She sent us a recipe on one occasion, through MacShaughnassy, for the
extermination of blackbeetles. We occupied a very picturesque old house;
but, as with most picturesque old houses, its advantages were chiefly
external. There were many holes and cracks and crevices within its
creaking framework. Frogs, who had lost their way and taken the wrong
turning, would suddenly discover themselves in the middle of our dining-
room, apparently quite as much to their own surprise and annoyance as to
ours. A numerous company of rats and mice, remarkably fond of physical
exercise, had fitted the place up as a gymnasium for themselves; and our
kitchen, after ten o'clock, was turned into a blackbeetles' club. They
came up through the floor and out through the walls, and gambolled there
in their light-hearted, reckless way till daylight.

The rats and mice Amenda did not object to. She said she liked to watch
them. But against the blackbeetles she was prejudiced. Therefore, when
my wife informed her that MacShaughnassy's aunt had given us an
infallible recipe for their annihilation, she rejoiced.

We purchased the materials, manufactured the mixture, and put it about.
The beetles came and ate it. They seemed to like it. They finished it
all up, and were evidently vexed that there was not more. But they did
not die.

We told these facts to MacShaughnassy. He smiled, a very grim smile, and
said in a low tone, full of meaning, "Let them eat!"

It appeared that this was one of those slow, insidious poisons. It did
not kill the beetle off immediately, but it undermined his constitution.
Day by day he would sink and droop without being able to tell what was
the matter with himself, until one morning we should enter the kitchen to