The effect of the light upon the unhappy bats was perfectly marvellous; dazzled and blinded, they knew not what to do nor where to fly; some dashed themselves up against the walls and put an end to their own lives; others flew straight up to the mannikins, and fell an easy prey to the latter, who, with their little swords drawn, stood ready to strike down each foeman as he approached, and dealt stout blows upon the blinded bats who came within their reach. Mother Wandle herself by no means relished her reception; she was nearly overwhelmed by her own retreating forces, and at the same time the light, to which she had a great objection, annoyed her extremely, and she began to consider that her best course would be to retreat as fast as possible. As she did so, however, she felt, to her great disgust and horror, an invisible hand, or rather claw, laid upon her neck, whilst a voice whispered in low but perfectly audible tones close to her ear-- “Vile daughter of evil, who wast not afraid The mighty Owl’s castle and home to invade, Do thou and thy sisters look well to this text--. _A whipping the first time; beware of the next!_” And, as the voice ceased, the claw was loosened from her neck, and she instantly felt upon her bat’s body severe strokes as of a birch-rod aimed by the strong arm and unerring eye of a resolute head-master: quick and sharp the blows descended upon the luckless old hag, and as the skin of a witch (these creatures being, from the evil consciences which prevent their getting fat, {200}rarely burdened with much flesh) is proverbially tender, she suffered considerably more than any of my boys here at Eton would have done under similar circumstances. Mother Wandle, however, shrieked and fled as fast as she could, followed by as many of her bats as were destined to escape at all from that ill-fated day.