WHISTLING JOE. 
143 
mises clear, pray how much more shall it be worth a farmer's 
• while, where his property on every side is exposed to the 
ravages of vermin ? 
Of all men you may wrong or insult, beware of the rat- 
catcher. He may not upbraid you or openly resent an injury, 
but look after your corn and cattle, for if his revenge be deep- 
seated and determined, he may inundate the one, and perhaps 
poison the other. Nor is it to be wondered at ; for of all 
the ratcatchers I ever met, I never knew one that could 
read ; and, for the most part, observed but two principles, 
namely, secrecy and silent vengeance. They live, as it were, 
I in tranquil defiance. Their companions are but few, and 
i their conversation limited. They are feared by one portion 
of society, and despised by the other ; hence it is that they 
I live a life, as it were, bordering on outlawry, 
i Speaking of the barn-owl, "Whistling Joe" maintained 
that of all birds in the feathered creation, the services of this 
; bird were the most necessary and the most valuable to agricul- 
[ j turists, not only for their consumption of all kinds of mice, but 
I rats also. " I have seen both a dog and a cat," said he, " refuse 
to kill a shrew ; but the owl will swallow it with the utmost 
satisfaction. I have also seen an owl stoop and grasp a 
, three-parts-grown rat across the neck and loins, and bear it 
away ; and when I arrived at the nest, I found the rat torn 
r to pieces, and half devoured by the young, which the old one 
j i was feeding." 
f ; " Whistling Joe's" account of himself and his ratcatching 
j propensities was rather curious. " My history," said he, " m 
soon told. I was born in India, and of English parents. 
My father was a British ojQttcer, and sold his commission to 
come to England for the benefit of his health. My parents 
I had not been here long before they died of the small-pox, 
I and left me an orphan in the wide world without a relative 
to look to or care for me. I was turned out of doors by the 
landlord, and took to the high road to find a friend. I 
walked till I was foot-sore ; and cold and hungry as I was 
I laid me down in a ditch by the road side to sleep. In the 
^ dead of the night I was awoke by a number of dogs sniffing 
I around me, when Michael Finnacy — in honour be that name 
^ mentioned — helped me out, and after kindly inquiring my 
history, asked me if I would like to go with him, and be his 
