3300 THE ZooLocist—NovEMBER, 1872. 
rambling letter. Rats are always numerous at this place, but it 
sometimes happens that their numbers are enormously increased, 
and all at once, as if they had arrived by an excursion train. Two 
years ago a large number paid a visit to an old brewhouse, now 
used principally for washing dairy utensils, &c. In the same yard 
an unused henhouse had been converted by me into different 
cages, in which I had a pair of longeared owls, three sparrow- 
hawks and a pair of kestrels: the mention of these two latter 
species brings to my mind anecdotes relating to them, which by 
your permission I will add to this paper. Finding it rather difficult 
to cater for so many gluttons I resolved to set about trapping the 
rats, which I gave to the birds after slitting them down from head to 
tail: a portion of the yard in front of the cages was paled closely 
with high larches: I made these rat-proof at the bottom only, 
leaving three holes iu different parts of it. I thought the 
inquisitive nature of the rat would be certain to lead them through 
these holes, especially as I sometimes strewed about portions of 
rabbit’s liver, &c. I used two common rabbit-traps, just set 
down bare on the inside of the paling, and shifted them every 
morning, so that there was always one hole without a trap, but 
never the same oue. I succeeded by this method far beyond my 
expectation, as I seldom failed to have a rat in each trap (or rather 
as it often happened, a portion of one) every morning. They were 
frequently almost entirely eaten, the legs fast in the trap sometimes 
without a particle of flesh left on them, the skin often inside-out and 
more or less drawn over the head: the cannibal habits of the rat 
were not unknown to me, but I would not blame them for this 
until I witnessed it, and after watching for some time I almost gave 
it up, having entirely failed, as it was during the night that this 
performance seemed to take place. But being in a shoe-house in 
the same yard one morning I heard the “ click” of a trap, followed 
by the loud screaming of a rat: in an instant four or five large rats 
bolted out of the brewhouse, and passing through the hole set 
upon the poor fellow (a full-grown male) in the trap; during the 
worry they all seemed to be screaming together: it reminded me of 
the melée so often witnessed amongst sparrows. I stepped into 
the yard to get a better view of them, but they, seeing me, imme- 
diately ran off. I went to the trap and found the poor unfortunate 
almost dead, only gasping a few times, bleeding from the mouth 
and bitten all over. I was perfectly satisfied, although I did not 
