veterans were resigned and 

 quiet. It really went quite against our heart to kill 

 them thus helplessly cooped up ; but then there was 

 the remembrance of the food they spoil, and so the 

 slaughter proceeded, until unenviable indeed was the 

 kitchen-maid's washing-up in the morning. And the 

 missus hears, in confidence from the cook, that master 

 must have been as quick as a cockroach himself to kill 

 such a number. One old fellow amused me much : he 

 lay upon a ledge, ensconced behind the skirting-boards, 

 with just his head and horns out — unless the candle 



