Novel Notes | Page 5

I tried. I honestly tried my best. I was eager and anxious to
succeed. For one reason, I wanted my breakfast. For another, I wanted
to be able to say that I had done this thing. It seemed to me that for any
human being to light a fire, laid as that fire was laid, would be a feat to
be proud of. To light a fire even under ordinary circumstances is not
too easy a task: to do so, handicapped by MacShaughnassy's rules,
would, I felt, be an achievement pleasant to look back upon. My idea,
had I succeeded, would have been to go round the neighbourhood and
brag about it.
However, I did not succeed. I lit various other things, including the
kitchen carpet and the cat, who would come sniffing about, but the
materials within the stove appeared to be fire-proof.
Ethelbertha and I sat down, one each side of our cheerless hearth, and
looked at one another, and thought of MacShaughnassy, until Amenda
chimed in on our despair with one of those practical suggestions of hers
that she occasionally threw out for us to accept or not, as we chose.
"Maybe," said she, "I'd better light it in the old way just for to-day."
"Do, Amenda," said Ethelbertha, rising. And then she added, "I think
we'll always have them lighted in the old way, Amenda, if you please."
Another time he showed us how to make coffee--according to the
Arabian method. Arabia must be a very untidy country if they made
coffee often over there. He dirtied two saucepans, three jugs, one
tablecloth, one nutmeg-grater, one hearthrug, three cups, and himself.
This made coffee for two--what would have been necessary in the case
of a party, one dares not think.
That we did not like the coffee when made, MacShaughnassy attributed

to our debased taste--the result of long indulgence in an inferior article.
He drank both cups himself, and afterwards went home in a cab.
He had an aunt in those days, I remember, a mysterious old lady, who
lived in some secluded retreat from where she wrought incalculable
mischief upon MacShaughnassy's friends. What he did not know--the
one or two things that he was not an authority upon--this aunt of his
knew. "No," he would say with engaging candour--"no, that is a thing I
cannot advise you about myself. But," he would add, "I'll tell you what
I'll do. I'll write to my aunt and ask her." And a day or two afterwards
he would call again, bringing his aunt's advice with him; and, if you
were young and inexperienced, or a natural born fool, you might
possibly follow it.
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
find him lying cold and very still.
So we made more stuff and laid it round each night, and the
blackbeetles from all about the parish swarmed to it. Each night they
came in greater quantities. They fetched up all their friends and
relations. Strange beetles--beetles from other families, with no claim on
us whatever--got to hear about the thing, and