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 570 his mouth. He sent by her his compliments to me, and he would call tomorrow to see if I wanted his skill. He did call, and we had the strange scene of the driving of the rats from out of stack and barn; and also, I believe, the ordinary conclusion—of a sly reinstatement of a pair or two, to make work for a future occasion.

This is the worst season of the year for the nerves of timorous people living in the country. The refuse of the hop-picking class, and of the imported reapers, the intemperate and unthrifty, desperate at meeting winter without resources, are dangerous, if at all, in these dark long nights, when fogs shroud evil-doers. It was in this month that a tenant of mine, living in the midst of his fields, far away from any acquaintance that he could depend upon, entertained a very remarkable guest for an hour one night. His wife is subject to embarrassing visits from sturdy beggars when he is known to be absent; and, as he has had experience enough of vagrants, sleeping in his hay or among his pigs, to have formed habits of great caution, he looks well to the bolts of his hay-house window, not relishing the idea of finding the ashes of a pipe, and the marks of men’s figures on the hay in the morning; and he admits no strangers at night, except to an outhouse which contains nothing combustible but straw to lie on. One evening, a woman uncommonly tall, with a baby under her cloak, begged for shelter,—mere shelter, as she had bread with her. She was shown the outhouse, and professed herself grateful. When the farmer and his wife were moving to go up to bed, and the one servant was already asleep in her closet which opened upon the kitchen, the woman knocked. She wanted nothing that would give any trouble; merely to be allowed to lie down before the fire till the morning, when she would be off at daybreak. The farmer did not much like it, nor did his wife; but the flood of a mother’s eloquence about her baby’s need of warmth overwhelmed them. They let her come in, and make herself a bed of the matting on the floor. An hour after, the servant was awakened by a slight sound, and saw, through the crevice of her door, the tall woman get up, throw her baby down on the brick-floor with astounding violence, strip off cloak and petticoat, and appear as an armed man. He never once looked towards the closet, having no idea of any one being there, but softly drew back the bolts of the door, stepped out, and began a low whistle. Quick as thought the girl was after him, shut and bolted the door; and alarmed her master. It would have been too rash to follow the guest: so there was a popping of guns from the windows, and a lighting up of the house. The cloak was kept with care, as possible evidence. The baby was a bunch of straw.

Far worse than the burglary which is the dread of lone households, is the incendiarism which has sprung up in modern times. Rick-burning was scarcely heard of in the old days of tinder-box and dark lantern. It became a fashionable crime thirty years ago: and we have never since felt so safe as we were before. I well remember the November in which the practice had become a nightly one in the agricultural counties. I was an active and zealous lad at that time, delighted to carry out my father’s pleasure as a magistrate, and never tired of cantering about the district, with watch and ward, hints to the magistrates, and news of suspicious appearances. Nothing could induce me to go to bed till I had accompanied my father and the servants through our own and neighbouring stackyards, searching for skulks, wires, vitriol, lucifers, phosphorus, and all abnormal appearances. I was up and looking out, several times in the night: and I once saw the actual kindling of the fire, not many yards off. It was about one in the morning. I had looked and listened for some time, and was just about to turn from the window when I observed a tiny blue spark,—I could not tell exactly where: for it was pitch dark everywhere else. In a moment, before I could think or move, the blue flame ran along the ridge of a stack, and spread over it; and then burst out into a yellow blaze. We were on the spot in the shortest possible time. I stumbled over a wire: but we found nobody, and could make no impression on the fire. The insurance offices have never liked farmers’ custom since, high as were the terms offered for the insurance of farm products and stock; and tramps have sunk lower than ever in rural opinion.

Nobody can wonder at this who considers what the diffusion of lucifer matches now is, and how impossible it is to teach caution to ignorant and barbaric people. How many villages are there in which lucifers are kept out of the reach of children? We read occasionally of infants dying from sucking lucifers. Arrived at the next stage, that of delight at making a flame, children will put forth all their little cunning and strength to get hold of a box of matches. This way happened the great Woodford fire, in August of last year, which destroyed food to the amount of many thousand pounds:—dairy-houses and stables, stores of agricultural implements, coach-houses, farm-house, and a row of cottages. This way happened the great Willingham fire, in September of last year, when a hamlet of cottages, a farm and its produce, and property worth 10,000l. were destroyed by the folly of a child, who struck a lucifer-match for sport, and threw it down among the straw of a stackyard. Thus happen the fires which follow the movements of tramps, who are like the children for recklessness. They lie down on straw to smoke themselves to sleep, and drop the pipe when they begin to snore. Having crept into the hay for the night, they indulge in a pipe at daybreak, and start without looking whether they have dropped any hot ashes. If I admitted November to be a gloomy month, it would be on the ground of rural incendiarism, more than any other. In truth, I have seen too much of it; and I doubt whether all the efforts of my family and neighbours are of much avail in lessening the danger. We set an example of dispersing our produce over our land, instead of collecting it into yards where every stack almost touches its neighbour; and of keeping a good supply of water, and wet mortar always accessible; and of taking the same care of lucifer matches that we should of poison; and of inspiring children with a wholesome awe of striking fire. Still, we often