156 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



There hath been a multitude of the spider-tribe about 

 the house lately. They are said to follow the wake of 

 the black beetles, a huge horde of which has overrun us 

 again lately. The beetle must afford rich feeding ; for 

 these spiders are a monstrous sort. We have found 

 that strewing the leaves of the elder-tree upon the 

 kitchen-floor causes somehow a diminution of the 

 beetle class. Whether they find the vegetable poisonous 

 or not, I don't know. A confectioner counselled the 

 recipe. 



We are plagued by another insect invasion. The 

 evening air hisses with the flight of myriad cock- 

 chafers. Herein, however, our old friends the rooks (to 

 whom we have been staunch under the remonstrance 

 of prejudiced agricultural neighbours) have done us 

 an exceeding service. I could not imagine, yesterday 

 morning, whatever was the matter with the birds. 

 They were in and out among the apple-trees and 

 beeches, clumsily alighting, and staggering along the 

 weak twigs, managing to maintain their equilibrium 

 only by a half-flutter, with their wings up, and swaying 

 after the example of Blondin's pole. 



"Them be after the blight, them be," remarked fat 

 Melon, the gardener, as he came up to my window, 

 triumphantly exhibiting a grand Gloire de Dijon rose : 

 " Beant he a beauty, sir ? " 



" Call him the ' Second of May,* Melon, if you want a 

 name for it." 



" Why, sir ? " 



" Why, because it reminds me of some one whom I 

 saw on that day with his shirt-collar petals all turned 

 down, and a yellowish tinge about the gills." 



Poor Melon, who likes a dance about the May-pole, 



