Field mice do an infinity of harm to young plantations, by nibbling off the young shoots, and, in order to catch them, pits from eighteen to twenty inches deep, are sunk in the soil, which are wider at the bottom than the top, so that they cannot easily get out. One hundred thousand were destroyed in this manner in the Forest of Dean, and about the same number in the New Forest. They make very beautiful round nests, of curiously plaited blades of wheat, split into narrow strips with their teeth, and in them will often be found nine little mice. These nests are suspended to some stalks, or thistles. I can bear witness to the possibility of taming mice, for I kept six in a box for several months, which were so well fed, that they did not attempt to gnaw their dwelling. I had a sort of little cart constructed for them, with bone buttons for wheels, and a packthread harness; and on being taken out of the box, they remained perfectly quiet till the harness was put upon them, and when that was done, they started at full gallop along the top of a square piano. Of course, care was taken to turn them back when they reached the end; but they soon learned to turn of their own accord, and performed their journey with as much regularity as well-trained horses. Death deprived me of my steeds; but I suspect it was in consequence of the injudicious cramming which I bestowed upon my favourites. During an illness of some week's duration, mice were to me a source both of amusement and annoyance; the former certainly predominating. A wainscot ledge ran round the room in which I lay, and it was their delight to scamper after one another upon this projection; but as the head of my curtain-less bed was close to it, they so frequently diverged on to my face, that I was obliged to have it drawn at least a yard from the wall. Sometimes also, they dragged away my pocket handkerchief, which, from not being immediately missed, was not recovered till sundry holes had been nibbled in it. A small table stood by my bed-side; having on it a basin full of cold tea, which formed my night beverage. On one occasion, my light was extinguished, and I heard a scratching against the legs of the table. I guessed the cause, and tried to frighten the climber away; but I suspect he mounted by the bed clothes, for I presently heard something flop into the tea. All was silent; and I concluded the intruder was drowned; but of course, whatever my thirst, I did not attempt to drink. When daylight came, there sat a poor mouse, holding up his little chin just above the liquid. Had he moved he must have been suffocated; and he had been all those hours in this position. It was impossible to take away a life so hardly earned, and he was allowed to rejoin his companions.